A forever home

As I sit there writing the words “let me know what time you plan to grab him, so should I have all his stuff ready” I Feel a pain in my heart, a remembering, of these words, of this moment. Except before, I was the foster child being passed around.

I started fostering a dog, he came in afraid, but curious. A feeling I knew too well, so it was natural we instantly bonded. One week in, I was given the disheartening call that the organization had found a home for (Meatloaf). I surely didn’t expect to have this happen so quickly, let alone feel this way. I had fostered a few dogs in the past and I could always let them go because I was living in Bali and I wasn’t sure how long I would be there. However, this time it felt different. I felt a deep connection to this animal, somewhat like a soul connection. But I was too late. I had never felt confident enough to take care of another’s complete needs outside of my own. So I was left with the reality that I would be giving this animal up to who knows who. Would they know he gets anxiety sometimes and needs to be sat with and consoled? Would they see when his little heart is beating fast and it being a signal to give him your attention? Would they know that he listens well and wants to please, but doesn’t like to be yelled at? Would they give him the love he needs?

But these were question I wouldn’t get answers to, I was just a temporary home.

So off he went. again holding back the tears, I stated over and over, “if they don’t want him, for any reason I will take him, please let them know this.”

And inside I went, where I let it all out. All the pain of myself being passed around from home to home. All the situations where people signed up to be “parents” only to treat me like I was an animal myself. Calling me names, being abusive, and sometimes sexual towards. This is what foster care provides, a roof over your head but no safety, no real love. For most, it was just about the paycheck.

As I sat in the room crying for myself. I realized the gift this little animal had brought to me was an opportunity to heal. To reflect back on some very painful experiences and to weep. Sometimes the hardest part in healing is allowing yourself to grieve. To acknowledge that there were things that should never have happened to you. And to let yourself feel the pain for what happened, then self soothe. And hopefully, find compassion for the ones that did it to you, and let it go.

As I was deep in tears, my phone started ringing. I was told to come outside. that Meatloaf was mine. I couldn’t believe it. He came right back! I was told he was crying in the car and they realized we were bonded and they didn’t want to break that. Ahhh…. how good that felt, to know as scared as I was to commit to taking care of another life, that I was given this opportunity. So I made a promise to him then, I would take care of him, no matter what. That I was his new mom, and he has a forever home with me.

There is always something to be grateful for, and today it is for my new life as a mom, thank you Meatloaf for trusting me to take care of you. I know we will do great things in this life together because all great things start from a place of love.

What I've come to know about death.

I was one of those lucky people that never had anyone close to me pass away till my late 30’s. After my mom just over a year ago, I said, “I’m glad it was her,” that one of the most significant relationships in my life was given this place. She got to be my first taste of death.

The thing with death, at least to me is it is different than loss. Heartbreak over someone leaving me has been harder than death because I knew that I would probably never get back to the love we once shared. Death to me feels like a moment in time is forever captured. Knowing that the love you had at the moment they passed will always stay that way. To me, that is the blessing of death.

I was also lucky because both people I DEEPLY loved (now my Grandma), got to be free from their suffering. Death and change are the only constant things in life, we will all experience it. So in some way that is beautiful. To know we all feel the same pains, the same fears, and the same excitements. It allows us, at that moment, to feel like one.

So here is my love letter to you Grandma,

Thank you, thank you for sending us those checks every bday and holiday. When I was younger I didn’t know you did that so you would know we were alive when we cashed them. Mom implanted some not so great stuff about you, and as kids, we didn’t know better to make our own opinions of you. I’m thankful I gave you the chance to make my own opinion when I was old enough.

I am thankful I got to know your spirit, that I got to take you to a gay run restaurant that verbally abuses you, I thought it would be funny, boy did you surprise them when you gave their lip right back to them:-) I’m thankful I got to be the person that brought you to your last visit with your daughter, my mom. I’m thankful that my love for you both allowed you to slowly start to mend your relationship with each other. I’m thankful to see that you were one of the few people my mom talked to the most towards the end of her life. I’m thankful that I got to witness true healing. I got to see all the pain and misunderstanding between you too, come back to love.

I’m thankful that in some way I got to play out the role of a daughter for you. My mom was so immersed in her addiction that she wasn’t able to see what she stripped you of. You told me one visit, “no one ever thought about what I wanted from my daughter, someone to travel with, to share normal Mother-daughter things with.” I’m thankful I got to travel with you. For your 90’s birthday, we went to visit this whole other side of my family, on the east side of Canada. I had never met them and I got to see how much they all loved you. I got to witness that and to feel even more honored to be your granddaughter.

Thank you for being my #1 supporter. I have many, but your support was different. You made me demand things from life. When my ex took back the motorcycle he gave me, you said, “don’t give it back.” I laughed at this because this is not how the law works. It was never put under my name, so I had too, but I didn’t tell you for a while because I knew it would make you upset, but I know you were proud of me when I bought my own:-)

I’m glad I was the person that got to be there when you lost your second husband. I got to see you so angry, and anger that scared me. I was too young then to know, that anger was the pain of your loss. It was your love.

But truly grandma, I want to thank you for believing in me. And for giving me the best compliment a person can get, “you give me bragging rights.” You told me this 6 days before you passed. Thank you for loving me the way you do, and thank you for being the person you were, so I could love you the way that I do.

Love your granddaughter,

Tarah

I know that I now have another guardian angle looking out for me, i’ll be sure to take you and mom on a hell of a ride. Trust me. Life has so much in store for me, I’m happy to know you’ll be along for this ride, just without the vehicle.

My Story

Full story with Photos here

Where do I begin? Do I start when I first saw my mom inject heroin? Or, do I start when my babysitter molested me? Do I start when my mom told me that I should hate the man that was in the house the night before because he did horrible things to her? Or, do I start when I tried to commit suicide? You see, life can sometimes be full of hardships, and bad things can happen to children. Sometimes this makes us question why we are here. But I don’t. I know why I am here. I am here to love. My story isn’t a story of victimhood, it’s a story of forgiveness and compassion.

I was brought into this world as a child of an addict. My mom became an addict as a child herself. No, it wasn’t because her parents were addicts. In fact, I don’t really know exactly why she became an addict, but that is her story, not mine. She was adopted into a middle-class family that loved her and tried their best to give her a good life, but somehow, addiction crept in. I often think it was from purely enjoying the feeling of being high. She told me many times that it helped her with her shyness. But as time went on, she started making bad choices and putting herself in the wrong places. She was abused and raped many times, which drove her further into her addiction. And then we were taken away.

I entered my first foster home at the age of five. I really didn’t understand why I was being taken away from my mom. Oh, and my dad wasn’t around then, he left when I was two. I continued to live in and out of foster homes, as my mom attempted to get clean, but kept relapsing. I lived in a total of 11 foster homes, a few women’s shelters, and an orphanage. By the time I was 11, my mom finally decided, or was made to, sign us over to the government. Yes, I had siblings, but out of respect for their privacy, I am choosing not to mention them. I always questioned why I had the life I had. I knew, even from a very young age, that there was a reason.

During middle school, I was told time and time again that I would turn out to be like my mom, an addict. I was told that addiction runs in that family, and it is genetic. I never believed them. I just knew I would have a better life. I guess this drove me to look for my ‘outs,’ to look for ‘opportunities.’ I learned when there was no food at home, I could find food at my friends’ homes. And that if I was going to move around so much, I needed to learn how to make friends quickly. So I figured out how that if you wanted to be liked quickly, it usually meant pleasing others, and not going against their opinions. I also brought this back into my foster home. You see, I needed love. I knew this. I just didn’t really understand what that was. It was something I would have to learn to let go of later in life when I realized I didn’t need others’ love if they couldn’t love me as I am.

After my mom signed us over to the government, I didn’t hear from her for many years. I think she just kept falling deeper into her addiction. During this time, I really craved normality. I wanted to stay in one home. I didn’t want to be labeled as ‘the foster child’ at school. So when I turned 12, I was legally able to make my own decisions, I decided to go up for adoption. I chose an older couple as my new parents because they seemed nice, and there were only two couples that come forward wanting to adopt me. I was placed into their home on a ‘trial’ basis. However, the ‘trial’ ended quickly as I struggled deeply with feelings of guilt.

I felt like I was betraying my mom and siblings by not wanting to be part of their family, but I also felt like I was betraying the adoptive parents by not wanting to be their child. I felt stuck. I couldn’t see a way out. Mixed with all my experiences so far, I decided I no longer wanted to be here, so I attempted to kill myself. Thankfully, I changed my mind before the poisonous fumes I inhaled did some serious damage to my organs, but I was hospitalized and put in a ‘high risk’ ward for teenagers.

The thing people don’t always understand is that beauty can sometimes be a curse. Little did I know that the teens in the ward had already started dating each other, so when I came in, I was signaled as a threat by the females. Which meant they needed validation from their boyfriends, that I wasn’t. The boys showed their allegiance by humiliating me in front of everyone. One boy went as far as smearing a sandwich in my face. But here is the thing I have come to learn about life. Just when you think you really can’t handle anything more, and death is no longer an option, something happens. You finally get a break. It might be small, but if you are willing to see it, it can change your life. Mine came in the form of a guardian. She was the caseworker for my adoption and when I attempted to commit suicide, I began to see how much this person really cared for me. She showed up time and time again, to build my trust.

Since I was no longer wanting to stay with the adoptive parents, I was supposed to be reassigned to another social worker, but this woman saw how fragile I was, and fought to keep me on. She won and soon placed me in the most perfect foster home. One that was a single mother, and I was her first foster child. This meant I came in with a clean slate and all the wrongs done by other kids were not projected onto me. I was allowed to just be me, and she trusted me. Ha, trust. You never know nice that feels, till you have it. With this new home and a stable relationship in my life, I began to feel happiness again, and then a dream came true.

While out at a nightclub, yes, I was doing better, but let’s not forget I was a teenager after all. And as teenagers do, they lie about where they are going. So yes, I got scouted, but there was a catch, he would need $3,000 for me to have the ‘lessons.’ When I went to my social worker to tell her about all of this, she saw my excitement and truly believed I could be a model. So as she always did for me, she did everything in her power to help support my happiness. She got me the funding from the government! If anyone knows anything about getting money from the government for things, they would know how difficult that is, and I will leave it at that.

The lessons proved to be useless, however, I was given the opportunity to be put in a model search with agents from all over the world. It was there that an Italian agency asked to have me come model for them. So off I went to Italy at 15 years old on my own. My modeling career had many struggles, but through it all, I was supported by the guidance of my social worker. She helped me through self-doubt, wanting to give up, and eating disorders. Meanwhile, my mom came back into my life, and I slowly began to build a relationship with her. The beautiful thing about these two women in my life is that they were never competitive with each other. My birth mom knew she was an addict and wasn’t suited for taking care of me, however, she held no resentment of another woman taking her place, she was grateful someone was there for me.

As I slowly got to know my mom, I realized the reason she pushed us away and why she ran to drugs, was because she couldn’t handle emotions. Mine or her own. She harbored so much guilt inside from her choices, as a human and a parent, which kept her running to the drugs. If I was to show her my own pain from her choices, she would take off again. She would think staying in my life would only hurt me more. But I really wanted her in my life, so again, I hid my feelings.

When I modeled in London I was watching a documentary on addicts. It was extremely graphic. I knew then that If I wanted to share my story, it had to be done in this way. I started using my modeling money to put myself through small courses on filmmaking and editing. I bought a camera and when my mom wasn’t ready to have me film her, I turned it onto my modeling life. I felt so strongly about wanting to make a documentary. I believe it would help other people going through a similar situation, knowing how alone I felt in my own struggle. I always felt ashamed to even speak about it, yet behind a camera, it somehow felt different. Which proved to be extremely therapeutic.

In 2004 I got a big modeling job that paid me $15,000. At the same time, I got a phone call from my mom. She told me she had hit rock bottom and wasn’t good health-wise. She also finally agreed to let me film her. So I flew back to Canada with my boyfriend at the time. I showed him how to shoot with my camera and together we started my film, ‘To the Moon and Back.’ I created a timeline of a week of shooting, covering all the questions and things I wanted to see. However, I had no idea what I was about to walk into.

I had never truly seen my mom’s addiction. She did her best to hide if from us as kids. However, one time I spied on her in the bathroom and saw her friend inject her with heroin. Besides that, we didn’t really see much. We just knew it was happening. I remember when the social workers would come to make sure things were ok at home, my brother and I would hide all of her needles. So when I stepped into a room that was barely bigger than the queen-sized bed including a kitchen, which and she was sharing this with another addict, I was shocked. But what was more shocking, was her state. She weighed no more than 100 pounds at 5”9”. She was mostly skin and bones, with scabs on her face and no eyebrows. She wasn’t able to pick me up because she had no eyesight, which I later found out to be a side effect of drugs she was taking. Many of them were laced with very harmful chemicals to make it look like there was more of the drug then there really was. When I entered the room, I tried to hold myself together, but I couldn’t. All I wanted at that moment was to take care of this woman I loved so much.

Love is an interesting thing. It can see past everything in front of you and just bring you back to your happiest memories. Memories flooded me of all the times she would tell elaborate stories to my friends and me on our front doorsteps. When she would make rice crispy squares with me, how she always smiled at everyone, always spoke to strangers, and how much she cared for things like the plants in our house, or any animal we came across. Sadly, she just couldn’t care for us like that because of her addiction. An addiction I still knew so little about. I guess I felt if I could understand what she was going through I would know how to help her. So I tried. With camera in hand, I kept asking questions. This went on for 15 years. As the years passed, our lives changed many times. She moved, got clean, then relapsed. I came out of a 6.5-year relationship that destroyed me and took 4 years to heal from. Meanwhile, I continued modeling, living in different places around the world, and she ended up returning in East Hastings after a few years of almost being clean.

Along the way, we slowly kept learning about each other. She learned that after I broke down when she relapsed, I needed to tell her how I was feeling. I needed her to be there for me. She listened and tried her best to be there. She helped me talk through my break up and encouraged me to follow my dreams, whatever they may be. However, her addiction at times made living my own life very hard. I remember being at auditions and receiving an email from her, it started out normal then ended with a few lines of zzzzzzz’s or hhhhh’s, or whichever key it was when she nodded off. I remember reading these then having to go in a room and smile and act like my life was perfect, so I could get the job. But that was my life. It was so drastically different. Here I was living a ‘model’ lifestyle with wealthy people around me, traveling to some of the most beautiful destinations, then I would return home to clean up my mom’s room, and make sure she didn’t fall off her bed when nodding off. It became almost comical to me how different it was. Not that it was a laughing matter, but comedy was our saving grace. My mom and I looked for the humor in it all. We had to because so much of it was so dark that we would have lost ourselves to it.

It took me a LONG time to be ok with the fact that my mom was an addict, but I came to see that things were not changing. When she needed her fix, she would end our visits without saying why, but I knew. After flying home, then usually taking a bus for at least an hour each way, to only get at most an hour visit was not cutting it for me. So I negotiated with her that if she needed to do her drugs, that she just don’t do it in front of me. Again, she listened, but there were a few times I had the not so pleasant experience of finding her with a needle in the arm. Which often broke me, but I told her how it made me feel when she came back to her senses. The thing is, I became the only family member to show up in person, so she needed me. We all need to be loved, and to be touched. My visits with her brought life back into her, and even though a lot of time I felt like I was doing it for her, I came to see I needed them just as much.

Together we healed our relationship, through love and boundaries. There were still extremely hard days, but as I got to know her, I started to understand a bit of why she used and stopped taking it personally. Mostly it was to avoid the withdrawal at this stage, other times it was because things were hard for her, she lost many friends to drugs. And yes, sometimes it was because of me because I was leaving and she knew she would be alone again. This one was the hardest to watch. To watch her fight back the tears and put herself in a state she could barely hold a conversation. I could only imagine how lonely she must feel, and she knew she was the only one that put her there. She knew the choices she made gave her this life, and that realization was hard to swallow. But the addiction was so ingrained in her, she truly didn’t know how to get out, and when she tried people would only see her as an addict. She had scars on her arm from injecting, and eyes that told you how hard of a life she lived.

I would have loved to think my mom would get clean. I kept that dream for so long, till it started to eat away at what we actually had. You see sometimes, things don’t go the way you want them to, and then what? Do you walk away? My mom and I knew this was not an option. We loved each other too much, so we had to learn to accept things as they were.

In my own life, I continued to model. During one of my travels, I went to Bali. Two weeks in I knew I wanted to live there. So I moved there. I’ve always been a bit of a free spirit, I guess I learned how to adapt to change quickly from my childhood, so it made me less afraid of trying new things. Soon after I moved there I started my own shoe company. I had no experience designing, but I knew that I loved boots, so I started there. It sure was quite the adventure, learning as I went along, in a foreign place. I also fell in love again, and when he wanted to move back to the States, I followed.

I decided to go back to school, not really sure what I would major in, but I knew due to my poor education from my childhood, it made me insecure and I wanted to fix that. I’m now 4 years in. I ended the relationship, and am slowly learning about myself again. The learning never ends and the motto I’ve always lived by is: ‘It’s never too late.’ It’s never too late to start over, it’s never too late to repair things that are broken, it’s never too late to try something new. It doesn’t mean it will be easy, or possible, but if you don’t try you will never know. Besides, have we ever really loved that which came too easy?

As for the mention of my molestation, some things don’t need to be spoken of in detail, all I know is in healing myself, I had to look for the root of what happened to me. It didn’t happen to me because ‘of’ me. It happened ‘to’ me. Cycles are often repeated until we do something to break them. Till we say I will not continue this in my lifetime. Often those who abuse were abused themselves. Besides, he was just a kid himself. I can feel sorry for the event that happened to me as a child. In fact, I should. It was unfair. However, I have learned to leave things in the past and to move forward with forgiveness. With forgiveness, I am the one who gets to sleep well at night, and I sure do love my sleep!”

Can you be too strong?

It has been just over a month since my mom passed and I am only starting to feel like my healing process is beginning. I was worried when she first passed and after a week I didn’t seem to be in deep mourning. However, I guess we all process things differently and I did have a whole lifetime of preparation for this. I used to mourn her death every time we didn’t hear from her months on end as she was off getting high with her friends. However, this past year she really became my best friend, and as much as one can do for another, I did it for her. So maybe it was a bit of a lack of regret that eased my suffering. Then my friend the other day beautifully said.. “maybe it is her, may she doesn’t want you to be sad anymore because of her” I like this one the best and am sticking with it:)

However, since she passed waves of a different sort have been coming in. I think this is the part where you realized you are truly separated from your parents. My mom and I used to joke all the time because I was defiantly the parent in our relationship. She even said, “wouldn’t it be great if I came back as your child” haha… not funny mom! I replied with, “id rather us be sisters or something in another lifetime, mom, you’re a lot to deal with hahaha.” But this idea of the parent and child dynamic has always played a huge role in our relationship. From the earliest time, I can remember I have to start taking care of my own needs, which included safety. It really does a number on you when at such an early age your basic need for safety isn’t met. There are tons of books on how we behave like humans when those basic needs aren’t met (in case you’re interested). So yea, this started popping its head into my present life, and then came the abandonment issues. Man oh man, thanks to parents for the awesome luggage!! ;-)

But the one that came yesterday was the winner. It was me, as a child in the hospital with her just recently, like so many moments in my life. “Being the strong one”. So can you be too strong? For me, the answer is yes. If being strong means you have to hide your fears, your pain, and your vulnerabilities, then yes. Because those are the very things that make us human. Yes, sure there may be times when we have to put them aside, but they usually find a way to come back up, in some other way. “Feelings” like to be addressed; they like to be seen, acknowledged, and they want to be loved. They are actually there as a guidance tool.. but that’s another post.

My mourning this week was for that little girl, that time after time, had to put on a brave face. in fact, perhaps it was for every child that has to to do this. My second mom is the best because she only ever sees that little girl in me, and it breaks her heart time and time again when she sees her not being taken care of. Thankfully I get to see through her eyes sometimes and get reminded I need to take care of that little girl inside.

If we don’t have that person to show us how important that little person is inside, may we find it ourselves? Because it probably needs a pretty big hug right about now.

Now that this dynamic has completed with my mom, I suppose this new era is the union of mother and child within.

A new chapter to embark on, and another… “ to be continued. “

Family.

My mom, her old boyfriend, and me.

As this is my first blog for the film why not start it off with a conversation about family, as that is what this whole film is geared towards. Ah family. It’s amazing how that one little word can give people such different feelings. Some might cringe at the word, others rejoice, but no matter how different it makes us feel the one thing that is the same.. is that all have one, or had one.

I just came back from visiting my mom. This visit was extra special because I was able to organize a meeting with all my brothers, their partners, and my mom. It's only the second time in our lives that we have all been in a room together. It's funny how during Christmas most people are so stressed out thinking about the presents to buy each other, that they forget it is a present, itself, just the opportunity to be together. A lot of families don’t live in the same city, have life responsibilities, or health issues that keep them away. So yes, sometimes just showing up is huge on its own! Anyway, this little gesture of us all just showing up brought tears to my mom’s eyes. It also brought tears to the staff where my mom lives, as that Christmas day no other women living on my moms floor had a visitor. It was so sad, I wished I could go hug them all and give them all presents, but I was there for another reason…to be with my family. As dysfunctional as it has been, it is MY family.

I remarked to my mom after the visit about a thought I had a little while ago, after paying a visit to my grandparents. As usual meals are a big thing when I visit them. We talk about it that day, and then usually buy the ingredients, plus the cooking, so it takes up a large part of the day. My grandfather loves to cook, so it's usually some nicely planned meal and lucky for us.. he's a good cook! What’s so special about these meals is that they are buddhist and we do a buddhist prayer before every meal. I love that about them, that they hold love and compassion for all beings. After our prayers, we continue on with great conversations which usually involve; talking about my mom’s drug use or her health issues, possibly something about my uncles drinking problem or lack of work, the daily struggles in my own life, mixed in with talks about the neighbors or their garden. After leaving last time I thought about how easy and flowing our conversations are. We aren’t holding onto anger or disappointment for how things are, we are just living through them…AS they are. On the outside our little reunion looks like a cookie cutter version of “seeing the grandparents” as we sit within their put together modest home with our tea and biscuits, yet within those walls has been so much heartbreak, but thats life… and FAMILY!

So I mentioned this to my mom, the fact that we have all somehow have managed to accept each other, to get past our differences, the need for control, or to change one another. She smiled, remarked on some of those drastic things that set us apart and as the conversation ended so did the thought.

Family.. it's just one little word, but it's what we put into, that makes it what it is. 🖤

And so it begins...

A lot of the time I don’t capture the special moments that are shared off camera. So my aim is to share some of those moments with you here. I hope you enjoy them, and please leave a comment if inspired. I love connecting!