McPie, on the daily drag of rushing:
"In my world, the sundial would be the height of time-keeping technology."
Monday, September 24, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Hammer time
Thank you thank you for your comments on my last post.
I guess times like these let you see how flexible, spontaneous, stoic, and/or understanding people are. I guess I mean "we" - the family. We're facing an enormous change, and there is much preparation to be done. Now that the doctor's visits and the move to the palliative care home have been completed, the preparation that remains is emotional, interpersonal, relational.
The funny thing is, I'm pretty sure it's not Baba who has the work to do. She really seems to be on top of it. For example, my sister was packing up Baba's belongings, and Mom was on the phone with Baba at the same time, and Julie and Mom are both crying. Baba, laughing "Why are you girls crying?!?!"
It's the rest of us. We have work to do for ourselves and for each other. I can only speak for myself: my work is going to involve spending as much time as I can with Baba, and figuring out how to let her go. And doing my part to help everyone through. Personally, I believe (though perhaps naively, as I have little experience with this) that this situation can be approached with optimism and joy. The challenge, of course, is figuring out how and where to find those elements, and figuring out how (in god's name) to incorporate them into the pain of loss.
My little sister spent the past week in Hamilton, doing the final stages of the doctor appointments, keeping Baba company, and at the end of her stay, she moved Baba to Emmanual House, a palliative care home. Having spent a mere two days in a similar way, I know how exhausting this is. Not that hanging with Baba is arduous at all, but there's an underlying stress that comes with seeing someone you love in a state of constant discomfort and trying to act "normal" about it. Also, did I mention the suckage factor of institutional food? (Happily, Emmanual House has awesome homemade food that Baba's been gorging on.) Anyway, I don't know how my sister did it for a whole week. She is unbelievably stoic.
Also, it sounds like Baba insisted that Julie's fella (who was also in town for part of the week) take her engagement ring-shopping. She may have also forced the couple to set a wedding date. Scott could hardly deny a lady her dying wish, now could he? Yah Baba!
My mother flew to Hamilton yesterday to stay indefinitely. (Well, to stay until there's nothing left to stay for.) She's leaving the Inn in the capable hands of my sister. But my sister won't be alone. My DAD is going out to Canning to help Julie with the Inn. And more importantly, to keep her company while she is by herself, away from the action. So far, he's planning to stay for three weeks. I hope hope hope hope that they'll be able to visit Baba again.
Sweetie McPie is taking over at home with the kids this weekend so I can join my mother for a couple of days. He's looking forward to hanging out with my Dad, who will be staying at our place the night before heading to NS. (I wasn't sure I'd be home for this visit. When I asked McPie if he'd considered looking after Dad in my absence, he was like "Of course! He's my Dad!") He's onboard (without reservations) on making the trip to the Hammer as much as we need to (together as often as we can) in the coming days.
The kids' moms have assured us that they'll swoop in and take the kids if we need to be away, even though they are up to their necks in new house renos, new jobs, and a new longer commute to school.
I'm so proud: my family is amazing. When this kind of love and support comes to readily and unconditionally, it's impossible not to be joyful.
I guess times like these let you see how flexible, spontaneous, stoic, and/or understanding people are. I guess I mean "we" - the family. We're facing an enormous change, and there is much preparation to be done. Now that the doctor's visits and the move to the palliative care home have been completed, the preparation that remains is emotional, interpersonal, relational.
The funny thing is, I'm pretty sure it's not Baba who has the work to do. She really seems to be on top of it. For example, my sister was packing up Baba's belongings, and Mom was on the phone with Baba at the same time, and Julie and Mom are both crying. Baba, laughing "Why are you girls crying?!?!"
It's the rest of us. We have work to do for ourselves and for each other. I can only speak for myself: my work is going to involve spending as much time as I can with Baba, and figuring out how to let her go. And doing my part to help everyone through. Personally, I believe (though perhaps naively, as I have little experience with this) that this situation can be approached with optimism and joy. The challenge, of course, is figuring out how and where to find those elements, and figuring out how (in god's name) to incorporate them into the pain of loss.
My little sister spent the past week in Hamilton, doing the final stages of the doctor appointments, keeping Baba company, and at the end of her stay, she moved Baba to Emmanual House, a palliative care home. Having spent a mere two days in a similar way, I know how exhausting this is. Not that hanging with Baba is arduous at all, but there's an underlying stress that comes with seeing someone you love in a state of constant discomfort and trying to act "normal" about it. Also, did I mention the suckage factor of institutional food? (Happily, Emmanual House has awesome homemade food that Baba's been gorging on.) Anyway, I don't know how my sister did it for a whole week. She is unbelievably stoic.
Also, it sounds like Baba insisted that Julie's fella (who was also in town for part of the week) take her engagement ring-shopping. She may have also forced the couple to set a wedding date. Scott could hardly deny a lady her dying wish, now could he? Yah Baba!
My mother flew to Hamilton yesterday to stay indefinitely. (Well, to stay until there's nothing left to stay for.) She's leaving the Inn in the capable hands of my sister. But my sister won't be alone. My DAD is going out to Canning to help Julie with the Inn. And more importantly, to keep her company while she is by herself, away from the action. So far, he's planning to stay for three weeks. I hope hope hope hope that they'll be able to visit Baba again.
Sweetie McPie is taking over at home with the kids this weekend so I can join my mother for a couple of days. He's looking forward to hanging out with my Dad, who will be staying at our place the night before heading to NS. (I wasn't sure I'd be home for this visit. When I asked McPie if he'd considered looking after Dad in my absence, he was like "Of course! He's my Dad!") He's onboard (without reservations) on making the trip to the Hammer as much as we need to (together as often as we can) in the coming days.
The kids' moms have assured us that they'll swoop in and take the kids if we need to be away, even though they are up to their necks in new house renos, new jobs, and a new longer commute to school.
I'm so proud: my family is amazing. When this kind of love and support comes to readily and unconditionally, it's impossible not to be joyful.
Friday, September 14, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
When in doubt, blame the kids
Tidying up the kitchen this morning, I came across a particularly cluttered corner of countertop:
"How is it that our entire liquor cupboard has migrated to the counter?"
McPie, as he scoots up the stairs, handily out of reach of the snap of my dishtowel:
"Why is it that I wake up with a headache every day?"
"How is it that our entire liquor cupboard has migrated to the counter?"
McPie, as he scoots up the stairs, handily out of reach of the snap of my dishtowel:
"Why is it that I wake up with a headache every day?"
Friday, September 7, 2007
On the latest read
I started responding to Trixie's comment as a comment, but found I had enough to say to warrant a real post. Me? Opinion on a book? Surprising.
I loved Divisadero, though was at first confounded by the split stories (that is, the California vs France stories). Well, not confounded completely. After digesting the ending, I spent half an hour describing the issues to McPie and explaining (ie: working through) the thematic reasons it makes sense. But I read the book really quickly (in two and a half sittings, really), and at the time, I was like WTF?
However, it's beautifully written in traditional Ondaatje style, and both stories were completely compelling (that's why I burned through the book so fast -- I couldn't tear myself away), so I can't complain. The definition he gives for "divisadero" is obviously key, same with one of Anna's final comments about seeing the story of her "siblings" in everything/everywhere, but I'm not sure that gets Ondaatje completely off the hook for the enormous divide in the storylines. Artsy and experimental, fine, but not totally clean IMO. But, a joy to simply read, even if the digestion is not as smooth as the consumption. (Similar to The View from Castle Rock - a pleasure to immerse myself in the sentences at the time, but the overall takeaway was perhaps less than the sum of the parts, possibly for structural reasons...)
I think Trixie may have also said this about Divisadero too: I want to go back and peruse the text more slowly, to absorb some of the images again. (I loved how Rafael carried herbs in his pockets and made meals from almost nothing. I want to be that guy!)
In the Skin of a Lion continues to be my fave. That one stands up to (and improves with) many reads.
We WILL want to line up The Other Side of the Bridge once we're finished Crow Lake. I think McPie and I will do that one together too, since I've heard it's also as suspenseful (which works really well for read-alouds). Maybe I can borrow it when I return Crow Lake and the Alice Munro? ;-)
I loved Divisadero, though was at first confounded by the split stories (that is, the California vs France stories). Well, not confounded completely. After digesting the ending, I spent half an hour describing the issues to McPie and explaining (ie: working through) the thematic reasons it makes sense. But I read the book really quickly (in two and a half sittings, really), and at the time, I was like WTF?
However, it's beautifully written in traditional Ondaatje style, and both stories were completely compelling (that's why I burned through the book so fast -- I couldn't tear myself away), so I can't complain. The definition he gives for "divisadero" is obviously key, same with one of Anna's final comments about seeing the story of her "siblings" in everything/everywhere, but I'm not sure that gets Ondaatje completely off the hook for the enormous divide in the storylines. Artsy and experimental, fine, but not totally clean IMO. But, a joy to simply read, even if the digestion is not as smooth as the consumption. (Similar to The View from Castle Rock - a pleasure to immerse myself in the sentences at the time, but the overall takeaway was perhaps less than the sum of the parts, possibly for structural reasons...)
I think Trixie may have also said this about Divisadero too: I want to go back and peruse the text more slowly, to absorb some of the images again. (I loved how Rafael carried herbs in his pockets and made meals from almost nothing. I want to be that guy!)
In the Skin of a Lion continues to be my fave. That one stands up to (and improves with) many reads.
We WILL want to line up The Other Side of the Bridge once we're finished Crow Lake. I think McPie and I will do that one together too, since I've heard it's also as suspenseful (which works really well for read-alouds). Maybe I can borrow it when I return Crow Lake and the Alice Munro? ;-)
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Back to school blues
A little more than a week ago, Ben was impatiently excited about finally going to school, where he'd be starting grade one.
What was he most looking forward to? "I'm going to learn how to write things."
School started on Thursday, so he had a few days to settle in.
[snip tale of long weekend trip to the Golden Horsheshoe, which involved astham attacks, copious vomit, floods of snot and nursing home shenanigans. Another story completely.]
On Tuesday night, McPie and I were driving Ben home from his mom's place -- they have just moved to a new (old) house, and the requisite unpacking and cleaning were wreaking hovoc with Ben's allergies, so we were going to keep at our place a few extra days.
In the car, we asked Ben if he's enjoying grade one, if he's having fun.
"NO! It's boring. [In Ben's lexicon, "boring" can mean anything from the tradition definition to silly, bad, or unpleasant. Just as "smart" can mean either intelligent or "small". Kid has a dynamic approach to English.] We only do baby things."
Baby things?
"Every day we just draw. The first day and then the next day, just more drawing."
So, you're really eager to do the real stuff, like reading?
"Yes! I want to do REAL school."
McPie and I giggle to ourselves. He tells Ben that when we get home, we can work on some words. Ben is enthusiastic.
"Oh-kay! Let's do some DEVOIRS!"
I really wish I could convey the emphasis with which he exclaimed this. The mix of languages in this context was just priceless. McPie and I were beside ourselves.
Every day this week, he's been pestering to do his devoirs. I don't think he actually has homework to do, but boy is he keen to get going with this reading and writing business. We're doing our best, and I have a feeling that he's coming close upon the a-ha! moment.
What was he most looking forward to? "I'm going to learn how to write things."
School started on Thursday, so he had a few days to settle in.
[snip tale of long weekend trip to the Golden Horsheshoe, which involved astham attacks, copious vomit, floods of snot and nursing home shenanigans. Another story completely.]
On Tuesday night, McPie and I were driving Ben home from his mom's place -- they have just moved to a new (old) house, and the requisite unpacking and cleaning were wreaking hovoc with Ben's allergies, so we were going to keep at our place a few extra days.
In the car, we asked Ben if he's enjoying grade one, if he's having fun.
"NO! It's boring. [In Ben's lexicon, "boring" can mean anything from the tradition definition to silly, bad, or unpleasant. Just as "smart" can mean either intelligent or "small". Kid has a dynamic approach to English.] We only do baby things."
Baby things?
"Every day we just draw. The first day and then the next day, just more drawing."
So, you're really eager to do the real stuff, like reading?
"Yes! I want to do REAL school."
McPie and I giggle to ourselves. He tells Ben that when we get home, we can work on some words. Ben is enthusiastic.
"Oh-kay! Let's do some DEVOIRS!"
I really wish I could convey the emphasis with which he exclaimed this. The mix of languages in this context was just priceless. McPie and I were beside ourselves.
Every day this week, he's been pestering to do his devoirs. I don't think he actually has homework to do, but boy is he keen to get going with this reading and writing business. We're doing our best, and I have a feeling that he's coming close upon the a-ha! moment.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Finally
Finished Harry Potter. Phewf! What a ride!
Two nights ago I hit the point of no return and couldn't put it down. This coincided with McPie having band practice one night and a show the next, so I was alone on kid duty. Last night I scurried them off to bed early and stayed up late to finish off the book.
Am I a bad parent if I suggested that the children eat dinner in front of the TV - so I could squeeze in half an hour of reading while eating? Probably... However, Constance called me on it and insisted the three of us eat dinner together at the table. I sucked it up and with effort, cast Harry aside for the moment.
I was rewarded for my sacrifice with a rare* bout of meal-appreciation for the meaty-cheesy spaghetti. Hugs and thank yous and more pleases and subsequent warm-fuzzies abounded.
*I'm exaggerating - meal-appreciation is actually quite common in our house - B & C are great eaters, and are cooperative (even enthusiastic) about trying new things. Last night, however, they were particular effusive in their praise.
Two nights ago I hit the point of no return and couldn't put it down. This coincided with McPie having band practice one night and a show the next, so I was alone on kid duty. Last night I scurried them off to bed early and stayed up late to finish off the book.
Am I a bad parent if I suggested that the children eat dinner in front of the TV - so I could squeeze in half an hour of reading while eating? Probably... However, Constance called me on it and insisted the three of us eat dinner together at the table. I sucked it up and with effort, cast Harry aside for the moment.
I was rewarded for my sacrifice with a rare* bout of meal-appreciation for the meaty-cheesy spaghetti. Hugs and thank yous and more pleases and subsequent warm-fuzzies abounded.
*I'm exaggerating - meal-appreciation is actually quite common in our house - B & C are great eaters, and are cooperative (even enthusiastic) about trying new things. Last night, however, they were particular effusive in their praise.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)