Promoting a remarkable woman
Lynda Fishman
- Lynda Fishman
About Lynda
In 1970, when she was thirteen years old, Lynda’s life came to a disastrous halt when her mother and two younger sisters were killed in an Air Canada plane crash.
As a young teen, Lynda made a conscious decision to become happy and to lead a fulfilled life. Lynda chose to live. She was committed to learning, growing and making a difference. Determined to find meaning and purpose in her life, she managed to muster up the courage and strength to dream big, to be idealistic, to strive for more, and to live a meaningful life where she could make a difference in the lives of others.
Lynda Fishman is a trained clinical social worker who has spent over twenty years as a camp director. In the early 90s, Lynda was one of the first camp directors in the Toronto area to incorporate children with special needs into mainstream camp life. Lynda has devoted a lifetime to organized camping and is passionate about the positive role of camping in a person’s life. She is the former owner and director of Adventure Valley Day Camp.
Lynda is a motivational and inspirational speaker and facilitator. She has published articles and training manuals on leadership, teamwork, bullying, trust, childhood health and wellness, communication and customer service.
Lynda’s husband, Barry Fishman, has his own amazing story to share, having been orphaned at age 17 and left alone to care for his brother with special needs. Lynda and Barry met as teenagers and have been together since then. They have three grown children, and the whole family is heavily involved in supporting children dealing with tragedy, cancer or other life-threatening diseases, fund-raising and charity events.
Barry has spent his entire career working in the health care and pharmaceutical industry. He is President and CEO of the Canadian operations for the world’s largest generic pharmaceutical company, Teva Pharmaceuticals. Barry serves on the Board of Directors of the Childhood Cancer Foundation.
Lynda is a woman of action. She has incredible enthusiasm for life. She is persistent, focused and faithful to her dreams and goals. She is willing to work for everything with patience, optimism and determination. She finds ways to be grateful and positive. Lynda goes out there and does what she has to do with a CAN DO attitude of gratitude, positivity, compassion, and honesty.
A message from Lynda . . .
Surviving and Thriving After Horrific Tragedy
I’m a clinical social worker, a published author, an inspirational speaker, and a seasoned summer camp director. I’m also living proof that people can survive and thrive after horrific tragedy. When I was 13, my mother and two sisters were killed in an Air Canada plane crash. Although my father was not on the plane, his life ended that day as well. He withdrew into his own new world consumed by despair. There’s a crucial difference between truly living and existence that is often mistaken for being alive.
None of us are ever free from bad circumstances or tough conditions – that’s life – but whatever life throws at us, the way we CHOOSE to react, is up to us. As people, our power lies in how we respond to everything we are faced with, whether it’s a personal crisis or tragedy, a business challenge, or just everyday life.
I met my husband Barry when we were teens. Barry was orphaned at 17, left to care for his brother with special needs.
We’ve always said that you deal with what you have to deal with – what choice did we have? But looking back, I realize that we did have choices. No matter what we are faced with, we always have choices. And we make choices. Even when people are faced with very similar situations, they don’t choose to deal with things the same way.
Here are 8 HAPPINESS-INDUCING strategies for people who want to CHOOSE LIFE over sadness, bitterness or basic existence – for people who want to choose to be happy and fulfilled.
SPEND TIME WITH POSITIVE PEOPLE
STAY BUSY
HELP OTHERS
EXPRESS GRATITUDE
LOOK AHEAD – DON’T LOOK BACK
HAVE FAITH & PATIENCE
SPEND TIME WITH ANIMALS
CHOOSE YOUR THOUGHTS
Life is precious and must be cherished. In the end, not that there really is an end, it’s all going to be about how much you smiled, how much you laughed, and how much you enjoyed your life.
Repairing Rainbows: A True Story of Family, Tragedy, and Choices
Chapter 5
I stood barefoot on the beige carpet, barely awake, frozen in one spot, my skin clammy and sweaty, my breathing shallow and fast. They were screaming and crying. Raw, animal sounds came from my grandparents bodies. They staggered, unsteady, pacing back and forth across the living room. Muttering. Withering to the ground. Tears muddied their faces. Everyone was going crazy. I crept over to my grandmother and crouched by her, wrapping my arms around her shaking frame. She leaned almost all of her weight into me. I thought she was going to knock me over. I stayed strong and held onto her but it didn’t seem to comfort her at all. My arms dropped and I stood, backing away, gazing around the living room.
It was madness.
My aunt had her back to me. She was on the phone, whispering. Her hand shook and the tremors seemed to move through her body and down her spine in jerky movements. My uncle stood next to her, rubbing her back over and over again, her nightgown swirling under his hand. She hung up the phone and turned, her body swaying slightly as she leaned into my uncle.
“We have to pack our suitcases.”
I was completely paralysed.
A plane crash. Impossible. That happened to little planes in far away countries. Not inCanada. And not with my family on board.
Wake up. My dry lips formed the words. Nightmare. It had to be a nightmare. Whenever I had a nightmare, my mother came into my room. “It’s okay. It’s just a bad dream. Everything’s fine.” She would smooth my sweaty forehead and reassure me. Nightmares were not real. Even though they were scary and can seem so, they weren’t real.
But the sun was starting to peek through the heavy drapes…. Why wasn’t my mother coming into my room to comfort me?
Standing there by myself, my uncle approached me and quietly told me to go and pack my things.
My aunt picked up the phone again, shaking and swaying, jerking and trembling. I heard her murmur to the people on the other end. All these long distance calls, one after another, but when I wanted to call my mother to tell her about the burn on my leg…. I turned and walked back into the bedroom.
My cousins helped us pack, throwing everything from the drawers into the suitcases, mixing up my clothes with my grandparents. There was no time for breakfast. We took the suitcases down to the car. My cousins stood on the sidewalk, silently staring, as we pulled away. No one even waved goodbye.
And no one said one word the entire drive to the airport. The car was silent without silence, because my grandparents were crying. My uncle concentrated on driving and my aunt just sat there, stunned. I looked out the window and didn’t speak to anyone.
When we got to the ticket counter, there was an awkwardness about the way the Air Canada woman treated us. An uneasiness. Discomfort. It reminded me of the way people act around someone who has a contagious disease.
A man wearing an Air Canada shirt walked us to the gate. He offered to get my grandmother a wheelchair but she said no. I didn’t blame him for offering. Pale and wobbly, with her hair standing out in tufts around her swollen eyes and red cheeks, she looked like a drooping flower.
Saying goodbye to my uncle was quick. No long and exciting farewells this time. The Air Canada man brought us right onto the plane and told us to sit in seats in the first class section, right at the front. Really comfortable seats with much more space than the ones we had on our way toCalifornia. My aunt was coming back toMontrealwith us. That part suddenly struck me as weird. But I thought it was amazing that we got to sit in first class, and the stewardesses were unbelievably doting. They kept offering us things to make us feel comfortable, like pillows and blankets, magazines, food and drinks. I felt like a princess. When I told them that I thought the little teaspoon that came with my meal was cute, they said it was alright for me to keep it.
Bubby and Zaida acted strangely. Stuck to their seats, they were silent the entire flight. There, but not there. Zaida was sweating excessively, his eyes sunken and bloodshot. Bubby was restless, distracted and unfriendly. Her faced looked so tense that her eyebrows squished together. She was grinding her teeth and her lips looked dry. They were both jumpy and weary at the same time. The stewardesses kept offering them food, which they refused, and my aunt kept telling them to eat something, but they wouldn’t change their minds. Bubby said she wasn’t hungry, but I knew that she would have eaten if she had brought her own food on board. I thought she was grumpy and upset that she didn’t have time at my aunt’s to make her own sandwiches.
They stared into space and cried a lot. In fact, the whole time on the plane, it seemed as if everyone in first class was silent or whispering. The passengers, stewardesses, everyone. The same way that people act in hospital waiting rooms. I knew because I had been in one when one of my uncles had a brain tumour.
Or, maybe this was a rich and famous thing for people travelling in first class. So, when I talked to my aunt, my grandparents or the stewardesses, I also whispered.
When we landed for the stopover inToronto, we were barraged by reporters and flashing cameras. They shoved microphones in our faces and the questions flew. “Did you have any family members on that doomed flight?” “How old are you?” “What are your names?” “Who did you lose in the plane crash?”
The Air Canada staff did their best to shield us. I thought the whole thing was kind of exciting, like we were celebrities. It was just like the paparazzi I had seen on TV. I didn’t mind it at all. Besides, this was all just an awful nightmare and soon I would wake up. So why hadn’t my mother come in yet?
We were ushered into empty corridors where our footsteps echoed, and everyone walked fast and spoke softly. There was that whispering again. They brought us back to the plane, to our first class seats, and we took off forMontreal.
When we exited the plane inMontreal, there were lots of security officers and AirCanadaemployees, who immediately herded us into a long, cold hallway, safely away from the slew of reporters.
And then I saw my father.
He stood at the end of the hallway with his older brother, Dave, and my cousin Mark. They each looked completely terrified, their faces twisted in pain and anxiety. The crying and hysterics started again. I had never, ever seen my father, uncle or cousin crying before.
My stomach began to bubble, my legs felt wobbly and I was finding it hard to breathe. It was like watching a scene from above. Like I wasn’t really there. Then I started shaking and felt so unsteady that I had to lean on the concrete wall in order to stay upright.
Everything looked and felt real. Dreams can seem just like real life. But then you wake up and it’s all over.
I was more than ready to wake up.
I barely remember heading to the parking lot, its blur of gray walls and multicoloured cars like pieces of a broken rainbow. My cousin Mark drove me and my dad in one car, and my uncle drove my grandparents and aunt. Silence. Not even a whisper. I was not used to sitting in a car with no one talking. Even when we travelled a short distance, my sisters and I chatted nonstop. It was unbearable. But there are no words when you’ve just found out that your family has been killed in a plane crash. Life as we knew it was extinguished. Gone.
Yes, the drive was in complete silence.
Now what do we do? What happens next? Do we go home and make dinner? What will our life be like now that I don’t have a mother or sisters?
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Lynda Fishman, M.S.W.
Founder of Adventure Valley
Author of Repairing Rainbows
Inspirational Speaker
http://www.repairingrainbows.com/
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