But, think of the children!

One of the most common questions I get is, "have you thought about updating your Will?" And like any responsible parent, my answer is; of course I've thought about updating it.

I'm still in the process of making my final arrangements, but I'm lagging behind in some regards. My personal situation is complicated. Just like the plot-line of a tela-novella, my own story has had many cliffhangers and dramatic turns-of-events. And while I would stop short of saying that I make the worst personal choices that could be possibly be made, I will say I have a flare for taking the long way around.

Example: It took me about a decade, four Universities and four various majors, to finally complete my undergraduate degree.

Fun fact: While I'm eligible for Native Status, I don't infact have my Indian Status- and as such I received no financial assistance for my education from my Band. All that tuition came straight from my (now) pathetic credit rating and generosity of my mother.

Other, more substantial bad decisions were made later in life. Through a series of Lemony Snicket-like unfortunate events, I found myself trapped in the most toxic of absuive relationships: my first marriage.

Not pictured above is the man I married. A woefully under-matured man, who experienced vast trauma as a child. A flawed person, who may never be able to care for himself, let alone a wife and children.

What is pictured is my 8-month pregnant baby belly. That wedding dress did a magnificent job downplaying that bump.

At the time of my wedding in June 2009, I had already experienced severe domestic violence. I'd stood-by my soon-to-be husband, as he'd been arraigned on charges of domestic assault (against me, his pregnant partner) and uttering death threats (against my mother). 6 weeks later, he was released from jail. Time served. He was serving his 12-month probation dutifully and we were in Niagara Falls getting hitched.

I cannot possibly explain why I stayed in the relationship. What drove me to stay, when I knew one day I might die at the hands of the person who vowed to love and protect me. There isn't sufficient time or space to do so in a blog. I can say that I paid for that decision a hundred times over in the 4 years that followed. Every cigarette burn scar and flinch, reminds me of the poor choices I am capable of.

Getting into such a predictament is easy. Scary easy. Getting out, that's the hard part.

I left maybe five or six times before I finally found the inner strength to stay gone. And it took YEARS before I felt somewhat close to me again. The experience changed me and left me damaged. But I think I came out of it different, but just as beautiful. Just like a piece of Japanese kintsugi.

You might be asking yourself, what is the reason for this epic overshare? Trust me there's a method to my madness.

What you need to understand about our family is that what seems like a simple task; a basic will and testament, can become a frustrating and complicated problem of epic proportions.

This is mostly due to the hot-mess that is afamily law.

Many things went wrong in my first marriage. Two things went right. Correction: two BEINGS.

Cash and Nahanni were brought into a world in an unfair situation. I like to think I've corrected that situation for the most part. The legal quagmire that is Ontario Family Law was a terrible thing to wrestle with. Even without active dissent from my former husband the law has defacto protective factors in favour of paternal rights that make it difficult for an abuse survivor to break entirely free from their abuser. Despite his abandonment of the family and move across the country, I still had months of court dates to attend to assert my claim for sole custody.

Years later I was re-married and in a stable, loving relationship. My second husband had been a part of the children's lives since my daughter was one; and has been the only father either of them remember.

Shortly after leaving the family, my first husband moved across Canada to the West Coast. There he fell in into an even more tragic life of interveinous drug-addiction, homelessness and criminal activity. Basically, the last person you'd ever want caring for your children.

By 2018, my kids were old enough to know their last names were different than mine and my husband's. We decided to apply for name changes, but to no avail. You need bio dad's consent for that. But with no known address and an extensive history of non-complian with legal orders, it seemed like more of a hassle than it would payoff.

Enter my next near-death experience. The Great Heart Attack of May 2018. Picture it: Newmarket, Ontario.

I'm laying in my hospital bed, waiting for my open heart surgery and I'm convinced I'm not going to make it. What's a mommy to do? Especially one without a very concrete Will and with an exceptionally complicated custodial situation.

The answer is, ye olde Insta Will - the big box store brand, Will kit. The paint-by-numbers of Last Will and Testament's, a quick and cheap fix to the uncomplicated final arrangements. Problem is, my life is very complicated.

I found out how complicated my life was, after I returned to work. As part of my job, I assisted with brining a visiting family and criminal law barrister into my community centre to provide free community consultations. As luck would have it one day all of his appointments were no-shows. It gave me the opportunity to pop in and consult with him on my own issue.

I figured making sure all my T's were crossed and i's were dotted, in relation to my final wishes made sense. I took for granted that having worked in Child Protection and within the criminal justice system, I had a working knowledge of Ontario Family law.

Boy, was I wrong.

As it turned out, I was way off base in several of my assumptions. First, were I thought that I was free to assign gaurdians for my children in the event of mine and my husband's sudden death- I was wrong. A recent change in case law returned custody of the children to their biological father. Despite his total lack of contact, capacity or personal interest.

Second, I learnt that in the event of only my death, I could not count on the fact that my husband- the only person my children have ever known as a father, would retain custody of them.

This revelation was devestating.

Basically it meant that all of my preparations were for naught. My tidy, easy-peasy insta-Will was invalid.

I began the frustrating task of learning what. I needed to do to rectify my situation. The solicitor informed me that to ensure my husband had custodial rights, I would need to go through the process of having him legally adopt the kids. A job easier said than done.

By this time, husband number One had not been heard from in years. Wearabouts unknown, I went about the difficult task of tracking him down.

By December 2019, I was fully immersed in my latest health crisis. One I may not come out of alive. End-Stage renal failure.

By now I knew my situation was serious. I had almost no family support outside my husband and his mother. My chosen family- my best friends Derek and Dwayne were still part of my support circle and long-term custody/gaurdian plan.

I had finally reached my ex through Facebook and broached the subject of my husband adopting the kids. It did not go over well and ended with a curse ladden tirade and being blocked on the platform.

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Early in 2020, after Christmas and after I started dialysis- I sat my kids down and let them know how sick I was. I explained the nuances of kidney failure as best I could. I held little bodies as they cried. I wiped concerned browes and answered their questions with as much candor and truth as I could.

My husband's step-mother was especially harsh in her criticism of my choice to be transparent with my children. It caused an even great rift in our relationship to develop than we had experienced before. And our relationship had already been decidedly chilly.

When the COVID-19 pandemic came crashing into Ontario with it's full, terrible weight; I knew I had done the right thing. As an End-Stage Kidney patient Death stalk me around every corner: a bad case of stomach flu, phneumonia or a mild infection, all of the potential to fell me before I seek medical attention.

I am confident that letting the kids know about my mortality, vulnerability and sheer determination to fight to stay with them was the right thing to do.

None of us are gaurenteed a tomorrow. Nor are we owed a fair lot in life, just because we're decent people. But we can try to live life in a way that we can be proud of- whatever that means to each one us individually.

That's what I am doing.

My kids know that I am dying.

My kids know that if I go that my last thought will be of them.

They know every breath I take, is a breath I take for them. Every move, a move I make to stay with them.

So yes, I think of the kids.

My actions might not always be ideal. I make mistakes- many, many mistakes. But I'm trying.

Sometimes I just have to take the long way around.