Jodi Lewchuk

A stone etched with the word “Strength.” An otherworldly landscape of ice. A face-to-face encounter with a cardinal. The grief journey for MAiD caregivers is a unique one, where loss and participation in that loss twine tightly together. As I continue to untangle those threads, on the year anniversary of my mother’s passing via MAiD, the Universe reminded me that love and de@th belong to a cosmic mystery, one our minds struggle to grasp but our hearts have the capacity to understand.

MAiD Dispatches: One Year Later — Jodi Lewchuk My mom looked around the room at each of us circling her bed. In her left arm was the AV that would deliver the sedative to put her into a coma state and then the powerful muscle relaxant that would stop her heart. With her ability to speak having been stolen by her rare neurodegen

The Long Game | It’s absurd how unprepared I was for the long game that is grief. It’ll be three months soon, and in life’s grand scheme that’s nothing! Hardly any time at all! But the world has moved on. Once you start doing “normal” things — working, eating, exercising, doing laundry, smiling occasionally — people assume you’re fine and stop asking. Or get that fatigued look when you bring up the de@d. “Oh. They’re still on this,” their faces say. I understand for the first time why some traditions have mourners wear black for an entire year. It’s a reminder to look for what you cannot see.

Because I am actually fine. But also not. What I am is different. Invisibly different.

I’ve moved into a new stage of grief. A reality I couldn’t grasp until I was on the other side is settling into the coils of my brain. I feel its gravity as a weight, making my head heavy: I will never see her again, talk to her again. I purse my lips and close my eyes at the word “never.” There was no way to anticipate it. It can only be understood in awful, real time.

The weight of never takes up residence in my chest, too. It burrows deeply. It feels like a persistent need to cough, even though it cannot be expelled. I want to turn time back. I want to help her again, even though the helping was breaking me apart. I want to be more patient with her this time. I want to say kinder things and be more tender.

I want to say I love you I love you I love you I love you over and over and over again.

RELEASE | Who am I?

It’s the question I ask myself every day now that I am a motherless daughter. It’s a question I ask myself every time I think of how unequivocally my word of the year from 2024, “Transform,” did its job: It took my mom and my dog. It moved me into a new home. It pivoted my job. It stretched me beyond any limit I thought I had as solo elder-caregiving peaked while I tried to work and keep myself in one piece.

It would be impossible not to be reshaped by such monumental change, except the question is: Changed into what?

It’s a question that cannot be answered without leaving some of who I’ve been behind. Most critically, it’s time to let go of any last vestiges of doubt I’ve ever had about my personal strength and potential. The gap remaining between the me and life I imagine for myself? It’s time to close it. I came through the last year on the tail of a monumental healing cycle that began in 2012 and reached an apex in 2022. As 2024 drew to a close, I felt it loosen its grip.

There are now new hills to climb. And I can’t mount that challenge carrying my old self on my back. I have to release her.

“Release” is a word that’s come up over and over again for water bearers this year and every time I see it, I can feel its resonance deep in my gut. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare me just as deeply as “Transform” did. I knew the reward of transformation had a high cost. I suspect the same will be true of “Release.”

I hope only that in the process of stepping into my most potent authentic power by releasing what no longer serves me and who I no longer am, I can operate with the strength, grace, agility, and openness the older versions of me worked so hard to cultivate. Honour what came before. Release it. Step into the future.

https://windsorchapel.com/tribute/details/13387/Judy-Lewchuk/obituary.html -start

Obituary of Judy Lynn Lewchuk | Central Chapel Passed away December 27th 2024 surrounded by love and family. Loving mother to Jodi Lewchuk. Dear sister to Steven Mihoren (Cher), Janice Inkratas (Gary), and Jerry Mihoren (Bena). Judy is also survived by her Aunt Mary Bondy, and will be further missed by many cousins, extended family and friends.....