An Honour And Award For Paul

I just got back from the Ontario Secondary School Teachers’ Federation Annual General Meeting, where the boy and I accepted an award in Paul’s honour. In a room filled with what had to be more than a thousand teachers, Paul was centered out and applauded – and we could not have been more proud. Following is the description of the award:

The Nancy Warrener Award, presented by the OSSTF to Paul Brown

Twelve years ago, OSSTF/FEESO chose to honour the many contributions of Nancy Warrener, a valued member who we tragically lost too soon. Nancy’s contributions to the Federation and her passion for professional development were so significant that an award was created in her name.

This award is presented annually by the Educational Services Committee to and OSSTF/FEESO member who demonstrates a high level of energy, a positive outlook, commitment to the professional development needs of all members, assistance to new OSSTF/FEESO members, and involvement at both the district and provincial levels.

Lighthouses date back over 3,000 years in history. Their light has always been and still serves as a source of hope and guidance, to bring people safely to their destination. Nancy Warrener served as that beacon for many of us and through her leadership and inspiration, wonderful things have happened, and continue to happen with professional development in our federation. This image of the Port Dover lighthouse is the site of many memories of Nancy for her family and friends who are pleased she is remembered by the Federation every year.

OSSTF greatly depends on the involvement of its own when providing quality service to our members. Paul Michael Brown was one of those who selflessly volunteered his time, wisdom, and enthusiasm to address the important issue of Bullying in our schools. He traveled across the province to educate others, always delivering the message with his heart-warming smile and passionate call for each of us to learn more and do more to stop bullying.

OSSTF’s team of presenters will not forget Paul, nor will I or other staff who were fortunate to have known him. The Educational Services Committee have chosen to recognize Paul Michael Brown as the recipient of this year’s Nancy Warrener Award and gratefully present to his family, this reminder of his many contributions.

Paul would have been beside himself, declaring himself firmly undeserving. But after finally accepting the award, he would have ultimately felt overwhelmingly honoured to be recognized by a group he held in such high esteem. We thank the OSSTF District 21 members for inviting us to share in this tribute to Paul; to be present to feel the love and respect of his peers was a privilege and a gift.

Find Success At The Corner Of Commitment St. and Perseverance Ave.

When my son was born, I worried terribly at the lack of maternal love I had expected to feel for this child. A fierce sense of what I would call protection or obligation, perhaps responsibility, yes. But love? No, not really.

Until the fifth day. The day we were leaving the hospital. And when it hit, it was like thunder in my soul. I felt like my bones had turned to steel and my heart tripled in size. It was a moment that changed my life. And I promised him. Everything. Without reservation or hesitation. Everything.

But when my daughter was born, five years later, I dreaded the burden that kind of love for her would lay on my shoulders. She had three holes in her heart. We spent months in and out of hospital, through bouts of heart failure, failure to thrive, feeding tubes. We lost touch with family, friends, life. My son asked what we would do if she died. And my first thought was that life would go back to normal.

The only thing that held back the guilt and fear was the enormous sense of duty to this helpless child. We soldiered on. We saw her through open-heart surgery, and several life-threatening infections during her recovery. I took pictures every day, knowing that I would never be able to remember any of this experience. In the middle of everything, we were told that she had Down syndrome. I heard ‘death-sentence.’

It was a week before her first birthday. She’d just been given a clean bill of health. Except for the fact that she would never be ‘normal.’ She would never have the life I wanted and expected for her. She would never finish school, hold a decent job, get married, have kids. She would never fit in with friends. I wondered if she would be able to talk, walk, even think.

I was lying on the living room floor with her, watching as she tried with Olympic determination to pull her big toe successfully into her open mouth, eyes crossed in focus on the object in hand. And that’s when it hit me. The love. It took my breath away.

I wanted to promise her the world. But while my heart felt it, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the words. I had no idea how to help her. I didn’t know anything about Down syndrome, special needs, advocacy. I didn’t want to know about those things. I didn’t want to be one of those other people.

But I now had no choice. She was my daughter. And I loved her. That decided everything. And so I promised. Everything.

She is now thirteen years old. She reads. She writes. She answers the phone and her email. She goes to school and has friends and opinions and thoughts and ideas. She has a wonderful sense of humour and the most contagious laugh. She does chores and makes me coffee on Sunday mornings.

I had no idea.

There’s a sign on my wall now. I don’t remember when I made it or when I hung it up. But it keeps my head on straight.

“From the moment that I decide, ‘I will,’ it does not matter that, ‘I can’t.’”

Not being able to do something is no excuse for not doing it. Learning how might take some time and effort. But with a goal in mind, details fall naturally into place.

I’ve often said that having my son changed my life.

And it did.

But having my daughter changed me.

I Gave Away Paul’s Eyes

I’m trying to wrap my head around the reason I’m sitting here typing through tears as I cry like a baby. Over the past four months since Paul died, I’ve spent a fair bit of time wracked in misery and despair.

But this is different. This is a sense of joy that I never expected. This is an overwhelming elation that I’m finding difficult to describe. But I’ll try.

In the midst of the chaos in the emergency room that sad Monday the week before Christmas, I asked the doctor if they could use any of Paul’s organs. I was told, no, they had been trying to revive him too long for them to be viable. It’s not just organs, though, I was told. There are many soft tissues that can be used as well. Would I agree to that?

Of course. No doubt. Absolutely.

A day or two later, after an extensive phone interview with the Eye Bank of Canada, I was told that they were able to take Paul’s eyes. They weren’t sure if they would be able to use them for transplant or research, and asked if I would agree to both options.

Paul was a teacher. Would it not be fitting for him to keep teaching, even now?

Yes.

I felt happy with the decision and hung up with the understanding that at some point they would let me know what had happened.

I just received a letter from the Eye Bank of Canada. They expressed their condolences on Paul’s passing and their appreciation over his gift. Very sincere. And then:

“Although it is difficult to express our immense appreciation for your humanitarian action, we would now like to let you know the positive result of your husband’s eye donation which you permitted. A few days after your husband passed away, his eyes were used in two sight-restoring transplants.”

Whatever has been holding me upright for four months just let go. I’ve been crying for hours. These last few days have been so hard. And then this shows up.

Paul was pure energy. He was enthusiasm, and hope. Love and laughter. A never-ending smile that lit up his face. Friend to all. Role-model, mentor, teacher. Father, son, husband, friend, brother. For so many, the world is a darker place without him.

But to think, that right now, this very minute, somewhere, someone  – no, two someones! – is seeing the world through his eyes is something so overwhelming, so fitting, so magical. How many times did I watch Paul overflow with excitement over any one of life’s many joys and think, “the world would be a better place if we all saw it like Paul does?”

“‘Tis better to give than to receive’ has just been taken up to a whole new level!

I have the option of possibly connecting with the two people who received some pretty fantastic Christmas presents. Truthfully, if they really did want to meet me, I’d certainly be okay with that.

But I think, for now, I’m happy not knowing who they are, or anything about them. There are so many scenarios running through my head. I’m imagining someone seeing his baby for the first time. Seeing the stars in the sky. Reading! Watching a baseball game. Winking at a loved one. And every new idea that pops into my head starts the tears anew.

Tears of joy. Pride. Love. Acceptance. Joy.

For now, I will walk down the street and wonder forever, if the person looking back at me through dark brown twinkling eyes could be a glimpse of Paul, still alive, still happy, still with us. And somehow, there’s a spark of hope that comes with that. Hope for I don’t know what. But it sure feels wonderful!

We often hear about the gratitude of the recipients and their families for the loved ones of the lost donor. But I’ve never heard of the impact the donation has on the decision maker. How astonishing to find that the result of that one conversation could reflect back on me, I’m sure, as much as it has on the people who received Paul’s eyes. If I can somehow manage to convey at all, the utter peace I feel right now, and thereby convince one other person to give the gift of donation, I will consider today a resounding success!!