Blast From My Past: Bermuda is another world

When I was 14, we moved to Bermuda. My father was in the Canadian Armed Forces and this was the best posting we'd ever gotten. We were all very excited. We packed up only the stuff we really needed and put everything ielse nto storage. And I said goodbye to my best friend Cathy. For those of you who have read Whale Song, you'll recognize this scenario.

I was sad to leave behind my best friend but so excited to go to another country--and one so tropical. I remember that the trip was long. It seemed to take forever. I think we went by car, train and plane. Then we stepped off the plane. And were hit in the face with a wall of heat and humidty. In seconds we were drenched in sweat. It was July or August. Canadians should know better than to travel somewhere hot during summertime. Then again, we didn't have a choice.

We lived in a pale yellow house (the biggest house near the water) with 2 floors and no basement. The house was divided into 3 apartments; ours was the biggest section. I was so surprised that the houses were all so...pretty. All painted pastel shades with white roofs. Our house was right on a bay and we had a boat dock. My brother Derek and I used to go swimming off the dock. We loved it. Swimming in the bay while boats went past us. We had small bananas growing in out yard and the most beautiful flowers--hibiscus and oleander.

Bermuda had its own legends or traditions. One was that if you walked through a moongate (an oval fixture that many people had in their yards), you would always return to Bermuda. I walked through one once when I was a teen. I've been back twice. Once for my honeymoon and once for my 20th high school reunion. The first time I took my husband (obviously) and the second time I took my daughter.

I want to go back. I always want to go back. There has always been something about Bermuda that I have always loved. It got into my skin and into my heart...it was the closest place that I could have called HOME back then. We moved around so much.

Schooling in Bermuda was very different from what I was used to. I went to Bermuda High School for Girls. They've done away with the "for Girls" part now and have opened it up to any child. But when I went, there were only girls...and uniforms. I have always said that I had my best education there. The school was strict; we had O'Level exams in my last year, so I had to take my studies seriously. The last year I was there I won an English award and an art award. I remember this because I wasn't allowed to keep my trophy for a year like other winners, because we were moving back to Canada.

Bermuda is beautiful. The beaches are various shades of coral and pink. The sand is like satin. My brother Jason was born in Bermuda. He was born with coppery red curls and cherub cheeks. He used to eat the sand. I wish Jason could have gone back to Bermuda at least once before he died. We always had such fun there. I was 14 when Jason was born and I often told people that baby Jason was mine.

Bermuda is another world -- that is actually a song by The Bermuda Strollers. I have always remembered that song. And it is so true. Bermuda was a safe haven for my family. We shared so many happy times. We did all the tourist things the first few months. Then we laughed at all the "tourists" who were visiting, because by then we were Bermudians in our hearts.

One day I will visit again. I have to. I have one dream there that I have never fulfilled. My brother Derek and I used to play in the Southhampton Princess Hotel. We would ride the elevators while I talked to tourists in a British accent. Oi was bloody good at that, you know. We snuck into the hotel's swimming pool by pretending we were guests. That's where I met Frankie Avalon's kids. He asked me to watch them because there wasn't a lifeguard on duty. Of course, I didn't realize until afterward who he was. My dream was to stay at the Southhampton Princess as a guest--a real one! :) One day...

I love Bermuda. Bermuda loved me. I grew more in that 3 years than in 5 years prior. I am still connected..my heart and soul. And one day I'll return. And I'll think of my past, of school, of the fun times and of my brother Jason. Bermuda is another world. You should check it out sometime. If you ever get a chance to visit Bermuda, be sure to visit the Crystal Caves and Gibbs Hill Lighthouse.

http://www.bermuda.com/ (I remember when the fellow started this website years ago...it is so much more now!)

In memory of my brother Jason...

Today, my "baby" brother Jason would have turned 30. Quite a bit younger than I am, I know. He was an "oops". And a delightful one at that. As a baby, he had curly red ringlets and often looked like a chubby cherub. But with the red hair came a mischievousness that was anything but angelic.

Jason made us laugh.

And his death made us cry.

Jason Kaye was murdered here in Edmonton, and not a day goes by that I don't think of him. Sometimes I see a kid who reminds me of him. Sometimes I hear about another lost soul whose life was somehow pushed off track. Jason was at one time homeless, living on the street, dumpster-diving for computer parts so he could fix a computer up enough to sell it, and an alcoholic with mental illness. None of us saw the latter until it was too late.

He died on January 23rd, 2006--Edmonton's third homicide of that year. His case is still open. No leads. No answers. No one has come forward as a witness. I am resolved that it will always be this way.

I feel a slight emptiness in my heart when I think of my brother. I think he took a small part with him. But that's okay; he can keep it.

Jason would have turned 30 today, had a huge party with his friends, probably gotten drunk...but he would have had fun.

Tonight I'll light a candle for him, in memory of a brother I truly loved, although I sometimes didn't understand him. But that's okay. I know he forgives me...and I him.

Recently, I was interviewed by CityTV for a segment on Celebrity Chefs. I had fun taping it and making Strawberry Dumplings with my daughter Jessica. This was one of Jason's favorite desserts and we made it in his honor. I'll make some tonight and think of Jason.

And remember him for who he was.

My brother.

Jason only read Whale Song, none of my other novels. And that's why I now donate a percentage of my royalties to 3 Edmonton nonprofits that deal with homelessness, addictions and poverty. I will do this as long as Whale Song is published and available to the public.

Much of our lives growing up was similar to Sarah's in Whale Song. We lived on an isolated island (Jason lived on 3) and grew up with native legends. I invite you to check out Whale Song, buy copies for your family and friends. It makes a wonderful gift for any age between 7 and 108, and I know that my brother would be grateful, as I would be, that your purchase is benefitting his community, his family and friends on the streets of Edmonton.

One thing I have learned: these people, these human beings living in poverty and battling addictions, are somebody's son, father, grandfather, daughter, mother, grandmother, sister...or brother. And they're just as human as the rest of us.

To read about Jason Kaye, please visit his memorial site at http://www.jaysporchmonkeys.com/.

Order Whale Song and help those in need of a friend...a helping hand. We have all needed that at some point in our lives.

Author Cheryl Kaye Tardif helps 3 Non-Profit Organizations

The following article recently appeared on Grow Mercy, a wonderful blog by a wonderful and caring person--Stephen Thomas Berg. Stephen invited me to share how Whale Song, my recent novel about love, lies, sacrifice and transformation, is affecting people's lives.

Begging for Change

First, I’d like to pose a few questions. If you saw a beggar on the sidewalk, hand out for a bit of change, would you scowl, judge him and walk by? Or would you say ‘Sorry, I don’t have any change.” Or would you buy him a coffee and donut? Or would you hand him some money?

I know that these questions pose a moral dilemma for most. The first thing that seems to come to mind is that the beggar will only use the money for nefarious purposes--booze or drugs. And we have an aversion to helping anyone with those addiction problems. We also judge these people. Some of us think, “I worked hard for my money. Why should I give it to him when he can’t be bothered to get a job?” Some of us feel that we should ‘protect them’, buy them food or drink so they don’t spend it on a bottle of rye. Some of us give the money, thinking ‘it’s his choice’.

A while ago I heard two girls in a downtown Wendy’s discussing a man pushing a cart outside. They called him a “bum”, laughed at him, and said he “should get a job”. In their callous naiveté, they thought a job would solve everything for this man. They had no concept of the fact that a person with addictions is physically and mentally unable to keep a job, without a lot of support and therapy. Spurred on by a burst of anger, I stormed outside the Wendy’s with a nearly full container of fries and I asked the man if he wanted them. The light in his eyes was the only answer I needed. Everything he owned was in that shopping cart, with no money for the day’s meal. I talked to him for about 5 minutes, and that man had stories to tell. An avid reader and educated fellow, he once had a job, a family…everything. Then he lost them all. I gave him some money, let him make his own choice for his life.

The opinion of these girls is a common one, and I will admit that even I have had those thoughts, once, about two years ago. Until something happened to change the way I view other people, especially those begging for change. Something that made me want to face those girls and yell, “Don’t laugh at him! That could be your father! Your brother!” But I didn’t. Instead, I went outside and spoke with a man whose life was measured by the belongings in a rusty shopping cart. I’m glad I did. And I owe my actions to my brother Jason.

A number of years ago, I invited my younger brother to come stay with us in Edmonton, Alberta, to look for work and help him get a fresh start. He had been living on Salt Spring Island in BC, and like a typical young person, he’d been getting into some minor trouble. In his early 20s, he moved to Edmonton, and everyone thought his life was just beginning. We never suspected what would happen. Not really.

On January 23rd, 2006, my 28-year-old computer-genius brother with his crazy humor, copper hair and freckled face was brutally murdered. It happened early in the morning in a cold, dark alley not far from the Mustard Seed Church, with no witnesses. I try not to think of his last moments, but it is hard not to imagine him begging for help, or crying for my Mom. Even typing this now is difficult. It’s been over a year since Jason died, yet sometimes it feels like yesterday. I miss him. I miss his laughter, his practical jokes and his generous spirit.

My brother led the life of that man with the cart. He had been homeless for a time, had tried numerous jobs, but his alcohol addiction overwhelmed him. He was on medication, off and on, for depression, and refused to keep in touch with our family. In some ways, he was determined to break free from his lifestyle; in some ways, he wanted us to be separate from it. Even though he lived in the same city, I never knew where he was from one day to the next, and long months would go by with no contact. To be truthful, I was relieved. There is nothing worse than watching someone you love spiral out of control and know that there’s nothing you can do to stop it. His choice, his life.

The morning that the police found Jason was a day like any other for me. I didn’t see the news, and even if I had, they had not released a name. So I went to work, writing in my office like any other day. I was finishing a second version of Whale Song in hopes that it would get picked up by a bigger publisher. And then someone knocked on my door…or the doorbell rang. I don’t remember. When I saw the two men on my doorstep I immediately assumed they were politicians. It was election day. They asked if I was Cheryl Tardif. I said yes. Then they asked me if I had a brother named Jason Kaye. I said yes and let them inside, thinking my brother was in trouble with the law.

It’s funny, that day--funny in a weird dreamlike way. Everyone in my family, including me, had always said that we were expecting a call from the police to say Jason was dead. We had even imagined that he’d end up in an accident, or stagger into a ditch and peacefully fall asleep. We knew he was an alcoholic and we knew he suffered from mental illness. But still, as I sat at my kitchen table with the two detectives, I didn’t really see it coming. Not at first. Not murder.

But someone was watching over me. My brother had left me some ‘gifts’. My husband showed up a minute later. He’d finished work extremely early that day. (Thank you, Jason.) When the detectives told me my brother was dead, that he had been murdered, there was no screaming or crying, no sinking to the floor like I would have imagined. Just a quiet calm that settled over my heart, and a quiet voice in my head that said, “This is the day you knew would come. Jason’s gone.”

The police told me that they had some problems tracking down Jason’s next of kin. After all, my last name is Tardif. I use Kaye, my maiden name, for writing purposes only. They called some Kayes in the area but none of them are related to us. And here was another gift. Jason had told his friends that his sister Cheryl (no last name) was an author in Edmonton who had wrote a book about whales. That’s it. That’s what the police had to go on. They Googled my name--and there I was.

Another gift: three months later, Whale Song was picked up by a bigger publisher and was re-released as a special, revised and expanded edition in April 2007, with a special dedication to my brother Jason. Whale Song is his book now. And as a result, I decided early on that it would benefit others who are struggling with life, addictions and mental illness.

That is why every time you buy a copy of Whale Song, you are helping three organizations: Hope Mission, Mustard Seed Church and the Bissell Centre. 5% of my royalties will go to EACH of these, to help combat poverty, homelessness and addictions. I invite you to order today, spare that bit of change, because I’m begging for it now…on behalf of those in need.

Order Whale Song from Amazon.com

Order Whale Song from Chapters.ca

Thank you again for letting me share my brother Jason with your visitors. For more information on Jason Kaye, please visit his memorial site at http://www.jaysporchmonkeys.com/

I am also begging for change—not money, but change in how we look at others. The next time you see a beggar with his hand out, I hope each of you will think for a moment, “There, but for the grace of God, go I.” Spare a little change in how you think, grow mercy…and gain a bit more soul.

~Cheryl Kaye Tardif, author of Whale Song, The River and Divine Intervention

http://www.whalesongbook.com/

http://www.cherylktardif.com/

If I did It...I'd be Crazy to Tell You! Wouldn't I?

Of course, I am referring to the controversy surrounding the recent non-fiction title If I Did It: Confessions of the Killer by the Goldman Family, which made #2 on the New York Times bestselling list. This is the confession of all confessions--if it's true. Or a warped piece of creative fiction, if it isn't.

Eric Kampmann, publisher of what many seem to be calling "the O.J. book", spoke tonight at the Express Yourself...Authors' Conference held at the Sheraton Park Ridge Hotel in Valley Forge, PA. As a Canadian visiting Pennsylvania, but being familiar with the O.J. media blitz and news about this book, I found it interesting to observe the faces of the people in the room as Kampmann described his passionate belief that this book has its place. Many showed a hint of distaste--not necessarily because of the decision the publisher made to tackle such a sensitive issue, but perhaps more because O.J. Simpson's theoretical 'confession' was being told at all, and in such a shocking way. Kampmann's connection to the Goldman family and to seeing that a certain subtle justice was served by publishing If I Did It seemed apparent in some of his speech, and one could only admire that he saw the people and emotions behind the book and not just dollar signs. Certainly, this story/confession/non-fiction work would have been told eventually, and I can relate to the emotion surrounding the murder of a loved one and to wanting a sense of justice.

My youngest brother Jason Kaye was murdered in Edmonton in January 2006. Since around 2000, he had lived a troubled life of alcoholism and mental illness, making him an unstable and unreliable employee. Without a job, he quickly found himself out on the street. But Jason had a heart of gold and a wacky sense of humor. And this kid was amazingly brilliant with a computer! He was only 28 when he was beaten and left to die in a cold, dark alley. His murderer has not been identified or found; he will probably never be found.

I truly empathize with the Goldmans. No none wants to feel that a murderer has gotten away with the crime. Or even worse, bragged about it or profited in any way from it. The Ron Goldman Foundation for Justice was set up to "empower, inspire, motivate and assist those people that are victims of crime" and "positively impact the lives of these survivors who start each day with pain, grief, trauma and injustice". This book, O.J.'s alleged confession, was their way to ensure that any profit would benefit other victims. Good for them!

Believe me, murder affects people in different ways, even the strongest of people. People who know me would say I'm pretty levelheaded and strong--stubborn even--but I had an extremely hard time leaving my house after my brother's murder. I lived in the same city but far from the rough east end where Jason had died. Yet, I had problems facing people and constantly felt anxiety and panic because even my neighborhood, which was far removed from Jason's world, didn't feel safe anymore.

Although I didn't have the resources to set up a foundation, I found my own way to make some sense of a senseless death, which is what I believe the Goldmans are trying to do. My brother read one of my novels--and only one. Whale Song. I had given him a copy of the original 2003 version shortly after it was released. I found that copy in his room when I went to clean it out. The pages were stained and worn, the cover dull in places. But that book was the most wonderful, beautiful thing I saw in that dingy room. It meant that my brother, throughout all of his downs and being homeless and moving from shelter to street to shelter, had kept a fragile grasp on at least one possession that meant something to him.

Seeing that battered, bruised, worn copy of Whale Song was a gift. For me. And I value it. In response to Jason's murder and finding my book, I have dedicated the new, improved, expanded version of Whale Song to my brother Jason. You will read about him in one of the front pages, and I am permanently donating a percentage of my royalties to the 3 organizations that did their best to help him. Hope Mission, the Bissell Centre and the Mustard Seed Church are doing what they can to make a difference--to combat addictions, homelessness and poverty.

Of course this won't bring my brother back. Neither will the Goldmans' book bring back their son. But out of grief and despair can come the most defining moments of clarity and hope. And we all deserve to find that.