I Am Choosing to Smile

I Am

Choosing to Smile

The Inspirational Life Story

of a Bone Cancer Survivor

Glenda Standeven

Glenda Standeven

Chilliwack, BC

Copyright © 2014 by Glenda Standeven. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the address below.

Glenda Standeven

9872 Candow Street

Chilliwack, BC V2P 4K4

Canada

www.iamchoosingtosmile.com

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 978-0-9813307-3-0

Designer: Detta Penna

Copyeditors: Wendy McClelland and Detta Penna

Cover photo and author photo: Taichi Maehata

For my family, friends and every person facing adversity —

may we always find the courage to choose to smile.

The book you are about to read is not just another cancer story. It does not begin with cancer and it does not end with cancer. This is the true story of an ordinary woman who lives with extraordinary optimism. When faced with adversity, she realizes that she has a choice: she can live with bitterness and regret or choose to smile as each hardship becomes a lesson in appreciation.

In the following pages you will meet Glenda. Her story is filled with laughter and love amid the many memorable moments of her life. I Am Choosing to Smile revolves around friendship and family; tragedies and triumphs. Glenda is a woman who chooses to smile even when life turns out differently than the way she had imagined it would.

You will meet her family and friends and become part of the circle of their lives. The gift of friendship resonates in her journey. You may even see your own life story woven throughout this book because we all have a part of Glenda inside: the part of us that cannot help but be destined for happiness when we have the heart of a survivor, the love of family, the gift of friendship, and when we choose to smile.

Glenda’s Story

I remember sitting cross-legged on the sundeck of our North Vancouver home with a group of neighborhood kids. I was the centre of attention, regaling them with horror stories invented about my recent surgery. Barely five years old and already a consummate storyteller, I had just returned from the hospital where I’d had my tonsils removed. The truth was, I didn’t remember anything about the operation except eating Jell-O® and ice cream and looking through the bars of my hospital crib at the little blonde boy in the bed beside mine. It’s funny and just a little ironic that one of my earliest memories is of being in a hospital. I don’t remember the pain, I don’t remember the doctors; I do remember the cute little boy. I guess that’s how I’ve always lived my life; I try to block out anything bad and focus on the good instead. It drives my three sisters crazy that I recall very little of anything unpleasant about my childhood but why would I? I grew up in a wonderful state of self-induced family bliss. If I do recall any minor upheavals, I try to come away with a lesson learned. I attempt to see every rotten thing in life as an opportunity to grow. That is easy to say but not always easy to do.

I am the third oldest in a family of four girls and two boys. That makes me a middle child, which explains a lot. I had a brother, Sylvan, two years older than me, who died as a baby. I’m glad to put his name in this book because sometimes I think the family has forgotten him. Mom and Dad never really talked about Sylvan, but I feel an odd connection with my big brother even though I never met him. When I was a little girl, I found a photo of him in his tiny little coffin and I remember thinking that he looked like a doll sleeping. That single photo made him real to me. I don’t know what happened to the picture, but Mom probably has it tucked away in a box somewhere. Knowing I had a big brother looking out for me from heaven helped me through some tough times. I knew he was in heaven because that’s where all good Catholics go. Sylvan had been baptized before he died and, no matter what anyone else said, I was sure Sylvan shot straight to heaven without having to do time in purgatory. I knew he hadn’t committed any sins. He was my personal angel, although he wouldn’t be my last.

Mom had us two years apart. The rhythm method obviously worked well for my parents. My sister Sylvia came first in 1951; Sylvan in 1953; I was born in 1955; Lorrie in 1957; Corrine (we all call her Beanie) in 1959; and then suddenly the rhythm method failed. My wonderful little brother, Jimmy, came along as an unplanned, unexpected and unabashed miracle in 1960. He and my sister were just 16 months apart and he was the joy of all our lives. Well, most of the time. He was such a gorgeous little boy; we all adored him. For all the love and attention his big sisters showered on him you’d think he would be spoiled rotten but he wasn’t. He had a gentle soul and a heart as big as a house.

Jimmy was only two years old when we left North Vancouver in 1962. We moved to the small town of Yarrow, about 60 miles (100 kilometers) from the North Vancouver home where I was born. It may as well have been another country though. We went from city kids to country kids in the span of an hour.

My dad was unusually hard on my little brother. Dad figured Jimmy would end up being a sissy because he was growing up in a house full of girls. That couldn’t have been further from the truth. Jimmy took on the man of the house role as if he’d been born to it. He was always the little fixer when our dad was away, and he was away a lot. Dad worked for BC Hydro (the power company) and spent long stretches away from home. Mom was fiercely independent and I think she actually resented it when dad came home and took over. With dad away so often, mom didn’t always have the time to keep a watchful eye on us around the clock, and we took advantage of our extra freedom in many ways.

For example, I first kissed a boy when I was five or maybe even younger. We were living in Lynn Valley, North Vancouver, BC. It was largely undeveloped back then. I remember going to play in the empty field up the road on a clear, cold winter day. My big sister, Sylvia, pulled me there on a sled and we went sledding for hours. While I waited my turn, Danny Hanson kissed me. Danny was the boy next door and was just a year or two older than me. That sweet little kiss warmed me and I never felt cold all afternoon while we played. I didn’t want to leave even when Sylvia said it was time to go but then I cried all the way home because I was freezing. I never felt the cold when I was playing with Danny. I wonder if he remembers that first kiss. For a while, I loved Danny Hanson but then he did something so horrible I could never forgive him and I was glad we moved away soon after the incident.

I’m sure Danny and his brothers were all involved but I distinctly remember Danny being one of the culprits on that warm spring day. He and one of his older brothers had caught a snake. Unlike some girls, I didn’t have a problem with snakes. I liked them. I liked the way they felt and I liked the way they would wrap themselves around your arm and let you carry them anywhere. That sunny day in North Vancouver, Danny and his brothers had caught a big — and I mean BIG — garter snake. They stretched it across the sidewalk and it reached from one side to the other. I remember being fascinated because it was so big and fat. I’m not sure which of those boys picked up the first big rock, but nobody stopped him. I couldn’t believe that he was going to hurt the snake. The snake had done nothing wrong. I watched in disbelief as he dropped the big rock dead center on the snake and the snake’s body seemed to explode. Pieces of the snake flew everywhere. I think that was how I learned garter snakes give birth to live babies. The little snakes became projectiles. A piece of snake, or maybe one of its babies, hit my cheek and I remember screaming and crying at the same time. It was one of the most horrific things I’ve ever seen and one of the cruelest acts I’ve ever witnessed. I hated boys for a long time and never forgave Danny for being part of that sadistic act. I was only a child but I knew it was so very wrong to hurt an innocent creature — even a snake.

Those two events still stand out vividly in my memory even to this day. The first kiss was the best and the snake was the worst. It’s just a little odd that both memories should involve the same boy.

I also remember the lovely couple who lived on the other side of our house in North Vancouver. They were English and they let me come over to visit. They didn’t have children, so maybe I filled a void somehow. They had quite a lovely rock collection. I’d been taught that it’s a sin to covet your neighbor’s stuff and I was pretty sure that meant his rocks too, but oh how I coveted those rocks. They were shot through with silver — probably mica — but I thought they were the most amazing things I’d ever seen and I wanted them. I was five or six years old. I knew stealing was a sin, but I didn’t care. I had to have those rocks. So I took them. With unabashed pride I showed the rocks to my mother and when she asked me where I found them I told her without a moment’s hesitation that I had found them under a tree. She made me show her where, and I marched down the road to a big tree and pointed confidently at the base and lied. She believed me!

I couldn’t quite grasp the scope of the event but I knew I was onto something. I could get away with a crime and not be punished. In retrospect, I’m surprised I didn’t become a kleptomaniac or a criminal because that lie came remarkably easily. I feel guilty for this act even to this day. When I made my first confession at church, years after my theft, I confessed my sin and the priest told me that the only way I could be forgiven was to return the rocks. We had already moved to Yarrow, an hour drive away from where the crime had occurred years earlier. I decided I was either going to go to hell at that point or I could just get rid of the evidence. I threw the rocks away and decided that confession was stupid, and so was the priest for coming up with such a ridiculous suggestion. I decided I’d take the matter up with God when we met. I still feel that way! I’ve got quite a list of things to go over with Him when we meet, or IF we meet, because according to some staunch believers I’m way past redemption.

Possibly the best thing my parents did for us was to move us from North Vancouver to that four-acre hobby farm in Yarrow, even though it was tough to go from a private Catholic school to a mostly Mennonite community school. On my first day of classes at my new school in grade one, I remember feeling like a Martian when I made the sign of the cross after our morning prayer. The kids looked at me as if I was some kind of weirdo. That night I talked to mom about it and she said it would be okay not to make the sign of the cross. Luckily for me, Miss White, my grade one teacher, was Catholic, and she would say the rosary with me and a couple of other Catholic kids at the end of the day so I didn’t feel completely out of my element.

Our life in Yarrow was idyllic. We had unlimited freedom. We rode our bikes everywhere. We stayed out till dark without a worry. Mom never knew exactly where we were but she believed we were safe and generally just a front porch holler away. We had four acres to roam around on and neighborhood kids to play with every day. We had chores — lots of them — but there was always time to play. I was happy . . . really happy. I had good friends and, as siblings go, I had pretty good ones. When I was 14, my sister Sylvia moved to Edmonton after her graduation. When she left home, I suddenly became the older sister, a role I wasn’t very comfortable with. I tried hard to be a good role model but I was too busy getting into trouble. It was definitely a simpler time to grow up than nowadays, but if mom had known what we were really up to, she would never have let us out of her sight!

Growing up in farm country, there were large families and plenty of kids to play with. Kathy moved to Yarrow when I was in grade three. She lived just down the road and was the opposite of the good little Mennonite girl. Kathy was what the teachers called bad, because she questioned their authority. Some of the teachers warned my parents not to let me associate with that new girl, which only made me want to play with her all the more. We lived five houses away from each other and made an instant connection. Our mothers became friends and so did we. She spoke German, which made her seem intelligent and exotic to me. Even though many of my school friends were Mennonite, not many of them spoke German. I loved the way she laughed, and I loved the way she didn’t care what anyone else thought about her. That first summer together, she and I built sturdy rafts and amazing underground forts; we smoked stolen cigarettes in the barn and built tunnels in the hay. I have no idea why we never set a barn on fire. We confided in each other and shared our hopes and dreams. She was going to be a writer and I was going to be a TV reporter.

In September, we were thrilled to discover that we were in a grade four/five split class together. For the entire school year and an amazing summer afterwards we were inseparable, but the following September, she moved on to grade six and I went on to grade five. I think she found me too tame and, being a whole year younger, the age difference had caught up to us at last. We stayed friends, but our friendship circles widened to include other people. (Note: Kathy eventually chose a life filled with travel and adventure. Her wild side led her to serving time in a women’s prison and the HIV virus, but also eventually to an amazing career as a counselor with vast life experiences to draw from. She was, and still is, a remarkable person.)

It seems unlikely to have such strong memories of my youth, but good friendships make lasting impressions. I’m funny about friendships. I choose them wisely; nurture and treasure them. I guess I choose friends who value friendships the same way I do because many of the friends I made in school are still my friends today.

Shelly came into my life in grade five and quickly replaced Kathy in the top spot on my friendship pole. Her family moved to Yarrow from Lloydminster, Alberta, and our parents became good friends. At first, I thought I wanted to be friends with her because her older brother loved snakes as much as I did, and was the most handsome boy I’d ever seen. I soon realized that Shelly was more like a sister to me, in some ways than my own were, and we became inseparable. I taught her how to kiss boys, climb trees, smoke cigarettes, and build forts. Where I led, Shelly bravely followed. When we first met, I thought she was shy, quiet, blonde, and beautiful. She was the perfect daughter — obedient, hard-working, intelligent and just plain good — everyone loved her. It used to upset Shelly when my mom would openly measure us against each other. Mom would say, Why can’t you be more like Shelly? She cleans her room and vacuums the house without being told. Shelly is such a good helper. At first I felt inadequate when my mom compared me to Shelly, but I hated housework more, so I learned to let my mom’s criticism roll off me. It was an ability that would serve me well with my mom in later years. It really is quite amazing to see how life’s lessons unfold when you examine them after-the-fact.

Shelly quickly lost her shyness. We were both outgoing and fun-loving. I remember in grade five we lip-synched a song — Teen Angel — in front of our class. It was a very brave thing to do back then because most of the kids were Mennonite and singing and dancing was frowned upon. That song broke the ice. Every lunch hour we’d go over to a friend’s house beside the school, listen to music and dance. We learned The Swim, The Pony, and Twisted our lunch time away. I loved dancing and singing. Music became a wonderful release for me. Even today, I sing