Strangers in our family, Strangers inside ourselves

After almost 20 years together, my sister Mary and her husband decided to formalize and have my Uncle Father Lloyd bless their union. It was beautiful and special.

I don't like to travel but I went to the Dominican Republic to be with them on their special day. Sheila and my children, William and Sarah, went as well.

Duncan's family comes from the west coast of Canada and my family comes from the east coast and although some in the family had met each other most hadn't.

The trip included Mary & Duncan, their two children and 40 other people many of whom hadn't met. It was a wonderful spiritual experience to see two families separated by distance, blend so quickly and so firmly.

While I was there, I wrote this:



Stephen King recently wrote "inside every man is a stranger." I think that's true. There are parts of every man, woman and child's mind, experience and personality that remains a stranger, a mystery.

A funny thing happened, at least to me, on this wonderful wedding excursion. I found that I let my stranger that lives inside me experience this special place and these special people.

I let my stranger talk to Ruffie's stranger and I came away from that conversation not only knowing him a little better but knowing the stranger inside me a little better as well.

A little while before young Katie's third birthday party, I had a chat that I will remember for the rest of my life. I talked to Camille.

It was a beautiful moment.

I was sitting down on the grass and looking up into her beautiful eyes and beautiful face. I let the stranger inside me participate in our little "get to know each other" chat.

Camille said that she loved the way that my family got along so well together.

Instead of letting Peter E. O'Neill esq. comment on that, without full disclosure, I was honest.

I said, "it's not always like that."

The stranger inside me said "I come from a family with strong personalities."

When we love, we love fiercely.

When we battle, we battle fiercely, but when it's really important, we can put it aside; no matter what!

Camille paused before she said anything and lowered her head slightly and if I had not been sitting on the grass, looking up, I would have missed the mischievous glint in those beautiful eyes as she said softly,

"Sounds like my family."

Camille wheeled away from that conversation and I walked away, but I walked away knowing the stranger inside me a whole lot better.

Thank you very much Camille and thank you Mary, Duncan, Connor and Maggie for giving us a chance to meet the people that have been part of our family for almost two decades.

Family since then, strangers no longer.

In giving us this wonderful period of time, space and love, I think that we have all learned a little more about the strangers in ourselves.

May God Bless us and keep us well.

My First Real Kiss.

I don't know if I ever told this story to anyone but, I am at a point that I can reflect on my first real kiss without looking back at it in pain.

I was about 12 – 13 years old when I went to visit my relatives in my father's home town of Mulgrave.

I was a strange fellow, still am. Never did quite grow out of that. I don't think I ever will. At least I hope I don't.

I liked girls but I think I was too nervous and I think odd, so much so, that the girls in school never took much notice of me.

When I went to Mulgrave, I met a girl that seemed to like me for me. She had beautiful auburn hair and pale skin that I can see in my mind's eye even to this day.

We were just kids and I had played kissing games a little before, but this was different. Scarlet wanted to kiss me because she liked me. We were in a grove off of a path, my cousin was there and a couple of other people.

We kissed. It was the innocent, precious kiss of two kids that were becoming young adults. Nothing like the rutting of teenagers or young people exploring their sensuality or sexuality, it was sweet.

I was down the next summer, but didn't see her. Our paths didn't cross.

The next summer, my cousin came to stay in Miramichi for a couple of weeks. I was still sweet on this young lady and I asked about her.

In kind of an offhand, matter of fact way, my cousin told me that she had killed herself. She was probably 14 at the time.

According to my cousin, her parents were religious and didn't want her to go to dances or out with a crowd that included boys and wanted her to attend a particular church weekend with the family.

She didn't want to go and stayed home. When her parents returned home that weekend, she had taken her life. Why, I don't know and I won't ever know.

Some things are just above my pay grade.

What I do know is that, I would have loved to have seen her radiant face and hair one more time. Maybe even stolen another kiss? Time, space, distance and circumstances didn't allow that.

She was a pretty young lady and would have grown into a beautiful woman. That didn't happen but I know she is somewhere in the peace, love and thought of the Universe.

Dance with the Great Spirit Scarlet,

From now on, Scarlet, I'll look back with only fondness; when you dance with the Great Spirit and all my friends, say hello for me. They are all as nice as you.

The Day I saw Gitpo

Noah's soul burned inside him, yearning to be free.

I was there the day that Noah Augustine was acquitted of 2^nd degree murder. I was a relatively young lawyer who had only three jury trials to his credit but after the evidence and summations, I was sure of what the verdict would be.

We were outside on the courthouse steps, smoking, awaiting the verdict and there was a few of us.

Someone, maybe it was Noah, pointed to the sky and exclaimed a single word. "Gitpo".

There, almost due north of the courthouse, was an eagle. The eagle circled the courthouse a number of times and then flew off.

I sensed the total lack of inhibition from Noah and his friends when witnessing this signul. I knew absolutely, down to my very core, that these people around me were experiencing what they perceived to be the essence of "God". There was a reverence that I can't properly explain.

An omen or coincidence, I don't really know to this day exactly what it was, but since then I have come to believe that Gitpo was there for me.

My son was only 13 months old and Sheila was pregnant for Sarah during the trial, I had love surrounding me but I was living in darkness.

Noah and I both had our struggles and demons. We were bonded in that way. We understood how a false face could mask those struggles. We reached out to each other in the quiet desperate moments. Whatever our differences and arguments, we were friends.

I learned a great deal about spirituality from Noah and my many friends in the Mi'kmaq community. I was for many years an avowed agnostic, but have since accepted something different.

I choose to believe that what I saw that April day, over the courthouse, was a manifestation of the Great Spirit. It was a realization that faith, thought and belief has its own invisible mass.

This Faith, Thought and Belief gives cohesion and centre to that most human of concepts,

Hope.

Thank you Noah, for being a guide in that journey towards Hope. No matter the cost.

Dance with the Great Spirit my friend and may peace, hope, and comfort come to the people who cared for you.

Tonight is a period of space and time - A world in a grain of sand

Justice is a warm spirit born of tolerance and wisdom present everywhere. What of that justice for the people who have little to eat?

What of that justice for those whose eyes or souls see nothing but darkness?

The ignored, the silent population who are practically screaming for justice, what of them?
Who speaks for the quiet people? Is there not a voice that can be heard above the cacophony of the self important?

Will someone step forward and be that voice without being seduced by image, style and self indulgence.

Too often the passion of justice gets lost when looking in the mirror. Courage fails. The ability to stand in front of people with naked emotions and truth eludes most of us.

Courage to take a punch or an insult is sometimes insignificant compared to the courage needed to explain and show that truth.

Strength, courage and justice comes from something else. Bravery and courage are not scarce.

This bravery and courage can be seen in the eyes of the drug addicted baby; it is in the eyes of the street person, hungry, but too proud to beg, reaching into a dumpster for food.

Bravery and courage abounds, yet people with full bellies are sometimes too satisfied to see it. Bravery and courage abounds.

Blake wrote Some are born to sweet delight,/ Others are born to endless night.

The first stanza of the poem is:

To see a world in a grain of sand,

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour.

                                                                        Auguries of Innocence – William Blake

Do we have the ability to perceive …….

He’s My Brother

Originally written for my brother's birthday, June 26, 2008

When the broken hearted people of the world agree, there will be an answer let it be. (The Beatles)
When the entire world pays attention there will be a miracle. In short form, my brother Donnie hopes that the miracle will be that his personal hero, Terry Fox, will come back to life to set the same example of sheer determination that went into every step that he ran. From this miracle and this mentor, the world could turn to the same goals as many have: feeding the poor; clothing the naked and curing cancers of the soul and body.

On any anniversary of Terry's magnificent run, how could anyone disagree with this?
I agree 100% with my brother, but my miracle might be different. I want the same thing as Donnie except I did the "math" differently.

There is more than one way to come up with the same solution, but much time is taken up by others talking about how they arrived at the same destination.
Metaphorically speaking, often, by the time they have explained their various routes, the train has left the station. They missed going to the next stop together.

Donnie and I and others like us took the road less traveled by, making all the difference in our lives and as a result those of the lives around us, yet we arrived at the same destination with the same solution.

This solution is to look out for one another as humans. We worked really hard but unfortunately took that "work" home.
I personally have described my miracle as the whole world getting together and in the words of Jesus "Feed the Poor" and Gandhi "teach India to spin". Donnie agrees with me on this. This has to be a first step; do what you can.

Donnie and his wife Barb, and son Alexander bought me a car in 2007 and my brother stayed six weeks with me so I would get my license, get off the couch, take a shower and generally start paying attention to the world around me. And most importantly, he quoted Winston Churchill "Never ever ever ever ever give up."

Sometimes, at cost to his own health, he with his love and intensity, told me to get up off the mat and start fighting harder than I have ever fought."Everyone likes a comeback," he said.

He turned my marathon of despair into a marathon of hope and for that I am forever grateful. Ross Pierce a law school friend of mine, gave me a hell of a compliment after the Globe and Mail article came out when he said the world could use more Peters.

The same could and should be said about my brother. He's a giant compared to me.

I told my story in public first to my brother Donnie at a self help meeting and things evolved from there and landed in the Globe.

Someone at the meeting heard it and asked me to speak somewhere else and now because of that you may be reading this. Funny how things happen? Carl Jung talked of synchronicity. For me, all I can say is:
He ain't heavy, he's my brother (the Hollies).

Lessons From Horses - Harry Walker

Lessons from Horses
By Harry Walker
Given in Handwritten form to
Peter, William and Sarah O’Neill
on August 29, 2006

When I was going to High School, I lived on a farm about four miles from the school which was located in the town of Stayner, ON.

Our farm was on a back road; and, in winter, such roads were not ploughed out – only the main roads were ploughed at that time (around 1940). The area where we lived was also considered to be somewhat of a snow belt.

However, about two miles away, was a railway line that ran into town that was always ploughed out. So, a neighbour boy, Leighton Grainger, and I, often rode horse back as far as this line, and then walked the rest of the way. At the tracks, we simply turned our horses loose.

These were farm work horses and of course, we had no saddles. We just rode bare back (such horseback riding is not really very comfortable, but it is better than tramping through deep snow.)

When we let our horses go, they always went back home. I have thought about this since then and now realize that these horses were choosing security and comfort ahead of freedom. Most tame or domestic animals will do the same thing.

Most people are also inclined to choose comfort and security ahead of freedom. I know that during my life, I have often made this choice myself.

But it is when we choose the other option that we make the most progress, and gain the most in understanding.

It is always easier to stay in familiar territory. It takes courage to try something new. We must take risks if we are to realize life’s potential; its possibilities.

Bob's Still Dancing

On July 11, 1995, my friend Bob and I had our last conversation. His two last words were “Hello” and “Respect.” Hello, he said with his mouth. Respect, he said with his eyes. I’ll never forget that last conversation. Like many things with Bob and I, it was private, not intended to be shared. After many years and millions of thoughts, I think that it should be shared.

I was honoured to be asked to say a few words at Bob’s funeral.

It was tough to say just a few words so I gathered up the notes that had been prepared for me by my best friend Sally and I spoke at the Church.

In the short time that Bob was with us, he gave us so much to talk about, to think about, to love about and to laugh about. For me, I think about him everyday.

Bob or Bobby as his family called him was a husband, son, brother, relative and most importantly a friend. Whether it was based on marriage or by blood or by acquaintance the solid basis behind all of these relationships was friendship.

Bob was Fred’s best friend, he was Katherine’s best friend, he was his family’s best friend and I guess the reason why I had so much to say that day on July 14, 1995 was that I felt he was my best friend too.

Why did so many people who gathered that day and thought about him since value the friendship they shared with Bob? I suppose that it would be appropriate to delve into who he was, why he was important and how he became important.

Bob never got to actively pursue a particular profession because soon after he went back to school to build a life for himself and his beautiful wife Katherine, he was dealt a little set back. He got cancer of the heart.

That’s all it was to him was a setback, a blip.

But Bob was an engineer, a woodsman, lawyer, political organizer, doctor, and most importantly to all of us who knew him, a comedian. Bob, simply, was one of the funniest people I ever met.

On Wednesday after the wake, a number of people gathered at the Melanson homestead at 245 George Street, Miramichi; to grieve to eat and try and make themselves feel better. Many people who viewed Bob as their best friend were there.

Many of the people that viewed Bob as their best friend weren’t there so for the benefit of those who weren’t I’ll describe the atmosphere. It was just as electric as if Bob had been there in body as opposed to spirit.

There were people in the basement; there were people in the kitchen; in the living room where the food was spread out and a couple of groups on the veranda.

As I wandered from group to group, as I passed by there was always someone repeating the same phrase…I remember the time that Bob…and a story would follow. Those stories were filled with laughter.

I knew that each of those groups weren’t telling the same stories. Each person there and all of us who knew him had their own Bob stories. Because Bob is not a physical presence in our lives, we have a grave responsibility. We are, as his best friends, guardians of the memories.

Fred, who Bob loved and respected fiercely, is and will be a guardian of the memories. He’ll tell you of the time that he went fishing with Bobby. Fred was in the militia and had brought along a number of left over ration packs from exercises he had been on.

He had packed enough for three days. So the story goes, they had been fishing for an hour and a half and Fred looked up to see that Bob eating. He was just finishing the third day’s food.

Bob was always good to eat. I personally was amazed and astounded as to what and how much he could put away and still be as handsome and fit as he was.

I was proud of the way that he could eat, but his sister’s were proud of his courage. We all were. Terry Smith was awfully proud of him too. He summed up Bob’s courage by saying “He died well.” His life was short by some standards but he died well. Courage like that doesn’t come along all the time.

I visited Bob in Halifax a few months before he passed away and I asked him how he could do it; be so brave in the face of the struggle.

He said “Pete, it’s no problem, it’s only me, if it was you, or Katherine or someone else in my family that had cancer, I couldn’t handle it. They’d have to lock me up somewhere, but it’s only me.” Courage and selflessness like that doesn’t come along all the time.

Somehow when you had Bob around, he made you better than you were. Funnier, happier and just proud to be his best friend.

Bob and Katherine were and are a wonderful love story. I was a witness to that love from the very beginning. Bob didn’t have a girlfriend before Katherine. He was waiting for her.

He always told me that the first girl that he was going to go out with was the girl he was going to marry. He was right and true to his word.

Katherine, Bob and I lived at 774 Reid Street in Fredericton, NB. It began there. I don’t know if anyone else knew but Bob had had his eye on Katherine for quite some time. Those conversations are personal and private and will remain so.

During most of their marriage, Bob had cancer. It was something that Bob and Katherine lived with. Instead of becoming bitter or any nonsense like that, their love which was strong, only strengthened. Some people would give everything that they had for just a moment in time, feeling what Bob and Katherine shared.

I personally thought I would never have that. Sheila, Bob’s sister and the mother of our two children, have loved each other since we were kids, but now I know what Bob and Katherine shared. Thanks Bob.

Bob had great faith in himself and his love for Katherine, his family and his friends. He also had great faith in god and was strong in his Catholic faith. It was always important to him and even more so near the end of this life.

But let this be understood, it was not a blind faith. It was a faith based on examination and questioning. Now many Catholics remember that it was a sin to eat meat on Fridays – then they changes the rules. Bob wondered……what happened to the people who ate a piece of bacon on Friday “are they down there shoveling coal or what?”

Belief is a funny thing. Wondering is the same. Bob wondered about all those good decent people who didn’t follow a particular directive and he questioned their fate. Importantly though, he didn’t question his own faith in an all loving deity. We had a couple of conversations that were personal and private.

Myself, I always considered myself a rational and logical person. Many people may beg to differ but that’s the case. Until the year 2008, I had dismissed God, close to the same time I dismissed the tooth fairy. I didn’t and could not find the faith that Bob had. That is not until recently.

Bravery and courage was what I had been lacking. I was searching for the courage that I had seen in Bob. I couldn’t find the strength that he had. I now have it. Bob knew exactly who he was and what he was facing. He was facing the possibility of light. He is and always will be, at least for me, a flame that will show me the way, if only in the terms of courage and the possibility of self.

Bravery like Bob showed, most people will never have the privilege of seeing. Whether he admitted or not, he never stopped believing.

He never stopped believing, even when he started getting into holistic medicine. A few months before he died, he said to me “Well Pete, I’m down to witch doctoring.” He just never gave up. It was a lesson that stayed with me, like a beacon.

It was a beacon that, for many years, I just couldn’t fathom. My brother Donnie made the comment a couple of years ago that made a lot of sense to me. “We kinda lost our compass when we lost Bob.”

People pass from this life to another all the time, but, for myself, Bob’s passing was an emptiness and a void that just couldn’t be filled. It didn’t make any sense to me and in many ways still doesn’t. It’s above my pay grade.

I just have to accept that. Coming to terms with my lack of understanding was a very difficult process but one that was necessary.

Since Bob’s death, in my quest to understand life and our role in others lives, I encountered many people and did many things. Some of them good, some of them not so.

Every event, every person, every thought was and will be an experience. It is a moment in time that will not happen again. We see patterns, signs and signals in our lives but everything is unique. Bob’s courage is that way for me. It is something I will never see again in the same manner.

On July 16, 1995, Chief Roger Augustine called and asked me to get involved in the Big Hole Tract fishing dispute. It was the first time that we had really talked and we established a relationship from that point. Two days later, I was there when Bob passed away.

I didn’t know at that time that Roger was father to RJ O’Neill a little red headed fellow who just lived around the corner from me and who used to play in the Melanson’s yard with the next door neighbour Brad.

Since Bob, there have been other losses in our circle. James Smith, Mark Savoie among them. Each of them felt like a body blow. James who was diabetic was in the hospital with Bob in Halifax. James was getting a new kidney and was almost blind and Bob was getting cancer treatment.

We were quite a sight when we dragged ourselves to a movie theatre. You’d have thought we didn’t have a care in the world. Truth be told, we didn’t. We were together and it was just like when we were kids. The laughter came easy to us.

Of that trio that spent a night in a tent in Jamie’s yard and spent that day in the theatre I’m the only one still here. That makes me a guardian of those memories. There is an obligation for remembrance.

On June 1, 2008, I lost another best friend. One was Greg Savoie’s, brother. Mark and I had over the past couple of years become really very close. We shared thoughts and ideas and friendship. Although I didn’t have a replacement, I had discovered a best friend again. Then, in an instant, he was no longer around to talk to.

The circle of being was missing another flame. I went into my head to try and make some type of sense of these so called “losses”. Where did they go? What were they doing?

With Mark, we had a number of conversations about Math and Physics and his theories of the universe. James Smith and I were avid Star Trek Fans and would discuss the possibilities of space travel and the like. Space and time seemed to be concepts that were malleable, bending, curving and folding into and onto themselves.

The mysteries of the universe and the soul are bound to go on forever. If that’s not the case, I think I missed the point. Faith in eternal light and life involve that greatest of mysteries. Why are we here?

It has been my experience that each person’s journey towards faith and self concept is different. There is no singular path and the only true destination is that of self discovery. Bob Melanson, James Smith and Mark Savoie have helped me on that journey.

In January, 2009, I had called Roger Augustine to tell him about a speaker that I wanted to bring to the Miramichi. He told me that his son RJ O’Neill had passed away suddenly in British Columbia. Again, I was a little shook.

Just in our little circle of people that used to gather at the Melanson’s or around the NBTel building we were missing some important parts to our puzzle. It was and is a mystery as to where these people went. I don’t know for certain but I choose to carry them in my mind and my heart.

They live as strong in me as if they were standing right beside me. They’re not losses but merely new beginnings. Their spirits are full and complete and as much alive now as they were on this plane of existence. We are until we depart this plane of existence, guardians of their memories. Their goodness and strength live in us; that energy fills us, in the same way that faith and spirituality can fill our lives.

When RJ left us, I didn’t feel that I could go to his funeral so I stopped in to see his Mother, Janice and RJ’s sister Shannon. I then wrote something that I hoped would convey what I felt. It made me feel better and captured the mood I was feeling.

At Bob’s wedding and his funeral I told the story of our first Liberal Leadership convention in Fredericton. We were both in High School and supporting Doug Young. Bob had bought himself a new sports jacket from Lounsbury’s that had shoulders so sharp I feared that he would cut someone if he turned too quickly.

They were having a dance at the Aitken Centre and there was a large group of people dancing in a circle. They were playing the unofficial anthem of our high school and we were having a ball.

One person went to the middle of the large circle and started to dance. People took turns strutting their stuff in the middle. It came to Bob’s turn and he was quite a dancer. He had his ridiculous red top hat and his razor sharp sports coat.

All of a sudden, the music stopped but Bob didn’t notice and he’s still dancing in the middle of the circle of about a hundred people, just bopping along.

That’s what it was like that day in the church….

The music stopped, but Bob’s still dancing…

That day, I said something that I hoped would heal, but I was not quite finished. I needed to say something else but it wasn't time.

Here is the rest: … that's what it's like today, the music stopped but Bob's still dancing.

For a long time I couldn’t hear the music and I felt lost. I wondered why the music had died?

But there was a problem; I just wasn’t listening closely enough.

You don't hear the music until you add RJ and Mark and Jamie and my little friend Bert.

Then you start to hear the music. It is beautiful and passionate and powerful. The music starts to grow, keep adding souls, let the souls soar and the music lives.

Keep adding goodness and memories and let the souls dance and sing.

Fill the Spirit with music and dancing; fill the Spirit with all souls and let them soar, hear the music and add all the souls, past present and future and let them soar, music and dancing filling the Great Spirit.

Look, Bob’s dancing with Mark and RJ and Bert and there’s James, watching and laughing and dancing.

Enjoy the show.

God Bless you and keep you well.