A Look Back at a Life and a Year

It was a Tuesday.

The same Tuesday that always follows Monday. The same Tuesday that found me going for a run along Lagoon Drive, waiting for traffic to subside. The same Tuesday that comes before Wednesday. The same Tuesday that is typically my most productive, and favorite, day of the week.

Except this Tuesday wouldn’t end like the others. This Tuesday would mark the end of the world I had known for nearly 32 years.

………………………………

I don’t know the entire story of how they met, but I know the cliff notes are that they were setup by my Aunty and Uncle. We are Canadian. He, an American. A tall, self-absorbed, loud, entitled American. At least that was the stereotype they had of American men back then.

My Uncle met him first through work and immediately liked him. He then won over my Aunty, which was a feat in itself, since the stereotype was heavily perpetuated by her. At some point my Mom was introduced. She too was a difficult one to charm.

The story changes plot when after 5 years of him trying, my Mom agreed to marry him and move her and I to the United States of America. To be specific, California. The golden state, the epidemy of all things American. Growing up we heard about this part of the world to our South. The Golden State with the golden beaches, golden tans and shiny golden riches.

It was the summer before I turned eight and all I cared about was having a pool in our backyard. To my surprise, or expectation, he showed us three homes. All of which had pools. To the dismay of the real estate agent, I tried out each one during our showings. The final winner was a large kidney shaped pool with a diving board and conjoined hot tub. For 11 years we lived in that house. Perhaps it was the childhood of the American dream or maybe just my California dream. I would spend 8 hours a day in that pool during the summer. Only coming out because I wasn’t allowed to eat in, or by the edge of, the pool.

………………………………

He never really got old. He just got sick. He remained sharp and social able up until the end. His initial cancer diagnosis really shook him and within days he began preparing for death. Writing down account information, finalizing wills and trusts, shredding old documents and donating books and clothes. Thankfully the treatments worked and his cancer went into remission. Several of the best years of his life followed.

Then, he started to get sick again. It started with pain and weakness and progressed rapidly. Then, on March 3, 2020 at around 6:00pm I was told he had 48 hours to live. I booked the morning flight and asked him to wait for me.

………………………………

He played basketball in high school and college. Because of this he encouraged me to play. When I agreed, he immediately became my teams’ coach and led us to multiple winning seasons.

After several years of basketball, I told him I wanted to switch to volleyball. While he may have been sad at first, he never let it show. Instead, he created a volleyball club in our town and attended every one of my games. This included attending my college games, 45 minutes away, after work on Friday nights.

During my games, I asked him not to yell my name because I got embarrassed. Instead, he yelled just as loud and just as often, but saying, “go number 11” instead of saying my name.

………………………………

I arrived the evening of March 4 going straight from the airport to the hospital. He hadn’t spoken in days and only opened his eyes once. We were 24 hours into his final 48.

My mom and I slept in his hospital room that night. While she slept in the recliner, I lay awake on the sofa, counting the seconds in between each breath. 1, one thousand, 2, one thousand, 3, one thousand…. Heavy inhalations and abrupt chest raises gave way to quiet exhalations and silence. With each breath, there was a feeling of vulnerability, surrender and peace that removed me from the surrounding world.

In the morning, the sun rose and flooded the room with light. The morning of March 5 had arrived. Suddenly the waking of the world replaced those feelings of vulnerability, surrender and peace with suspicion, detachment and haste. It was the dawn of his last day.

We stayed by his bedside, and I continued to count the breaths. There was more time between the inhale and exhale and a few times I thought he wouldn’t inhale again. Then suddenly and forcefully the inhale occurred, followed by the exhale and me counting silently.

The final moments were peaceful. Standing by his bedside, holding his hand. His final breaths were soft, quiet and shallow. It was as if the heavy inhalations were him fighting to stay alive. Then when he decided he was ready to go, he surrendered, relaxed, and the fight left his body. Ending with his lungs taking in the last bit of air they needed to remove himself from this earthly plane.

………………………………

It has been one year. This world and my world have not been the same since.

Due to the pandemic and border closures, my Mom and I have had no ceremony, no closure, no other family around us.

My mom and I are dealing with the grief differently. She gets sad in the evenings, eating dinner and watching TV alone. I get sad when questions or situations arise that I would normally ask for his help on. However, like the rest of the world, we too are adjusting to our new normal. A new normal, alone, in the country he brought us too. A country that we are currently trapped in.

The world will never be as it was. I have not yet decided if I am lucky to be dealing with so much at once or sad that the world my Mom and I now know, he will never experience.