A very bad week

Life does not organize itself for our convenience or happiness. The past seven days have delivered two losses that have left my wife and I bereft.

Irene’s Mum, Celina, died on Thursday, November 28 after a brief stay in the ICU at Trail Hospital. My sister Judy passed on Tuesday, December 3 in the Agassiz Senior’s Community after a short couple of months of extreme decline from rapidly progressive dementia.

I’m trying to figure out how to deal with these events, bumbling my way through being supportive of other family members, and generally feeling quite lost and rather irrelevant.

Celina

Celina was Irene’s Mum, and a person I always found a bit challenging. She had her way of doing things and was rather quick to find fault in others. But she was also a person who loved to grow plants and flowers, and who loved animals of all shapes and sizes.

I was somewhat surprised by how she seemed to like our dog Finn, for example. Finn is rambunctious and rather silly, which seems quite contrary to Celina’s preferred kind of companion. But for whatever reason it seems that Finn was quite okay in her books.

Celina was, I believe, left somewhat adrift when her husband Duncan passed a bit over 11 years ago. Much of her life was built around him and she felt his absence dearly. Irene established a daily call routine with Celina, something which Celina monitored with her usual persnicketiness. I think she was quite lonely, and treasured the regular interactions with her only child.

Celina moved to Castlegar about a year ago to be close to Irene. This worked out quite well as she shared a few seasonal meals with us and Irene was able to visit her regularly without it becoming too much of a daily intrusion. Celina seemed to have settled in well at the Castlewood retirement community with her plants and her cat, Samira.

Celina had some trouble breathing a couple of weeks ago. A couple of emergency visits led to her being transferred to Trail ICU with what was described as cardiac related pulmonary edema. Irene and I visited Celina daily while she was in the ICU, and watching her struggle to breathe was difficult. The doctors felt Celina’s time was near, and Celina herself asked for no extraordinary measures to keep her alive.

I made the difficult choice to go visit my sister Judy on November 27, leaving Irene to be at her Mother’s side for what I didn’t know would be her last couple of days. Passing was at least partly Celina’s choice, a relief from the pain. She was 85 years old.

Judy

Judy was the glue that bound our family together for many years. She was always inviting us into her home for seasonal celebrations, seemingly incapable of forgetting anyone’s birthday, giver of many small and sometimes ridiculous gifts.

I will always treasure the fact that Judy was one of only two people who regularly hugged me during my childhood. I never really experienced much human contact beyond that given by my two sisters, and I probably would have been a much more ‘broken’ person without it.

I recall having nightmares when I was five or six after my Dad’s stroke, and Judy coming to calm my fears. She taught me to curl up in the fetal position for self-comfort from these dreams, something I still do occasionally. I also remember all the times that I was invited for extended Summer stays in her and Bryan’s home with my nephew Shane. I doubt that I ever showed proper appreciation for these kindnesses at the time, but they changed my life for the better.

Judy was the person who took Shane and me to see the very first Star Wars movie in the summer of 1977. I also had lunch at my first McDonald’s restaurant with Judy and Shane. I remember the old station wagon with a push-button transmission Judy had one summer when I visited. I had a learner’s permit at the time and I have an unclear recollection that she let me drive the strange old car a bit. It is a trick of the mind how these seemingly random snippets seem easier to recall than possibly more important things, but they still hold deep meaning to me.

What I remember most about Judy was her positive outlook and joy, and her hugs. She passed on Tuesday, December 3rd, at the age of 77 after a rapid mental and physical decline. I am glad that I got to see her one last time, and happier still that I was able to share time during her final days with the family that always came first to Judy.

Unravelled but still intact

I feel a bit like a sweater that has snagged and had a couple of rows of weaving removed: the main parts are all there, but I’m not really holding together all that well. Being 600 kilometres away from many of the people I love has added to the challenges. I needed to be in two places at once this past week but wasn’t able to pull that off. I’m thankful for the strength of my wife and everyone’s love.

I wish I was more socially adept with better instincts about how to help my nephew, brother-in-law, and wife. Instead I bumble around saying and doing the wrong or inadequate things while spending too much time in silence.