There may come a time When I will lose you Lose you as I lose my light Days falling backward into velvet night – Paul Simon, Further to Fly, Rhythm of the Saints album
How many times I listened to this song with Dad in the car, on trips, at home. We celebrated the ecstasy of listening to Paul Simon’s Rhythm of the Saints album and he loved this song. We were so blessed to see the tour when Paul played Edmonton, bringing over four drum sets to the stage on a cold -30C night. I remember how we left that concert and didn’t need our coats; Paul had ignited our souls.
I awoke with that familiar takes-your-breath-away aching pain, and these lyrics poured into the hole in my heart.
(Dad wearing Rhythm of the Saints shirt in California, early 90s above)
In July, during the worst of times, I grew extremely ill, and a horrific death rattle in my lungs settled for two long months. Two days before Dad’s Celebration of Life I had a medical crisis and things began to spiral. An unchecked sinus infection was expanding in my skull, with lightning bolts of nerve pain, and my teeth were pushing down so far from the pressure I couldn’t chew.
We’ve never been able to pinpoint the cause of this severe illness, although I did tell ICU staff that it was simply my system failing from crying too much. Early in its onset I lost my sense of smell and taste. It’s not returned. I’ve lost a sense. Actually, I’ve lost two. My metaphysical sense lies dormant. I haven’t been able to tap into the sublime and awe of the Universe, either. Of the two, if I could have one sense back, I’d choose the latter. I long to connect with the rhythm of the Saints and be in tune once more with the great pulsing of the universe.
Today we finally had two City Inspectors out to check out the new air conditioner (A/C) at Mom and Dad’s. It’s an extremely painful topic as Dad had wanted the A/C so badly and never got to enjoy it. In fact, he had delayed going to the hospital at one point to ensure the system was being installed so he was available to help if problems arose. When I arrived to take over so he could head to emergency, he stayed on a bit to properly introduce me to the workers and do a formal handoff. Like always, Dad wanted to make sure we were properly cared for before looking after himself.
He was home for one night after not being admitted but my broken heart is not emotionally ready to talk about it except to say that the theme of “if you can stay warm you shall not perish from the cold” played a role in his last night at home.
Unfortunately the A/C will haunt us further as more work by the company is needed to fix it, then another City inspector will have to follow up. It is very discouraging that this extremely painful reminder of Dad’s last days will drag on for weeks more.
After a lengthy installation process fraught with problems, an alarm system is in place bringing peace of mind at Mom and Dad’s. Despite the stressful day, it is reassuring to know the house (including Dad’s precious book collection) is safe while Mom stays with us, and that she will be secure too when she is there.
The security system replaces Dad’s old security system, which had been installed on a window:
The sign was a loving nod to our beloved poodle of 18 years, Pepper. Here she is enjoying one of her birthday celebrations, likely in the early 90s, decked out in firefighter hat.
Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack’d from side to side; ‘The curse is come upon me,’ cried The Lady of Shalott. (The Lady of Shalott – Alfred Tennyson)
The Lady of Shalott, oil-on-canvas painting, John William Waterhouse
I’ve alluded to the myriad of symbols and portents signalling the great disruption of our family’s universe, the passing of my dear Dad. The poem by English poet Alfred Tennyson, The Lady of Shalott, provided yet another motif over the past six months.
It began around March/April, when Dad asked for my Enya and Loreena McKennitt CDs. He’d heard them in passing, but wished to revisit them more deeply. We had been blessed to encounter her several times at the Edmonton Folk Music Festival over the years. We reminisced over hearing her magical harp echo over the hill of glimmering candles with the Edmonton skyline lit up behind the stage under the starry sky.
He was particulary struck revisiting Loreena’s The Visit album, and took special note of her painstaking and haunting rendition of The Lady of Shalott, true to the poem’s spirit and form. (Canadian Juno Awards version of song performed by her here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z77PR0JA0gU)
Later in the Grey Nuns Hospital, during the period of time where our pure purpose was to either head to, be at, or come from, the hospital, while passing time as we often did, Mom impressed Dad by suddenly and unexpectedly quoting the above lines of the poem.
A few days afterward a large tarp covering a sandbox and well-secured with a substantial bag of dirt went missing one night from Mom and Dad’s yard. Mom found the sandbox exposed; dirt bag on lawn; the tarp was never seen again. She made the connection immediately, there was no hesitation, automatically reciting “Out flew the web and floated wide“.
Later that day after the Breaking of my world on July 29 – oh, how those hellish days and nights and how they blurred into one continuous amorphous horror – I looked down at my phone with finally seeing eyes and was startled to see my own shattered reflection looking back at me-
Skye, our little warrior bun, has hopped back from the brink of death itself yet again. After three days of round the clock life support she is now back to her ebullient, mischievous self. Her toughness, resilience, and spirit continues to be an inspiration and pure joy.
On my lunch break from work, doing another one of those excruciating tasks. I’m in Dad’s email again. It kills my heart to be in there. I shouldn’t be anywhere near his personal stuff. He should be in here, monitoring emails, deleting junk mail, responding to people, reading interesting things. It’s just all so wrong, and I’m forced to face that surreal juxtaposition of what what should be and brutal reality.
I realize this is a common scenario, having to monitor old accounts, etc. How on earth do people do this and manage to carry on? I must not be as strong as most people, it just absolutely ruins me. My nephew continues to send weather updates to his Grandpa. I weep. Has anyone ever been electrocuted from crying over a keyboard before?
I prepare to go back to work for one. My coworkers won’t see the invisible ice pick in my chest, the blood stains from an open wound that won’t stop bleeding.
An excerpt from an email received from another beautiful friend today of Dad’s 🙏—
I know that it is very difficult for you to cope up with the pain and sorrow caused by your father’s death, the extraordinary man who was like a star, radiating eloquence, nobility and invention. He was the first Canadian writer to offer me his sincere friendship when I, as a writer from Europe, first appeared on the Edmonton literary scene in 2013.
Richard edited two of my poetry books entitled [omitted for privacy]. He also wrote an excellent review for both of these books. Our ideas about literature and our aesthetic tastes were very similar.
Let me to express my deepest condolences on the loss of your beloved father, who left indelible marks on the literary world of Edmonton and enriched Canadian literature with his wonderful works in several literary genres.
How has a year gone by since this beautiful, heaven-sent day late August 2023. Dad had encouraged me for a few weeks to bring my cruiser bike over to reunite for a ride together around the neighbourhood- a beautiful trip back in time, in the spirit of past bike rides and adventures.
He taught me how to ride. I was a nervous, off-balanced latebloomer when it came to riding without training wheels, but he was determined to enable me to feel that freedom of the bike. That joy it had always given him throughout his life. Delaying had come to that critical point, it was time to push the bird out of the nest. He took me to my Elementary School parking lot and around and around I circled, with him running behind, catching me if I tilted, and letting go quietly when he sensed I was ready to fly solo.
We had so many beautiful rides together. Safely down sidewalks to new worlds my young eyes had never seen. We even parked outside the University and rode in to enjoy fall and its offerings, and he introduced me to the beauty and magic of campus and Hub mall with its coloured shutters opening to the mall strip below lined with services and glorious windows above.. and lines of vending machines (to a young child this was quite marvellous!)… I fell in love with University and longed to return (and did, as undergrad and alumni).
On this day our trip was shorter, but just as impactful. Down familiar roads I grew up, making the journey from house to our old condo in Lakewood Estates blocks down, where my first memories of childhood begin. We rode around the old development, stood in front of our old home, reminisced. I must admit I peeked through the back fence boards to see the back yard, too. I remember so much, the fence he painted, the shed he built, the balls he’d teacher me to catch and throw. So many memories.
(Dad and Heather by the condo as it was being built, below, 1977)
I’m so grateful for that bike ride with you that day. Thank you for having the foresight as you always did, the energy to propel that experience forward for us to share ans savour together. How I wish I had more rides with you left, more days where I followed your bike, letting you forge the path and enjoying the ride.
I’ve not taken my bike out for a spin this year. The catastrophic crises of the last ten months and a late spring start and then suddenly July kept me from even filling my tires with the bike pump Dad lovingly bought for me. I’m just not brave enough to ride solo again, or to forge a path without him in the lead.
Born in September 16, 1921, but not exactly. We celebrated Grandma’s birthday on this day, but in reality a busy harvesting season had kept her Dad (Great Grandpa) registering in August. My Grandma (Vera Bonderoff) is on the right, my great aunt Hazel is in the middle, and my great uncle John is on the left. Happy Birthday, you’ve been gone many years but I think about you every single day. ❤️
My beloved rescue bunny Skye has been unwell for three excruciating days. As is often the case with “exotic” animals, her diagnosis was never 100% definitive, but in all likelihood she had a gastrointestinal obstruction as well as a possible ankylosing spondylitis flare. She was accepting treats from Grandma at 5:30 am; when I came to her at 7:45 am her disposition had changed 180 degrees. First panic that seizes any floof parent is when snacks are refused. My stomach always tightens instantly and red alert bells scream in my ears. Outside life ceases to have meaning and heavy surveillance begins to watch every tiny flinch, every shift, every behaviour pattern that could offer a clue. I have a deep connection with this girl and we’ve been through many challenges together. I instantly could tell she was in pain in the midsection.
Rabbits don’t shout out their pain or complain about it; they just go (imperceptivly) quieter, settle in, and try to tough it out. Dad was much the same way in the spring. Similar to many of my experiences with Skye’s medical challenges, I never knew how much discomfort he truly was in before receiving treatment. In both cases, of course, to a finely tuned observer, there were many signs.
Onward to watching the clock; waiting for office hours and opening. Known (clinic/own physician) is always preferable to unknown emergency; Dad too. At the last pet emergency they wouldn’t look in Skye’s ears for a potential dizziness episode. I called her office early before opening on a whim – and someone answered! If you don’t ask, the answer is always no. I always ask. Ask in a thousand different ways if you have to.
I made my heartfelt two minute plea to the gatekeepers (reception/techs) to the medical professionals. I knew Skye needed help immediately, but they live in a world of facts, outputs, measurables. I tearfully shared her status and told her I was at her mercy, then breathlessly waited for the response. A cancellation, can you be here in six? We were there in five.
In Dad’s case, though, many more steps. It is much more difficult to get critical care for a human. Clinic visits and tests and desperate trip to emergency and triage failures and another trip to emergency and endless wait times and incorrect triaging yet again and three days in purgatory in emergency hell on earth until going nuclear and involving patient advocacy. The health system is deeply flawed. If I had the strength I would go nuclear on public health care in this province. But a friend reminded me of the price, echoing my own hesitation. I do not have the strength to relive that trauma; to be trapped in those moments and the horrors we witnessed and experienced. How many more like us suffer in silence because speaking up is too high a price to pay?
…
Rabbits are an enigma. Vets try to read the subtle signs they give off but they don’t give much information up. Of course their heart rate is fast, they’re terrified to be in the office. Adrenaline can mask pain response. Blood work and diagnostics are cost prohibitive. We were at least blessed to not have to factor in those agonizing cost decisions for treatments for Dad, he stayed three weeks in ICU, likely over $3500 a day for our health system.
For Skye it was examination and then we went into probabilities, likelihoods, dipping into intuition, and costs. As I was signing the consent form for sedation for xray and filling out the form as to whether to rescuscitate I suddenly found myself back in the patient ICU waiting room, doctor sitting with us all round, talking the Night Before. Horrible times, awful decisions. Oh, how my heart bleeds for everyone who goes through those discussions.
Admission. Progress or lack thereof. The doctor consults and next steps. The celebrations over tiny steps forward and despair over steps back. Medications and more medications. In Skye’s case, she was discharged. They stabilized; now the ball is in my court to keep her alive. When family is threatened the wagons circle and I would go to, and have gone to, hell for those I love. The worst part in cardiac ICU is that families only have the margins to work within. The rest is out of control, left to professionals. But damn, did we ever blow to hell those margins trying to move heaven and earth and get Dad through.
In contrast, the margins are much larger with Skye. Skye’s very existence is now back in my hands, there is no IV providing nutrition. As she recovers and the clouds from sedation and illness and pain begin to try to clear, I perform literal life support. Critical care, a mix of essential nutrients, is added to water and syringed lovingly every three hours, until she can eat on her own. For a rabbit even six hours of not eating can spell death; their systems are so fine – almost like a fine sports car engine – that any disruptions bring the whole system to its knees.
There continue to be too many similarities in illness, bringing a torrent of flashbacks. Living on the tiny highs and despairing over the lows. The fog of illness minimizing/prohibiting interaction with the world around and hallucinations. Subtle signs consciousness remains. So many medications, full syringes, empty syringes. So much clinical science, so little natural world. That feeling that there is nothing left to give and collapse is imminent, and yet days later, somehow, continuing round the clock care. Skye is, like Dad was, an absolute fearless warrior in the face of illness. And so I shall relentlessly continue to try to do everything I can in the damn margins unless that final definitive answer comes back no.
