Consolation of philosophy

I spent Monday and Tuesday of this past week in Hamilton, with my Baba. I flew down early Monday morning, and back on Tuesday evening. The purpose was, ostensibly, to go with her to a couple of doctor appointments - partly for transportation, mostly for helping to get the information from the doctor, and understand what was going on. Practically, it was a fantastic opportunity to spend time together.

Recap: Several weeks ago, Baba was really sick in a stomachy sort of way, and she underwent some tests including an ultrasound. The results led her cancer doctor (she's had breast cancer in the past several years and is under the care of an oncologist) to suspect a metastasized cancer in the liver and/or pancreas. The ultrasound raised suspicions, but was not conclusive - a CT scan and further tests were required.

This sort of cancer, of course, in an 83 year old, is not really treatable. So we've been sort off assuming the worst, waiting for the details.

Monday, I took Baba to get the results of the CT scan, and to have some bloodwork done. The doc told us the CT scan did not show any cancer. It did show she had gall stones.

Skip to: I loved spending the two days with Baba. She's in a nursing home, because she's too weak to be as independent as she needed to to be in the seniors home. She's herself (unlike many of her fellow inmates), just really tired. I just sat in the comfy chair by her bed from morning until night both days, chatting with her, napping, occasionally reading. We ate meals together (Institutional food sucks! no wonder everyone's sick!), and she even summoned the energy to go out to a restaurant for lunch. I tucked her in like I do the kids, and that made her giggle.

By the time I left on Tuesday night, I had been enlightened: although no tumours showed on scans, the subsequent blood tests determined she has aggressive cancer in her liver and pancreas.

I got more details from my mother when I was home on Wednesday (after my sister had flown to Hamilton to take up my post next to Baba's bed for the next week): Baba will likely only be with us for a few more weeks.

While I was on the phone with my mother, I may have shed a few tears (see Mom, not coldhearted!) I was on solo duty with the kidlets, and Constance was keeping a close eye on me. When I hung up, she came over to hug me, and ask if I was ok.

I told her I was sad about Baba. (We had already told the kids -- before we took them to visit her, actually -- that Baba is sick and that she will probably die soon.) Constance lamented that she’d only just met her ("it's not fair!"), and she began to cry.

So, she and I had a really good talk about how we (the living, loving ones left behind) console ourselves by trying to understand what happens to our loved ones after they die. Constance isn't Christian (and, I guess it's safe to say, neither am I), so we tossed around lots of ideas. I told her that Baba believes she's going to Heaven, where she will be reunited with her husband and parents and brothers and sisters. I postulated the possibility of the soul (which I tried to define that "the part that makes you you, without your body") being released into the world, where it is free and omniscient. Constance brought up the possibility of returning as another creature. I pointed out that this is a very widely held belief - maybe even more common than Heaven.

Eventually, Constance had the idea that memory could be the equivalent of the soul being released into the world. As in, our memories keep someone "alive" in the afterlife - they live in our hearts.

I know this is not an uncommon notion. But I still think Constance is brilliant and insightful. And I think this concept is true. I described to her how, when my grandparents died, I wasn't sad, because they were very old, and they died relatively suddenly at a time when they were still enjoying life. (As in, they seemed ready.) I would miss them, but I wasn't sad.

Years later however, at certain times - proud moments and stuff - I felt them (or their absence) acutely. I was never really sure if this was "missing" them, because I didn't miss them in daily life - I'd moved on far in life and time. So it seemed to me that these feelings were them, with me in spirit - really, truly living in my heart. Constance thought that made sense.

When we finished talking and started getting ready for bed, we did feel consoled. Probably as much by sharing the sadness with each other, as by our philosophizing.

I recounted the evening and this conversation (as well as the one with my mother) to McPie when he returned from band practice. He told me that when we were visiting on the long weekend, Baba told him not to worry about her being sick and dying, because she was "going straight up there" -- she pointed to the sky, smiling.