Bay LeBlanc Quiney

53 Days of Grief and Gratitude

*****

For fifty-three days, I have had so much I wanted to say. And for fifty-three days, I have not been able to find the words to say it.

Part of me wishes that all I needed to do for the rest of my days is write about this, and yet, when it's time to write something, I can't find the words. Not because they're not there, but because they're ALL there, trying to come out all at the same time.

After spending so much time in the company of Grief, I have come to believe that we have grief all wrong. It's something we fear, just like we fear death. I get it. The pain of these things is almost unbearable.

I say almost, because I have learned that no matter how painful it is, I can, in fact, bear it. I am grateful for my strength. I got it from my mom, who taught me, among many other things, how to live in the face of impossible circumstances.

I don't want my grief to go away, though it feels like that's something I'm supposed to want. I think other people want my grief to go away, and I don't blame them for that. It is hard to see someone we care about in pain. It is uncomfortable to be with someone's sorrow. We feel helpless. We wish they weren't suffering. Plus, if their suffering comes to an end, so too does our discomfort with their discomfort.

Every now and then, I feel this strange void, and I wonder if Grief has left me for good. Am I done? Did I get through it? It feels like I'll never feel sad again. It feels a little like I'll never feel anything again.

But Grief always comes back, and I was surprised to be grateful at its return. My grief is all my love with nowhere to go, so it hangs out, right here, in my chest and pouring out my eyes.

With my grief comes an immense sense of gratitude, which seems a little strangely timed, given that I have lost something greater than I have ever lost. How bizarre to be grateful at the absence of a thing so dear, but I suppose I'm receiving at the same time.

But I am grateful. While I stood vigil at my mom's bedside, gazing at her body as it slowly gave up her life, I was struck by thoughts I'd never had. How beautiful my mom is, how beautiful her hands were, how soft and clear her skin was.

I looked at her and I really got, for the first time, that my body is a gift that she made for me herself. I was witnessing the miracle of how amazing it is that our bodies work and do all the things we take for granted. And maybe the thing to do with this gift is to celebrate it and love it and not constantly seek out faults and criticisms with this incredible gift.

I'm grateful that I was there, from the terrifying and helpless moments with my mom waiting for the paramedics, holding her hand as we ran through the hospital, letting my heart break apart hearing her call out for her beloved big sister, the way she'd have called for her as a child.

Some people have said that it must been a lot of work to clear out her apartment. My mom famously had A Lot of Stuff. Once, I might have said my mom was a hoarder, but not the TV show kind. Her place was clean and meticulously organized, and very, very full.

Now, though? I wouldn't call her a hoarder at all. After having touched all of her possessions, I am clear that my mom was not a hoarder; she was a dreamer. She never, ever let go of her dream to own a home, and all of her belongings were carefully curated to furnish that dream.

Her belongings were truly a place of belonging for her, and I hold them, and her, with the reverence and honour of holding that sacred part of her.

It was work, and it was beautiful, and I'm grateful for it.

I'm grateful for all of this. It is the hardest and most beautiful thing I've ever done. And I'm thankful for every tear, every surprising moment when Grief shows up, even mid-conversation, and takes my breath away.

I'm heartbroken. I am heart broken open. And I am grateful for all of it.

]LIVE TODAY ⏰ ] Academy of Magical Coaching✨ DREAMS ✨

Join Laura Westman and I live today, May 23rd from 3:30-4:30pm Eastern / 12:30-1:30pm Pacific for our next session!

Today's DREAMS session is going to include:

- Distinguishing DREAMS from WISHES, visions, goals and other forms of goal-setting that coaches use

- How to approach and work with DREAMS with your clients without sounding like a crazy person (how to do it with power and intention)

- How DREAMS can be fuel for visions, but also used when the going gets rough

- The power and magic of vulnerably opening up to your own DREAMS

Who knows what else will happen. It’s a live West of Wonderland training, after all.

Save your spot, and find other classes to register for in the future!

https://www.laurawestman.com/wow-academy

Magic Mondays with Bay! at noon PT
We'll be talking about choosing an open heart (which sounds nice, but has a cost).

Magic Mondays with Bay! is at noon PT today!

I don't know what to write here.

*****

Today is the fourth Friday that I should be planning the weekend with my mom. Instead, I'm staring at this blank screen, while impossible things whirl around and around in my head and clever words refuse to come out of it.

I am sad. I am angry. I am in denial. I am numb.

I am filled with love that keeps leaking out of my eyes and doesn't know where to go.

I don't even know what to say. Many people didn't even know my mom was sick. She was a private person, which in hindsight, is kind of amazing to me, because my mom could and willingly would talk to absolutely anyone, absolutely anywhere.

On Monday, April 8th at 12:13 am, my mom lost her courageous battle with cancer. I actually hate to say "battle" because, while my mom was committed to doing whatever it took to buy as much time as she could, she wasn't angry or resentful, at least not that I saw. I was both of those things, towards the cancer, towards the crumbling institution of healthcare in Canada, but in the face of it all, my mom was grateful, hopeful and—amazingly—cheerful. She was radiant. She was joyful.

You know, as I think on it now, I don't actually think my mom was fighting cancer. I think she was fighting for her life. And I believe that made all the difference. She wasn't fighting against something, which was honestly a familiar and well-worn path for her, but instead, she let love crack her heart wide open and she fought with grace FOR love and for life. She was praying for a miracle, but little did she know she'd become the miracle herself: she healed both our hearts, and she left this world behind her filled with love and all of us—herself included—just wishing for more time.

I know she was scared and I know she was in pain (which, let me tell you: it fu***ng sucks to watch someone you love be afraid and in pain when there is NOTHING you can do to make either of those things go away), but my mom enjoyed the moments she had. She was grateful, which I think is a pretty tall order when you're dying, even though she desperately wanted more time.

I am grateful to my mom. That falls short, actually, of how I feel. She made me, literally and figuratively, into the person I am. I am embarrassed and ashamed of how it took this earthquake of a loss for me to be painfully (and gratefully) present to the beautiful human being that my mom was (and for me, still is). All her gifts and all her scars. Her whole essence and all of her survival mechanisms.

I have too much to say and right now, can't find the words. So here is the eulogy I wrote for my mom, instead. I hope you fall in love with her, because the world is big and life is hard, and we can use all the love we can find.

_____________________________________

Anne Marie Roy

On Tuesday, February 24th, 1953, a little whirlwind of passion and energy made her grand entrance in this beautiful world. And on Monday, April 8th, after only 71 too-short years, this beautiful world became a little less bright, not only because of a once-in-a-lifetime solar eclipse, but also because that’s the day that Anne Marie Roy went home.

Anyone who knew Anne was unlikely to forget her. Her smile, her sparkling eyes, her easy laugh, her inexhaustible energy and her uncanny ability to strike up a conversation with absolutely anyone, literally anywhere she went, were only a few of the qualities that made her unforgettable. Anne was always up for good trouble or an adventure, and if you were on one with her, it was bound to be good, with a lot more laughter than if you’d gone alone. She loved nature and animals, and had a magical way with both. Mom believed in magic and she created it for the people around her.

Anne loved her people: if you were among those lucky to be counted as friend or family, then you knew what it was to be ferociously loved. Mom didn’t do anything halfway. Her fierce heart was generous, loyal and protective. Mom believed in us. She believed in our dreams and our potential. She saw what could be. If you wanted something, or wanted to do or be something, mom wouldn’t rest until she figured out how to help you get there. When I (briefly) wanted to be an astronaut, mom called NASA to find out if they had summer camps for kids.

Quality time and acts of service were definitely some of Anne’s love languages: she was always ready to help out, no matter the task at hand. Many of the people gathered here today are the beneficiaries of mom’s keen eye for improvement and aesthetic, be it your yard and garden, or rearranging your kitchen cupboards to be more efficient. Whether or not you asked for it, as was sometimes the case, mom’s help was always available and always right on the mark. If mom did a thing, you knew it was done well.

One of the many things that have struck me with awe in the past three weeks since mom passed away is how she always made time to stay connected to so many people. The vast and intricate tapestry of relationships that my mom faithfully nurtured like the gardens and plants she so loved to tend has helped me to remember a truth that my mom knew so deeply; that relationships with people are what matter the most in this one lifetime that will always be too short, no matter how much time we get.

Anne’s life was not always easy. She weathered many very difficult storms and personal tragedies, more than was her fair share, but just like the perennial plants she so adored, my mom rose up, time and time again, like a fresh shoot reaching for the sun after a long, hard winter. She was a model of grit and resilience, of can-do and why-not and yes-let’s, and she taught me the same by example.

Mom was a force of nature. She was a fighter. She beat breast cancer 10 years ago, and she was willing to give this round all she had, and then some. She faced this terrible diagnosis with grace, and unimaginable strength, courage and faith. At a time when fear and pain would have most of us close our hearts to keep them from breaking, mom let this tragedy break hers wide open. I truly believe that the last 6 months, as challenging and painful as they were, were some of the happiest times of her life. She let go of things she’d long held onto, and with those hands now open, was able to freely give and receive the love she’d often struggled to let in. You could see it in the twinkle of her eyes, and the clear radiance of her face, even while she was in pain, even on her last day.

Anne was hope personified. Literally until the very end—her last morning with us—she was on the phone, setting up new treatments to buy her more time. She had hope and faith, even alongside her fear. She was grateful for her medical care, and everyone in her corner. She believed in miracles and she never stopped hoping and praying for one. She wanted to squeeze every drop she could from this life, to spend as many precious moments as she could fit in with her beloved friends and family.

My mom was a gatekeeper of hopes and dreams. She was the living essence of Possibility, Radiance, Love, Joy & Devotion. Mom was a teacher. And now that she’s gone home, our job is to remember the lessons she taught us: the importance of standing for our own dreams and never letting go of them, to tend our gardens and nurture our relationships, and to fight for life to be better and more beautiful.

Our job is to shine brighter because she was here, and will always be here, in our hearts, which is where our light comes from after all.

My mom was grateful for all of this wild and crazy life. She was grateful for all of us. She went home, kneeling before the Lord of song, with nothing on her tongue but hallelujah (and possibly an objection to being taken home too soon).

Let us remember to always be unreasonable in our faith and our hope and our love.

I am so proud of my mom. I am proud to be her daughter. And I am honoured to know she was proud of me, too. She was proud of all of us.

I love you mom. Thank you. It’s not goodbye; it’s only see you soon.
Je t’aime Maman. Merci. Ce n’est pas un 'au revoir,' c’est seulement un 'à bientôt.'

Bonsoir, tète à bonjour, bon dedo, bons rêves.

The Intensive is more than just an opportunity for inspiration or following a set formula for personal and professional development.

It's about creating deep, lasting change and achieving breakthroughs in not only our lives and businesses but also in how we see and relate to ourselves.

Come join us in sunny, charming, beautiful Victoria B.C., from May 29th to 31st, 2024, for The Intensive — an event you won’t forget and will find yourself impacted by for months afterwards.

For more information and to register, visit https://evergrowthcoaching.com/the-intensive/.

Magic Mondays with Bay! is back TODAY at 11 am PT for a catch up and conversation about grief. 💔

Writing a eulogy is probably the toughest assignment I've ever done.

How do you possibly say all there is to say? It will take me a lifetime.

And while I'm honoured to do it, I really wish I didn't need to.

For Earth Day, but it feels like it's for my mom. I suppose we call her Mother Earth for good reason.

My heart finds new ways to break each and every day. But I'm grateful for the breaking, because it's all just love with nowhere to go.💔❤️‍🩹

I do not know how to do this. I suppose there is no "doing" grief, just being it.

I'm still in shock: how could this be real? She was just here, so happy, alive and vibrant. We were having fun and making plans. I had questions I meant to ask her. Things I wanted to do with her. Songs I wanted her to hear.

Today, in addition to being sad, I'm FURIOUS. How is it possible that a week ago today was our first official sleepover in her new care plan?

We should be picking tonight's movie and planning the weekend. Instead, I'm on my way to a small, private viewing, so I can see her one last time.

I love you, Maman. I miss you. I want you back.❤️‍🩹

I hate this.

8 April 2024

Today, the world was briefly in darkness as the sun was blacked out by the moon in a once-in-a-lifetime eclipse.

And today, my world became a little less bright, as my beautiful mother, Anne Marie Roy, who held the light and energy of a thousand suns, took her last breath and went home to our ancestors at 12:13 am.

It feels like a little bit of light is missing from my world, and I don’t know that it’ll ever come back. I can't catch my breath. Everything reminds me of her. There are so many things left for us to do, and enjoy, and adventure together.

She was only 71, and had more energy than someone half her age. Everything my mom did, she did with the utmost of her attention, joy, love and power. She cared, so much, about the people she loved.

She was Possibility embodied, even if she struggled to see it for herself. She moved mountains and she taught me how to do the same.

I am so proud of my mom. She fought for her life with grace and humour, and most amazingly, with devout, unfettered and unreasonable hope and faith, right to the very end. And lastly, she learned to surrender, which had to have been her toughest lesson. Letting go was not in her nature.

She will always be an inspiration to me.

Our relationship had been complicated in the past, but the one and only gift of cancer was the gift of a complete and surprising, if not miraculous, heart-opening reconciliation, with no holds barred, and no love held back.

The last 6 months with her have been some of the best times of my life. It was not enough. This grief feels impossible to hold.

I am devastated, as are so many who knew her, and more; knew what it was to be loved by someone with a heart so fierce.

I am relieved for her suffering to be over, but right now, I am lost. I want her back. A hundred years would have been too short, but this was definitely not enough time.

Rest easy, although I’m pretty sure you’re off and running up there.

Je t’aime, Maman. Bonsoir et bons rêves. À la prochaine.

Je t’aime, je t’aime, je t’aime. Merci. ❤

In the tapestry of life, there's a powerful thread that weaves through each one of us—the power within. 💪✨ It's that undeniable force that drives us to overcome challenges, seize opportunities, and stand tall in the face of adversity.

Finding your power within is not about seeking external validation or approval. It's about tapping into your authentic self, acknowledging your strengths, and embracing your uniqueness. It's understanding that you possess the capacity to create positive change, not only in your life but in the lives of those around you.

Remember, your power within lies in the courage to dream big, the resilience to keep going, and the kindness to uplift others along the way. It's not about being perfect; it's about embracing your imperfections and turning them into stepping stones towards growth.

As you journey through life, never doubt the strength that resides within you. 🌟✨ Let it guide you, inspire you, and empower you to make a difference.

[Event Invitation 💌 Join us at The Intensive in May]

There’s a lot of pretty poor coaching and leadership out there. There’s also a lot of pretty good coaching and leadership. Pretty good is pretty safe. It feels nice, people are regularly empowered, and everything is just hunky dory.

You’re not interested in pretty good, and neither are we.

You’re interested in great. You’re interested in shattering paradigms and stretching way out of your comfort zone, because that’s what you want to support other people to do, and you’re clear that you have to do your own work first.

The Intensive is an opportunity to do that.

We will teach you new concepts, while supporting you in using them to step beyond your comfort. Instead of simply learning more information, you will step through your own transformation and actually experience the power of your deepest work.

Victoria sure is beautiful in the spring, and Adam and I would love to have you join us.

So, come join us for the first public Evergrowth Coaching event since Covid shut everything down in 2020!

Early bird pricing is available now, so register and save $500 to reserve your seat!

https://evergrowthcoaching.com/the-intensive/

Can you or can you not grab your butt during certain seasons of life? Do you find a leopard seal to be the stuff of nightmares, yes or no?

On this week's West of Wonderland Podcast episode, Laura Westman and I celebrate the inaugural lesson session at the West of Wonderland Academy for Magical Coaching, all about wishes.

What's it like to wish, and to become someone who can be around wishes?

🎙 Tune in to this week's episode on your favorite podcast platform!

PS. Hyenas - cute or not cute?

PPS. Get on our list and receive the ever so fancy WoW Daily Planner when you do: https://www.laurawestman.com/wow-academy

How I'm Learning to Be More Productive By Taking Time Off

*****

I have a fun hobby I've gotten really good at, if I do say so myself.

For all of my life, I've struggled with time management. I would say that I don't have a particularly linear relationship with time. So while I've slowly begun to get better at accepting this about myself without a lot of judgment, the thing I've come to realize that I've been perfecting is keeping myself in a perfect tangle of productivity pitted against rest and recovery.

What this looks like is me having unreasonable expectations of productivity on my downtime. When I'm facing some time off, I get VERY excited about all the things I will be able to catch up on. With all that space, I'll finally get to make some progress on my book, and by "make some progress", I one hundred percent mean that I'll DEFINITELY get it totally done this time. It's completely reasonable to me that I can complete the revision of my entire book in however much time off I've got lined up.

I'll also clear out my inbox (for the 3 minutes it'll stay that way), plus, I'll get to work on my other creative projects that keep getting backburnered, organize the garage, finish my website redesign, and I'll handle those 17 personal admin tasks I've been procrastinating on for forever.

There might be a few other things on my list, like connecting with friends and family, do all the fun things, do a wardrobe purge, get tons of sleep, perfect my ideal morning ritual, get outside and go for walks on the daily, hike, kayak and paddleboard.

If you think that my plans for time off sound unrealistic, then you've definitely beat me to the punchline. I've only really just begun to realize that this extremely familiar pattern of mine is a total set up to keep me stressed out, exhausted, and feeling like a failure.

Whenever I have time off, I talk about my plans with my coach, who inevitably reflects to me that it sounds like I'm planning to do a lot of work during my time off and that my plans seem a little bit contradictory. Perhaps a touch unrealistic. My competing goals seem mutually exclusive.

To which I will inevitably respond that I completely understand her perspective, but this is all stuff I really want to do, so really, it's not work at all. I can do it, and I want to do it.

Guess how it tends to go? If you're prediction is that I fall short of my aspirations while also not having as much fun as I'd like, nor getting as much rest as I need, then your predictive capabilities are much more accurate, or at least realistic, than my own.

Realistic is not really a thing people would say to describe me. Idealistic, absolutely, but realistic, not so much.

I'm pleased to report that while I suspect I shall continue to set resolutely unrealistic expectations for what I'll achieve while I'm taking time off, I am at least beginning to see the fruitlessness of the pattern. Planning to work when I'm planning to be off is not creating the experience of life that I wish to be having, so I'm changing the pattern.

Here's the thing: if you're never off, then you're never really on, either.

I'm beginning to learn how to be off when I'm off, so that I can be on when I'm on.

At The Intensive, you’re going to create more than being inspired.

You know that experience where you go to an event, leave feeling super inspired (“everything’s going to be different!”), only to re-enter your life, and not that much actually shifts?

Well this isn’t that.

You will leave The Intensive inspired by yourself and your vision, but you will also identify and begin to create the breakthroughs that will shift your life, your business and your relationship to yourself, HERE AND NOW. No waiting for another six months for things to settle — our commitment is that you leave a different person than you came in.

Come join Adam and I in sunny, charming, beautiful Victoria B.C. for THE Intensive this May — an event you won’t forget and will find yourself impacted by for months afterwards.

https://evergrowthcoaching.com/the-intensive/

Coaches, are you ready to explore the operations of magic and imagination in coaching?

Laura Westman Coaching and I’s very first West of Wonderland Academy for Magical Coaching session is today, March 28, and we’d love to have you join us.

We’ll be jumping into ✨ Exploring Wishes for Client Impact ✨ and if you’re a coach, you’ll want to join us!

Wishes, a typically "bankrupt" concept in the world of coaching, are truly perfect opportunities to mine for desire and bypass typical routes of creating results that often leave coaches bored and clients exhausted. Let's.... not do that anymore. Learn to be a magic whisperer with your clients - and yourself.

Save your spot for today’s session here:
https://www.laurawestman.com/wow-academy

Also click that link 👆 to check out the other upcoming a la carte, monthly training options to expand how you think about the power of coaching - in special West of Wonderland style - magic, extremely personal to the client, imagination and vision-based, and seasonally wise.

How often do you experience unrequited hope on a warm spring day?

What would you do if you won the lottery? No, but really - Laura and I really want to know.

Tune in to the recent West of Wonderland Podcast to find out why we think this question matters.

🎙Listen on your favorite podcasting platform...or head to this link to check out the episode:
https://podcasts.apple.com/no/podcast/winning-the-lottery-more-about-the-west/id1580096976?i=1000649828623

PS. See you tomorrow, March 28 for the first Academy for Magical Coaching training, "Exploring Wishes for Client Impact"!

Get on our list and receive the ever so fancy WoW Daily Planner when you do: https://www.laurawestman.com/wow-academy

“There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.” - Jane Austen

Happy International Women’s Day! 💖

S I M P L I C I T Y

Simplicity can be such a beautiful thing! We often get caught up in the hustle and bustle of a busy life, chasing after the next big thing or constantly seeking more. But sometimes, the most fulfilling moments are the simplest ones.

Taking a deep breath of fresh air, savoring a hot cup of coffee, or sharing a laugh with a loved one. These moments may seem small, but they hold so much joy and meaning.

Let's learn to appreciate the simple things in life and find happiness in the everyday moments.

Why You Might Want to Suck at Something

*****

On Saturday morning, I bundled up and headed to the local ice rink with Adam, for the first of our skating lessons. We weave our way through the crowded waiting area, full of hockey kids who are already much better at skating than I will ever be, hockey moms and dads, wrangling their other kids in the madness. The concession is doing a brisk business filling the air and the hungry kids alike with popcorn and hot dogs.

Side note: “Rink” is one of those words. You know those words that, when you say them enough, stop having any meaning and just sound like a funny thing to say? Rink, rink, rink.

Why am I taking skating lessons for the first time ever, at the age of 43? Well, there are several reasons. It seems like a fun thing to do, and while I’m fairly proficient at the basics of skating, I’ve never, ever been able to stop, unless you count smashing into the boards, which doesn’t really count. In my defense, I learned to skate on frozen ponds outside, so stopping was a case of falling into the snow at the edge.

Every time I go skating, which is not all that often, I find myself thinking that skating is fun and I would like to do it more often, and also that I wish I could stop. Whenever I try to stop, I just start spinning around in circles, which is also something I’m not qualified to do on skates.

We are taking skating lessons as a fun thing to do together on a Saturday morning, and also because we’re never going to get better at it if we don’t actually do it. Skating, like most things, is not a theoretical activity. Thinking, on its own, about the mechanics stopping, skating backwards and—the scariest—crossovers is not likely to see me be physically able to do it. I need to actually get on the ice and try.

Do I have moments of embarrassment? I sure do. Pretty much everyone else my age is there with their kids, while I’m lacing up my rented skates (and secretly wishing I had a dad on hand to lace mine up tighter). The adult skating lesson takes place on one half of the ice, while the other half is filled with kids who are about 4 to 6 years old.

I am afraid of falling, a little because it would be embarrassing, but mostly because unlike the kiddos sharing the ice with us, I am not four feet tall and mostly made of rubber. I know from past experience I’m not great at falling; I tend to tense up and that results in sprains and snaps.

In order to learn how to skate, or skate better, I need to start where I am, and I need to be willing to suck at it first. I need to be willing to be bad at it before I get better. I need to be willing to be a beginner, and to do that, I need to be willing to humble myself enough to suck at the thing I’m trying to learn or improve. It’s possible I might not actually suck at it, even, or not for long, but the important thing is that I’m willing to suck at it in the beginning, or for as long as I need to.

In order to become awesome at something, or even just reasonably proficient, I need to be willing to suck first. That’s what starting new or important things often feels like, which means I need to be willing to not be awesome at it immediately upon beginning, as much as I’d prefer that option.

I need to be willing to fall down and accept that if I’m really going to let myself learn, try and practice, I’m going to fall. Importantly, I need to be willing to fall down, so that I can learn that falling down is okay, I am okay, and to learn how to get myself back up again. Skating so as to avoid falling is not the same as learning how to skate well. I need to be clear that my goal is to be good at what I want to get good at—stopping, skating backwards and crossovers—not simply to avoid falling down.

I’m clear that I’m not just talking about skating here. I’m talking about doing anything new, or anything that means something to me, but feels daunting. Anything that might be challenging that I don’t already know how to do.

My tendency toward perfectionism often costs me the very experience I am seeking. From my fear of failing, I won’t try, just in case I might fail. But that means life starts to feel small and boring, stuck inside with only things I already know how to do. Playing only if I know for sure that I’ll win leaves a very limited set of options. From perfectionism, a lot of my goals are outside the bounds of my pride and my fear.

Being willing to suck at something is no guarantee that I’ll get good at it, but being unwilling to suck at something will definitely guarantee that I never find out. So for me, that means I’ll be lacing up my skates and getting out onto the ice to find out what I can do, what I suck at, and how to get better.