TEN YEARS Later ~ Shayla Rae Dawn

Wreath Left where Shayla died in the Reservoir December 12th, 2011

When on December 12^th, 2011, my only child- my daughter’s life was submerged below the ice-filled reservoir,   I had to navigate my grief journey and do it on my own terms that has seen me still breathe in this world.

In the folds of bereavement, is the old cliché….Time heals everything. I can assure you, ten years into my grief, I don’t much like time, in that I feel the hurt on a deeper level…more than anything. I count ten years without my daughter, ten lonely Christmas’s without her, 10 birthdays comes and gone. After she died tragically in a car crash, I also had to let go of her many caring friends, for my heart could not handle weddings taking place, babies being born, and lives carrying on, while my babygirl became ashes to the wind.

I grew bitter, and full of remorse, guilt that I could never prevent her from driving solo to McKinley Landing- where a baby born into the family- Shayla could not wait to see! I became obsessed with the road and ensuring safety measures were in place- so this absolutely horrible accident, would never happen again! I barged into safety meetings, demanded to be heard and even had a rock memorial placed where Shayla had died in the frozen McKinley reservoir!

They say that times a healer…just how long is this burn suppose to last? ~ The Mortal Instruments

Every December 12^th, I travelled to the area, on my knees I would fall and smash my frail hands against the earth where my daughters lifeless body remained trapped! While I was entrenched in gripping grief, never once did I dare to blame the one thing that remained solid in my life…God. From the very first day of standing over a hole in the ice- the watery grave of my daughter- I was torn inside. There was no room to hold responsible what was human error, after all I took solace in knowing Shayla went home to be with the Lord on December 12^th, 2011. I remembered when she began to first drive, and I gifted her the same wooden cross I had dangling in my vehicle. The cross would have been the last thing her eyes saw, before her car smashed down and careened into the murky, cold waters.

Looking back, I was a soul torn into two- a mother whose child was suddenly and cruelly- ripped away.

It was as if our intertwined spirits, did not know how to accept the abrupt loss and our hearts that beat as one…still had much catching up to do in acceptance.

For Shayla Is my Pārbati

Bound together for life… to fight together and protect each other through life.

IN BATTLE…OUR HEARTS BEAT AS ONE. IF one of us were to die…a part of the other would die inside as well. ~ The Mortal Instruments

Next to the Sanskrit word Vilomah- a word that refers to a parent whose child has died, I could not think of a better word or explanation of the bond that happens between a mother and her baby.

Throughout the 21 short years together, Shayla and I had faced many battles. Some on her own- as in the cruel world of bullying that my daughter battled and in the ever evolving world of mental health. We faced together the harsh realities of those stricken by poverty and addiction crisis, along with the stigma of my own illness.

On the beautiful occasion I was able to see my daughter take a stand for others, it was as if God had allowed me to see His mercy shine upon others. His purpose was her purpose, and her intent was for me to see her strength and embrace her own weaknesses.

When I was nominated for the Courage to Come Back Award, then also one of the many faces of Mental Illness, Shayla proudly shared with a sense of joy! One that is rarely seen with someone who they themselves are struggling for identity.

After her sudden passing, I went on to become a leader for GriefShare- a faith based support group I taught for six months. That only came after two years of counselling and receiving support myself.

Yet if I can offer any insight in ten years of grieving…is this: Emotions are never black and white- neither is light and darkness. While I never succumbed to the atypical source of addictions in alcohol and drugs, I found their was comfort in self-inflicting pain….and no, not in self-harming such as cutting, I found a release in to the darkness connected to my past. One that sees me on a merry go round, where the shadows call my name. In the past ten years- I have been ‘displaced’ without a home three times. I can save the therapy and say, it is because I feel that I am UNLOVED.

With my daughter, we were twins in the sense that joy was shared in a multitude of ways and pain was etched upon our hearts. Both of us suffered from depression and high anxiety. We both, were Survivors of assaults and both of us had been heavily bullied. In times of strife, we turned to one another. We shared the same smile, the same laughter…the same creases in our eyes when our faces were alight with happiness.

The day Shayla died…her car had entered the waters of the reservoir, and the time her last breathe was took…I felt an urgency to check on-line, only to discover they were retrieving her crushed in vehicle, with my daughter passed away- in it. Later, the autopsy report confirmed when she died…my heart knew it!

From there on….I had a choice…seek the light or pursue the darkness.

Many thought, I never would survive her death. I believe they had good reason given the strong bond we had shared, now had been severed.

One of the first things done…was a short hike to an area, overlooking McKinley Landing. Here, a memorial rock cairn was built by my former spouse Paul Padgett. Whatever transpired between he and I, I won’t take away the kindness and love he had for my daughter. I believe my own hurt clouded this and over time, I felt I needed to remove his pain from the two of us. However, he built this memorial right after Shayla passed away and I am including it in the 10 year tribute, as it was the first thing done out of heartache and sorrow.

I also had other important things to focus on…aligning with those whose purpose was to bring safety changed to McKinley Landing Road. Endless road trips, Council held meetings, engineers were commissioned, until finally only months later, nearly a half-million dollars was awarded for those positive changes to occur.

The safety changes to McKinley Road 

Finally, I relented, and the memorial stone was removed. It was heartbreaking as her mother, when I felt the need to constantly share the real truth of that day and what happened. Finally, I gave up on that too, knowing it was pointless. Further down at Dewdney Access #1, due to the donations of Melcor Corporation and The Residents of McKinley Landing, a Memorial Bench was installed, in between two Ponderosa Pines (fitting as they are trees of remembrance). Also, Shayla use to swim down in Okanagan Lake. A balloon release and a few words later, with photos taken of residents Brad and Shane and a bench dedication given…the Memorial bench has been a place for all to come and remember Shayla.

Months later, a phenomenal two-sided remembrance quilt was created by a mother and sister, who Shayla was close to. It was her former boyfriend’s mother who tenderly stitched this together and presented it to me. The front cover of my novel (UTST) has my daughter’s words on it:

“It’s okay to fight…as long as your fighting for someone…or something.”

To honour her Rockhounding, I created The Heart Pebble Movement ~ a cause that saw in over a four year period, between 300- 400 rocks, gemstones and pebbles, be placed all over the world- in Shayla’s memory. 

Shayla's treasured Rose Quartz heart I released back to the ocean, after The Heart Pebble Movement was complete 

In my ten years of blogging, I have written about the endless releases done in locations such as Hawaii, Jamaica, Machu Picchu, various location in England, including Stonehenge and many more! Again, this cause brought me comfort and kept me busy.

Friends and strangers have also done beach tributes, nature tributes out of leaves and flowers, then sent me photographs. I simply cannot include everyone, as my posts are already lengthy.

I’ve shared on her Birthday and on her ‘death day’, how I have brighten the lives of those in need, by gifting treats and sandwiches, coffees all in her memory, as that is what Shayla would want.

When it came time to release her ashes, I travelled to Maui and was joined in love by the locals, who also honoured my daughter's life, with their presence and tears. 

Over the ocean, as I sat on the beaches of Maui, deep in sorrow and after the release of Shayla's ashes, there appeared a brilliant display of transformation...

The last thing I promised my daughter, was the ‘pinky promise’ of the book I wrote. Shayla always understood the purpose of ‘Under the Sitka Tree.’ She knew I was not looking to reap fame or fortune, rather to share my soul journey of survivorship, love found and lost, redemption and forgiveness….most of all….of release.

Last week, I kneeled in prayers and sought what to do to keep ‘Sitka’ going? In what felt like a piece of my heart was broken off…I made the decision to sign a Publishing Contract and place my trust with my formatter, Leon Oldale. This resulted in me having an emotional struggle with truly releasing. For the connection to Shayla runs deep and the book has always held a strong connection between her and I.  

I have kept my promise to my babygirl as I know its what she would want me to do. Part of her life was growing up watching me write and if she were here today, I know she would be sad over the sorrow that threatens to engulf me…My daughter would say: Momma, one day…somebody’s going to love your kind heart and warm soul…

In all of these things, over the past ten years, there has still been a spark that lights up around her memory. For me, it felt like I was completely letting go and it brought me back to the day I stood at the reservoir, to say goodbye.

In reflecting, I feel as if feel I was merely surviving off of her beautiful spark of light and now everything has come full circle. That before me is a place that has only been patiently awaiting me.

YOU DON’T GET TO CHOSE…The light and the dark are both part of you. Whether you like it or not.

I have been very raw and honest about the life I have lived…several times now I have lived out of my small car. Maybe there lays the answer within itself…that without Shayla, I feel there is no real home on this earth.

You cannot run away from grief…it trails you like a violent shadow…Louise Wain’s wife Emily

So maybe that is it…in my weakened and weary state, I’ve finally run out of things to do in her memory and all that awaits is a colossal wave of grief and loss...yet to come.

 …the artist lived a troubled life where often, after momentary happiness, an everlasting catastrophe awaited... Louis Wain was an outcast, a renegade, lonely, frightened yet brave, and resilient. By Sushrut Gopesh

(Shayla) wanted me to keep my promise to finish my book and never stop writing, then I would never feel as if I were alone…when I write I connect with the world…I give them pieces of who I am…in return, they are also relating to me. The spark I feel for Shayla…now that remains a mother’s unconditional love.

By TL Alton 

Mother & Daughter 

VIDEO DEDICATION to Shayla Rae Dawn xox

Freya Ridings - Lost Without You (Official Video) https://youtu.be/tDPpex1wvOc

 

The Years Before

 

WORN -TENTH AVENUE NORTH  

Video: https://youtu.be/zulKcYItKIA

I'm Tired I'm worn
My heart is heavy
From the work it takes
To keep on breathing
I've made mistakes
I've let my hope fail
My soul feels crushed
By the weight of this world

And I know that you can give me rest
So I cry out with all that I have left

Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends
That you can mend a heart
That's frail and torn
I wanna know a song can rise
From the ashes of a broken life
And all that's dead inside can be reborn
Cause I'm worn

I know I need to lift my eyes up
But I'm too weak
Life just won't let up

My prayers are wearing thin
Yeah, I'm worn
Even before the day begins
Yeah, I'm worn
I've lost my will to fight
I'm worn
So, heaven come and flood my eyes…

 

We are made for made in ways that earth does not satisfy. In our current times, when we look to the realm of our world, we are a shattered humanity, each of us seeking something unattainable or at a cost. There is within the beating of our hearts, a pulsating knock that is reminding us of the dust particles from whence we came and will return to… for none of us are going to live forever.

“Collin and his wife, Jordan, wandered through the craft store, looking for a picture to hang in their home. Collin thought he’d found just the right piece and called Jordan over to see it. On the right side of the ceramic artwork was the word grace. But the left side held two long cracks. “Well, it’s broken!” Jordan said as she started looking for an unbroken one on the shelf. But then Collin said, “No. That’s the point. We’re broken and then grace comes in—period.” They decided to purchase the one with the cracks. When they got to the checkout, the clerk exclaimed, “Oh, no, it’s broken!” “Yes, so are we,” Jordan whispered.

What does it mean to be a “broken” person? Someone defined it this way: A growing awareness that no matter how hard we try, our ability to make life work gets worse instead of better. It’s a recognition of our need for God and His intervention in our lives.

The apostle Paul talked about our brokenness in terms of being “dead in [our] transgressions and sins” (Ephesians 2:1). The answer to our need to be forgiven and changed comes in verses 4 and 5: “Because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, makes us alive . . . it is by grace [we] have been saved.”

God is willing to heal our brokenness with His grace when we admit, “I’m broken.”

By Anne Cetas |November 18th, 2021

As I sit in the silence of the early morning hours composing a new entry, I know my time is limited in doing so. For the storm that is outside, now swirls inside. 

My life is soon changing and there is a raw honesty as to what is unfolding. In the midst of this shift is a willingness to share what came before…long before any of what is to transpire.

“The words of Lamentations helped me get up many mornings when the light was as gray as the state of my heart: “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed.” The Hebrew word for “consumed” means “to be used up completely” or “to come to an end.” -ODB

My daughter Shayla grew up with her own storms of chaos and in her strength fought, in putting out little fires, she became a strong force to reckon with. Her childhood, saw her be raised by a mother who battled her mental illness, on a daily basis.

When the mania would strike me, I found myself deeply immersed in community and a passion for helping others. It was my daughter who came alongside myself, to help me fundraise and host events that saw me be a burning star – so full of spark at first and then after the spark of mania fizzled, I would already be onto the next occasion to raise both funds and awareness.

All the while, Shayla would stand by me, her mother that was held together- by particles of light. 

These events would wear me down and I didn’t known at the time, I was feeding an addiction of that chemical imbalance of depression and mania, which saw me say never give up and ‘Impossible means just try again.’

My daughter saw the puzzle pieces of my illness and in figuring them out, she would plea with me to stop feeding the disorder of my Bipolar, the energy it so craved. When I would share with her that just one more time...I realized my addictive traits were simply shining through. The darkness was feeding off the light and I couldn't see the heartache I was causing. Shayla stood by me, time and time again, whenever my BP dreamed up another event or cause to be found. 

This created within her, the routes of wanting to help those in need and less fortunate. 

Throughout the years of teaming up, we managed to care for and assist those in many forms of life.

A fundraiser I created, hosted and held for The Canadian Cancer Society, raised over five thousand dollars with donations for Cancer Research and awareness.

$1,000 worth of meat from Save-On Foods was donated to local Food Bank.

$1,000 worth of supplies; including winter misc. sleeping bags and clothing given to those in need.

Later on, Shayla would be involved twice at TRU, the University she was attending, for the Annual the Camp Out on Campus. She slept outside on cardboard and a sleeping bag, while raising funds and awareness for those in need. 

After Shayla died, and once her Celebration of Life concluded, food was donated to The Gospel Mission.

All the while in my grief, I could hear my daughter (who always saw the best in people) say to me: "Momma, you just have to have faith."

The very last, big event, I held was to raise funds and a $1,000 Bursary Award was given at TRU, in Shayla’s memory.

In the ten years of blogging, I have amassed stories and photographs of my human connections. Times when I relished in the beauty of giving. 

In Victoria, I continued my helping those in need, by joining others in serving pizza's from a red wagon, giving out goodie bags full of chocolates and handing out clean clothing, to those living on the streets.

During my time of living on the Island, I spent many nights, on the streets connecting with others. Compassion goes far beyond a sandwich or coffee; it means to sit beside someone enduring poverty, addiction, prostitution and really put your beliefs where they matter- with someone in need of the light.

I remember one year, I passed along donated Cupcakes to those on the streets, on what would have been the day of Shayla’s birthday. The happiest recipient was another homeless soul, who it just happened to be his birthday, he shared with my daughter. I was unprepared for his tears that wept all over the cupcake, because I saw him and that he mattered. 

Shayla would have embraced this moment because she was an amazing person. Had she been given the opportunity to have children, they too would have been amazing. My daughter, would be the first to say, ‘Momma, when you find the good…you have to hold on.’

There is also a torch I speak of...one that is passed down onto the many others who have helped me, during my times of darkness. It's as if the one spark broke into a thousand pieces of light and people in my life were each given fragments to help me along my way... this quote is not just one person, but a collective group of family and friends, who have come alongside me, as I am slowly falling apart...

"I was in a bad place, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t see my way out then one particular morning when I thought all was lost I received a call…if it was not for her…I wouldn’t be here right now…she was the one who cared enough to stop me…she saved me…so in my moments of weakness…I have my rock(s)."~ Shadow & Bone 

One of my 'rocks' ~ Sarah 💗

So, as I struggle...as I bare witness to things slowly unravelling...know that in order to survive, I am facing my battles, with every ounce of faith I have left... inside of me. 

By TL Alton 

See you Under the Sitka…

 

When you enter the world of serious writing, you leave behind your social life. The closest you’ll get to interacting with the outside world is if you pack up your laptop and head to a nearby coffee shop. At least there you can look like you’re social, even if you’re in the corner, in the back… with headphones on. ~ NY Book Editors

In the summer of 2021, my novel, “Under the Sitka Tree,” was printed. Several months later, as the fallen leaves bathed the earth with nature’s honey, crimson, and lime hues…my novel is now in its third edition and ready to print for the holidays.

 This week, after pouring over every page and going back and forth with my formatter, Leon Oldale @ Still Creek Press… I understood how vulnerable this process is. Now complete are the ‘tweaks’ needed for the Third Edition of ,”Under the Sitka Tree.” While the storyline remains the very same… Leon’s keen eye for details that matter, have made all the difference to my novel! His dedication to the written word has provided “Sitka” with the platform of revelation she truly deserves!

As Adele has re-emerged from the waters, she spent her hands washing in…I have re-surfaced with a hunger for the written word.

 If I go back to myself as a woman, writing by the river, surrounded by a grove of Sitka’s…I can hear the characters shout out my name- wanting to be released from the pages-where I bore them.

 In my twenty -five years as a dedicated writer, I have learned a great deal about the craft of writing. I have understood the passion needed to enrich the novelist’s quest and the realization of fulfillment for one’s story; is to allow the skills of others… inside your writer’s soul.

“ As a writer, I needed to learn that this often difficult, ever so rewarding process, was not mine alone to claim. For if I am to be true to my story, I must acknowledge the caverns I have explored, the humbleness I have found and the truth is…without a skilled editor, without the brilliance of a formatter and the bindings of your book in print…then your story is merely words on a page…yearning to be discovered.” ~ TL Alton

The fire that is inside my writer’s spirit still burns strong within, for every day I have this need to supply the fever with an array of words, passages, and stories so as to quench the epitome of what a ‘starving writer’ truly is.

 As a writer, I have been blessed with a fireball of talented editors, formatters and a printing company that understood my vision. In between the layered pages of my book that is bound, contains the finished version that I am greatly satisfied with!

In spite of my perfectionism, I now understand the importance of ‘letting go' of all things- especially ones that needed to be fully completed... 

Every customer, who either bought my book or someone whose been gifted a copy of my novel, has returned to me amazing feedback; kind responses that have truly warmed my heart. 

There are those who have also provided helpful insight and shared things that are reflective of the light.

I am always humbled by the responses of others, as it means they took the time to share their reaction to something I have written.

While writing “Sitka”, I also immersed myself in the remarkable pairings of Lawrence and Karen Hill exploring mental wellness in Café Babanussa, the rawness of Alzheimer’s and beauty of everlasting love of The Notebook,  and the exploration of grief intertwined with hypersexuality in Cheryl Strayed's WILD.

I grew as a writer, with every word of these brilliant authors, coupled with my own immeasurable loss.

There was also a void in me, a hole so dark and toxic that pulled from a thread of shame, which saw my dignity unravel. A need to be loved at all costs that I was willing to risk every part of me… to return to dust.

Then one night, a spark pierced through the darkness, lighting up the shadows and helping me to see, the source of my murky ways - is connected to the past.

The light that shone in my place of solitude came to say she knew…how badly I wanted to show her the promise had been fulfilled in its dazzling form…within the bindings of my book.

 That night, I wasn’t simply a writer…I was a bereaved mother, who had to sit with my own words wrapped around me, in order to truly honour a promise made to my daughter.

 In return, I could feel her gentle hands upon mine let go, as she said…

 “See you under the Sitka momma…”

Author TL Alton and her daughter Shayla (who passed away at 21). 

Birdy - Wings (Official Video)

https://youtu.be/WJTXDCh2YiA

Just like any other type of art, writing is pain and pleasure at the same time. There’s a lot of sacrifice when it comes to writing, but it’s all more than worth it at the end. ~ NY Book Editors

 By

TL Alton

Thanks to be Given

 

"Be glad for this moment~ for this moment is your life" 

Recently, I watched the film, ‘Silver Linings Playbook.’ While I have seen it a dozen times before, when I viewed it in the enclosed darkness of my room, for the first time… I noticed more important things.

This film of brilliance, poignant moments and utter chaos, echoes within the realm of my Bipolar and PTSD. The quotes from the movie are a plenty and capture the reality of the disorders that it focusses on. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder and Bipolar, all have a front seat to a dysfunctional family that thrives on chaos.

At one point, the character Tiffany shares with Pat about her sordid past and how she likes all parts of herself. Most of all, she can forgive and questions him on his ability to do the same.

I found myself pausing, to reflect on this and its solid truth.

I also have to own that at 1:54 am in the morning, I thought it was a great idea to share a quote from the movie (via email) to a close friend of mine.

Upon waking this morning, I sent a humble note of apology. They kindly wrote back that they understood, as they are seeing a pattern within me that is often random.

Many of you who are reading this, have also received a casual text from me because at 3am, I believe you should know the brilliance of Pinterest…at any hour! lol 😊

This said, over twenty years on my medications, my Bipolar still likes to remind me of my ‘mental imperfection.’

Watching the film, I am prompted to think about my own peppered past. One that has components of things connected to yearning and desire- yet if removed- these two things that lay within, would see the passion exit.

I believe, my messy parts are someone else’s salvation- a place of familiarity and of hope.

As we draw nearer to the Thanksgiving holiday, I have been absorbing the life lessons of 2020.  

I took out a piece of paper and began to write down things that often we take for granted:

Shelter/Home: This time, last year, I was spending my Thanksgiving- alone in my car. At nighttime, when I parked along the highway, the glaring headlights were other souls reminding me of their existence- as each of them were simply passing through.

The blessings of a meal: Over the 7 months of living in/out of my car, often I had only one meal or would need to skip breakfast, lunch or dinner. When I checked my mailbox and saw there was an assortment of gift cards ( so generously given and sent over many months by the Bruton family), I was overfilled with joy!

For I knew, my extended street family and I would be sharing in a meal from Tim Hortons or McDonalds. Never could I walk past Gigi, Truscott, Michael and Tom with food for myself, while they themselves had gone without! I had a general rule that whatever I bought for my meal, I would buy extra for them. For there was no way I could ignore their hunger- in order to satisfy mine!

Shower and toiletries: Having been raised by someone who excels at cleanliness, I enjoy a long, hot shower and the smell of Zest soap on my skin.

Being a novice at the whole living without luxuries, I made an inquiry as to how my friends kept themselves clean? Given the one lake I was parked at had a toxic sign posted- warning swimmers not to partake in the waters, I also respect nature. Washing up with soap and toiletries in any source of water, kills off marine life.

Having worked up north, as Provincial Park Operator, I was elated when my boss Branden, constructed an outdoor shower, completed with a clear canopy that saw one look up into the majestic trees, blue skies and puffs of clouds. I use to love showering in this wonder of creation and occasionally was visited by a squirrel or bird.

Now back at Tim’s, one of the men, sitting in our gathering, shared how the lot of them would go into a washroom and have a ‘toilet bath.’ They used the water as a small basin to clean up in. I was aghast and Tom could see that from the look on my face! He chuckled and remarked, “Why do you think we smell the way we do?”

The next day, with my laptop in tow, I was determined to find a better way to maintain my cleanliness. My research led me to the Community Rec Center, who offered everyday, FREE showers to those in need. I am reminded of their friendly smiles welcoming me in, every time I came to get clean. The feeling of the hot water pounding against my weary soul and dry, weathered skin, felt like a day at the spa!

Returning to my group, I handed out coffees and shared about the local amenities being offered for free. They thanked me, but Michael shook his head and shared his honesty, “Listen that’s all great and dandy, but we are all downtown and the Rec Centre is clear across town- on the outskirts! Some of us have curfews at the Shelter or times we need to check in, plus several of us here have disorders that make taking a bus- a high anxiety situation.”

I looked over at my micra car and wondered how many of them could I possibly fit in and shuttle? It was then as if Tom read my mind and said, “Tonya, you cannot save the world…you need to remember to have self-care for you.”

From there on, I struggled to get into a hot shower and linger under the pulsating water, while others were going without.

Even now, within my beautiful suite, I think of those who are pouring the contaminated water from a toilet, onto their bodies.

The last thing that changed my life forever, was the ability to sleep- to have a deep slumber – one where you could stretch out, rest and fall asleep. The first night in my new, furnished place, I did a starfish onto the massive, soft King mattress and wept all over it! It was a lot to take in and I found myself opening my fridge, to see food in it…all of the new beginnings were overwhelming, and I still find myself thinking I don’t deserve all of this, when so many others are suffering!

Last year, in being displaced, my heart had always been on edge, on guard and I was sleep deprived. I recall one time when I found an underground parking lot, shut off the car, stuffed my keys in my purse and I passed out- sleeping upright. A Security guard woke me up- 3 hours later. He seemed rather timid and when he explained that he thought I was dead, I understood his apprehension.

This summer, also saw blessings with me having surgery on my heart… I am deeply grateful to have a new lease on life!

All of these heartfelt things I’ve shared, is because those truly homeless have taught me so much! Their misgivings were my blessings, for I realized many things I had taken for granted or misunderstood myself.

While this Thanksgiving, I will be alone and I miss my ‘Island family,’ my thoughts will be with the roots of my own blood family, I have reconnected with! It was time for me to come out of the shadows and remind myself what I am now living for…the love and light of those who have brightened my life, shared in their compassionate hearts and reminded me there is indeed, Thanks to be given!

 

By TL Alton

Canadian Fiction Under the Sitka Tree by TL Alton

 Under the Sitka Tree is a Canadian, historical book of fiction.

It is set in the 1950’s, in an isolated, coastal town called Ospero Falls, BC.

The tight-knit community is a place where doors remain unlocked, and people help one another. It is a place that sees children fill their Radio Flyers with home-baked goodies, to sell after church and raise funds- for whatever is needed within their town.

 Due to the influx of various individuals, the mountain has been carved and where there were trees, now there is a settlement of people, who flock to its new beginnings.

Within the close-knit community, resides two, separate families. Jack, Sophia and Christian O’Connelly, along with Victoria and Skylar Falls, all move into the small town. 

Due to trust being broken, each of them carries secrets. Within the ties of community, they seek out their true identities, in order to find healing.

Ospero Falls has deep roots within its citizens, where during Sunday services- no one falls asleep in hearing the Good word. It is where individuals visit, at the homes of those operating the small businesses, which keeps one another alive and thriving. The various cultures living among the mountains see people gather together, to divide up cabbage rolls, baked salmon au gratin and rice balls.

 Engaging in conversations over the latest catch of the day and discussing local chatter, is to offset the conflicts, scattered across the nations.

It is here that a father ‘s close bond with his son is found rooted within the forest. While the nurturing love of mothers, help one another, throughout the difficulties each encounters.

Within the slumber of the forest, awaits a Sitka spruce, waiting for its discovery. Among the towering mass, contained inside, is the pillar of the tree - the heartwood. After tragedy strikes Ospero Falls, the Sitka is found by a young boy. His pursuit leads him to make use of the tree, for a bigger purpose, which changes everything within the townspeople.

For every aspect of light that shines within Ospero Falls, there are elements of darkness. Shadows where domestic abuse lingers and racism threatens, to over spill from another nearby town. Among the various maladies, there are reminders that death- although distant- is in truth, closer to those whose lungs breathe in, the brackish sea.  

In spite of their vulnerabilities and after exposure to a hidden, deadly secret, a little girl finds herself sharing her worries- in the most magical of places- Mother Nature. Her connections to the woodlands run deep; a place for her to trust, discover and play in a place she feels free. When she finds herself among the sprawling canopy of the Sitka, it fosters a protective energy. One that helps offset something, which is cloaked in something sinister.

Love, loss and the awakenings of those who reside in the small, yet thriving community have a connection to mother nature, the fragility of life and the value of friendship.

Under the Sitka tree, is about finding the balance of light, within the darkness. Weaved inside the storyline, are the roots of those, who are all interconnected.

A love story, which reminds us of our own fears and weaknesses.

Under the Sitka Tree, is infused with history that reveals how we embrace one another, in times of conflict. Within a flicker of light uncovered in an old lantern- each character's personal transformations burn brighter…as they seek something… with a greater purpose.

***

Under the Sitka Tree is available for purchase.

www.tlaltondesign.com

by TL Alton 

When Art Mirrors Life

 

Yesterday, I saw my faith being shaken. As I was about to embark onto a ferry to Victoria and collect hundreds of dollars in misprints- of my book.

My past wounds were being exposed to the salty ocean and the sting of my errors, in okaying the wrong file to the printers, seemed too overwhelming. I felt the enemy trying to get a stronghold over me. His caustic words were upon me, like stinging nettles upon my bare skin, he whispered in my ear….you are not worthy of anyone’s love.

I had to find a spot, where my tears would not be seen. Walking up the stairs, I leaned over the railing of the ferry and took a deep breathe in.

Folding my hands together in prayer, I allowed the light to slowly engulf me. I stood my ground and reminded myself…whom shall I fear?

I reminded myself that God not only loves me, but all my trust is in him.

The mistake I had made, was a human error, not to be confused with the enemy- who I was giving too much credit for.

What had occurred in the first print of my book was to serve a better purpose.

The day of my PFO closure on my heart, I had made the mistake of bringing my cell phone with me.

I knew better. The last time I was in hospital- after my stroke- I took my cell and changed every password I held within my device. I promised myself, I would not make that mistake again!

However, my anxiety grew the morning of my surgery and when I typed my okay for the printers to print off the first copies of my book…I gave consent to the wrong file!

I tried, but it was too late, to stop the printing of the first fifty copies.

In typing this…I breathe a sigh of relief that it was not 500 copies!

After many tears shed, and me calling myself unkind names – due to my error, I set out to share with those who were interested in buying the first edition of Under the Sitka Tree.

I was honest and accountable, for what was my error- not at all the printers.

To my surprize and delight, everyone who has ordered a polished edition, also requested a misprint.

After speaking with Lindsey Cocking from Island Blue Print Co. Ltd, he assured me it happens often when the first run of the book, needs revising. Lindsay also shared how these ones are sold as “Advanced Readers Copy” and it was then I decided to slash the price of these paperbacks to ½ off. The next run will be sold at original cost of $20 and these misprints are now only $10.

Being an avid researcher, I decided to read about other instances, where something has happened to the first copy of a book being printed. The most brilliant example I found, was a woman reading her romance novel, discovered inserted within her book, a few pages of a Stephen King novel! Now, that is some transition and one that made me feel relieved that I am not alone.

By the time the ferry docked in Swartz Bay, I was feeling lighter, as I was determined to rise from the dark ashes that once bound me to the Island.

Driving off the ramp and onto the highway, I reflected on the person now returning eight months later.

I thought of all I have become as a Christian writer, due to everything I have endured.

When in 2000, I set out to write my first novel, I did not plan on composing a story of happily ever afters. From the beginning, I knew God’s purpose for me was to take every bit of my pain, my sorrows and my losses, in order to create characters that were likable, relatable and even loathed.

In my novel, there is purpose in the pain. The Lord took the battle scarred heart of mine and in my own research of my characters, I was shown the depths of each one. As I wrote, I worked on my novel knowing the presence of the enemy  was often near, for he was trying to deter me. Yet what God has done in me, fills me with his light and love. In Him, I see hope arise.

One day, as I read my bible, I read a sidebar story that resonated deep within me…

In the shop of a blacksmith, there are three types of tools.

There are tools on the junkpile: outdated, broken, dull and rusty.

There are tools on the anvil: melted down, molten hot, moldable, changeable.

There are tools of usefulness: sharpened, primed, and defined.

They lie ready in the blacksmiths tool chest, available to their master, fulfilling their calling.

We are all somewhere in the blacksmith’s tool chest. We are either on the scrap pile, on the anvil, in the Master’s hands, or in the tool chest. From the shelves to the workbench , from the water to the fire, I am sure you will see yourself.  ~ Max Lucado

I know, in my own tool box and connected to my grief, there are many bent and misshapen tools.  This is due to an aching void that remains, where there has been a loss of control and a struggle for others to see…who I really am. 

Often though in fighting to just let go, I have lost myself in the transition and I am pulled back- into the throes of an addicted family, where our roots are scarred...but still hold threads of connections. 

As the years of my writing has carried me throughout various life chapters, I never have wanted to be a writer who projects being perfect. If anything the things within, are not secrets I am holding unto. In being authentic, I name my darkness, yet refuse to let it claim me. There is a power coursing through my veins when I look into the distance for the lighthouse…when I have lost my way. My hope is that others will still see that light shining within me.

Extending my hands, I reach out for the grace that anchors me, when the storms prove too much.

After departing the ferry and driving along the Pat Bay Highway, I knew where my first stop would be.

Pulling over by the sign that states: “Welcome to Victoria,” I parked at the spot where I lived (on and off) in my car for 7 ½ months. This area, I arrived at, was to express my gratitude for all I had been brought through. As I closed my eyes, I gave thanks to God for how far I truly have come….since those nights of despair.

I allowed myself only a short visit, as I no longer had a right to linger...in the past.

Next, I went and paid for my 2 boxes of first edition books. I don’t like to always refer to them as misprints, because I have learned a valuable and costly lesson from this!

I certainly will never forget this process! I have worked diligently with my formatter, Leon Oldale, to ensure the next file I okay to send, is the correct one! 

Another thing I discovered about books that have had this happened… some are considered a worthwhile investment.

A rare first edition of a “Harry Potter” book featuring a misspelled title, fetched  $90,000 at an auction.

Now, I am not claiming to be J.K. Rowling…however, if your going to dream…it may as well be big! 😊

Later on in my visit to the Island, I spent my afternoon seeking some of my brothers and sisters in Christ.

I shared with them some of the journey of Under the Sitka Tree. 

How I  was inspired to write about indifference, as it stems from how I have felt. I chose to share about equality in my novel, because I believe in it. How I decided to have a character in my novel, have the same weaknesses I have, because I know of the shame associated with it.

I then talked about how I missed attending church and listening to the sermons. We talked about some of the ones that have stayed with me. I shared how I found it interesting that as a church attendee, when there was a bulletin announcing pornography, to be discussed…the following Sunday- attendance was down. The truth is, more needed to be said and shared about addictions, of all kinds. 

The broken, were the ones Jesus liked to keep company with. 

I believe because no one wants to be judged, branded and stigmatized, there was prior to the pandemic, a reluctance to put on display in church, those addictions that are being sought out in the dark.  

I know it's also because no one wants to be signaled out and labeled. 

Throughout the journey of my novel that took me over two decades to complete and in print, there were chapters of sin and shame. I experienced betrayal on horrible levels of heartache, while I suffered my greatest loss, in the death of my only child. I spent many nights of solitude struggling, therefore I would invite Jesus in...to guide my way.

The word says:

For the spirit of heaviness

Put on the garment of praise

That's how we fight our battles

~ “Surrounded” by Michael W. Smith

After dropping off some copies of my books, I felt a pull towards a place that holds painful memories. After praying, I decided to venture into territory, where the soil was tainted- from the night of my attack, back in May 2014.

I grabbed an ice cap and found my way to an address; I truly wish I could forget.

Parking my car in Esquimalt, in front of an apartment building, I did my best to ‘blend in.’ However, with my mirrored sunglasses and blond highlights- I drew a poor comparison to the former Police-detective series (Starsky & Hutch).

I was unsure of my purpose, in stopping at a location, where a crime had occurred, all those years ago.

I honestly did not expect anything to happen, but something drew me to the place where I survived a night of terror.

Taking a sip of my ice cold beverage, suddenly I saw a man emerge. I almost dumped my drink all over me. For my perpetrator had never been caught nor charged with the crimes against me.

In a city where another news story covered the ‘rape culture’ of Victoria, there had been instances where a few bartenders had been guilty of lacing drinks- in order to receive kickbacks.

I now know this is exactly what happened to me, when I was taken against my will and brought to the very apartment building, I was now staking out.

As a man walked down the sidewalk, my anxiety was surmounting. In an instant, I recognized him as the one who had me drugged, kidnapped and sexually assaulted me during one night of terror- I've never completely healed from.

While I have shared openly with readers that I have forgiven the man who added another layer of stain, upon me- who stole from me what was mine – I still felt the need to see if he existed? 

Much like my statement I finally provided Police, it was with purpose I returned here- to reclaim for me/Tonya- what was once lost.

Now, as he continued to walk near my vehicle, something else caught me off guard.

In his hand, he held onto the hand of a child.

In an instance, I saw something different about the man. 

It was a reminder that while it often hurts to revisit a place where you saw only pain… there can be a new perspective.

While I was denied my god given rights that horrible night in 2014, here was this man who I felt justified in seeing as a terrifying villain- holding the hand so tenderly, of a loved one.

In that moment, he was not the monster I had referred to….no, he was stripped of the ugliness and now I simply saw him…as a perfectly- flawed- human being.

Starting my car, I drove off, with tears streaming down my face. My thoughts were flooded with memories and my heart was beating fast. As I drove out of a city, I struggled eight years to survive in, I remember a Counselling session in my support group, where a beautiful Japanese girl had brought a once broken piece of pottery and now it was repaired. 

As I drove back along the highway, the rays of sun burst through the clouds of cobalt. Suddenly, I let all of my emotions out...onto my steering wheel.

The little girl in me, realized there was peace in knowing that despite all of the pain I had endured, no one can ever harm my soul, within!

My next stop saw me go into the local grocery store, to pick up a bouquet of sunflowers.

I then drove out to the local cemetery, to visit the grave of my dearest friends daughter.

I stayed there for awhile, as I had to collect my thoughts, after what had just taken place.

My eyes spotted a pine cone and as I held it in my hand , I thought of the one at my home- from my beloved Sitka spruce tree. That cone represents nearly half of my writer’s life, connected to its roots.

I thought about the lie – the one from the enemy- that tries to convince me that I am unloved. Yet there can be beauty found...even in some of the most difficult places.

For when my mind is at war, riddled with anxious thoughts, I turn to the light and find inner harmony.

I thought about how I am drawn to write about such dark things, with rawness and honesty.

The simple answer is…I want to bring my readers, back into the light and share the joy I have found, in my faith. Not because I am a perfect Christian...no, rather I want to share what I've experienced to say that there is hope despite my own flaws. 

If anything I've learned, as a writer, I know I am part of a bigger group of talented souls- whose ink is dipped in depressions, addictions and struggles.

Novelist Anne Rice grew up steeped in the myth and lore of New Orleans. She didn't find success as a writer until tragedy struck. Rice is said to have fallen into a deep depression after her 5-year-old daughter died from leukemia. She found that her only relief from despair was writing. Her first novel, Interview With a Vampire, was turned into a successful movie, followed by many other tales in The Vampire Chronicles series. Today, this famous depressed writer has a huge cult following. Dr. Thomson notes that though many writers struggle with their work, there are others — such as Rice — for whom writing is a release. 

It can bring pleasure and a sense of peacefulness, through being surrounded by a world of people the writer created, he suggested.

Depression and creativity are thought to go hand in hand, leaving us with an impressive list of famous depressed writers.

Source.

By Madeline R. Vann, MPH Medically Reviewed by Pat F. Bass III, MD, MPH

Reviewed: June 19, 2013

Through it all, I always strive to keep my eyes on the light.

In the Bible (Romans 8:38) Paul writes, “… I am convinced that nothing can separate us from God’s love… neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow - not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below - indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.” The same Lord is Lord of all, and gives richly to all who call on Him, for, “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.”

My day ended at a beach; I know well. I have walked barefoot along the wet sand, in search of sea glass. I have  sat in my car at 4am, awaiting the sunrise over the rolling waves.

I returned to do a special release of sorts. The first thing I did, was to take a sunflower and place it next to something special, on a brilliant piece of driftwood.

In the placement of the flower, it was my way of releasing what had taken place over the course of my one day, back in Victoria.

To remind myself how it is well within my soul.

To reflect on such a beautiful and powerful reminder that I AM Worthy. The light within…was not to be destroyed.

I then decided to do a unique book release on this beach…

I had brought a card and a clear plastic bag, to protect my novel, from the elements. I signed the book and wrote in the card that instead of a ‘message in a bottle,’ this was a ‘message in a book.’

I then wrapped it up and placed it higher up near the road, as opposed too close to the water- where the incoming tide could possibly wash it away!

It was my way of giving thanks back…to an Island, where I had spent years working on my book, shared in fellowship and found the healing in some places, I truly needed.

As I drove  back to the ferries, to return home, I would encounter a setback to do with my reservation. Soon, I realized it was the enemies way of keeping me from departing onto the open sea…to my new beginnings.

A quick call to friends I consider family, saw their serving hearts help me out of my predicament.

The irony of this, was I had to leave the ferry area, to make a call to them. Turning down a road I thought I had never been down before, I discovered a couple living/sleeping in their Honda civic. Their belongings were crammed in the back seats. 

They were holding onto each other. I just wanted to say to them: This isn’t permanent. You can get out of your situation and find hope...even in the darkest of places.

Turns out, that road they were on...I had travelled plenty of times, during my own bouts of displacement. 

As I completed my call and request from my friends, I prayed again for the couple in front of me.

Ever so grateful for the means to arrive home, I boarded the ferry. By now, my day that had begun at 6am saw me step out onto the ferry deck at dusk. The sea breeze felt so good against my skin! 

As I admired the coral sunset over the ocean, I saw a reflection of myself in one of the windows. Instead of having a sorrowful ending to my story, the light was resettling its way, back into me. 

Once, where the cracks had been, I saw the handiwork of God who is the ink in my pen.

His mercies are multiplied…

In the end, as I continue onward… I understand the flawed, imperfect parts of me...sees my tool chest have various shapes and sizes all within it ~ be a part...of who I am.

by TL Alton