Oh.... how I wish you were here......

There comes a time in everyone's life when they have to step up.  The natural progression of aging; first babies, toddlers, school kids, teenagers... if we're lucky; spouses, parents... grandparents.  We all take a step ahead, and bring what we learn with us.  In the rush and joy we forget that the progression has an end, and eventually those that were ahead of us in the ladder have disappeared.  So, when we get to the front of the line it's time to reflect on a lot of things until the final step into the unknown.

Last night, on the 1st of March just before midnight, my first love made that final step into forever;  my Mother, Gloria Rossalind Knowlan, at age 86.

On the afternoon the day before she suffered a sudden and serious stroke.  When the call came to let me know where she was (at that time her condition was unknown) I quickly grabbed my things and drove to the hospital.  It was simply time to step up.  For the next 15 hours I rarely left her side, holding her hand, comforting her, passing her tissues when she coughed, waiting (yes, even in the infamous "Tim Horton's" ward in RCH) for tests and time to pass.  We spoke of so many things when she wanted to talk;  how much she loved us - her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren - special friends, fun times, things she taught me over the years;  we talked quietly between her struggles to rest.  She wanted Pink Floyd played at her memorial service and we talked about her favorite music. Mostly I dozed in the chair beside her bed and let her know she was not alone.

When she was finally taken for a CT scan on the morning of the 1st we were unsure of the prognosis, but I saw marks of the seriousness of her condition in the laxness on one side of her face and steeled myself for what was to come.  When the Dr. finally had a consult with me following the test the result was pure and simple;  there was a serious stroke in her cerebellum; it had not been the first one; she was going to be stabilized and best case scenario was she would stay as she was or heal;  worst case scenario was further strokes, compromised respiratory system or heart problems.  They told me that sleep was my best option and I checked with family and informed them that in my opinion the situation meant we all needed to step up and change how we were dealing with this.  I was hopeful someone else would care for her while I took care of my own responsibilites, phoned in sick at work, slept a few hours, cleaned up and returned... this time with a different parking spot, change in my wallet, a fully recharged phone, and the hope that TONIGHT Tim Horton's was serving tea....

My siblings had taken care of a lot of the important stuff;  Mom was still in the emergency by herself after insisting she wanted "no visitors" and that she was just tired.  She sent my other siblings off to their lives and didn't want a fuss.  My brother and sister had gone to clean her apartment and ease her worry over her personal space.  My brother came by with a care package with personal items as I attempted to keep her as comfortable in bed as possible, but a little after 10 pm there was a marked change.  She told me she was sad that we were all having to do these things for her now, so I reminded her that she did that and more for us when we were small; stayed by our sides, stroked our hair, held our hands, wiped our faces, and look at how lucky she was that now we were here to do it for her.  I reminded her that her life was very, very rich, and that we were the gold that made it so.  That comforted her and she giggled a little.  But she was drifting away, not so lucid anymore, her breath becoming harder, fretful and struggling for air.  The staff made her as comfortable as they could and I asked that they call my family and tell them of her condition.  I knew it was close to the end.

One more time to feed the meter, and back I went to wait.  I helped the staff gather her belongings and whispered in her ear that the family was coming, hang on just a little longer, but the morphine they gave her for her pain and comfort allowed her to slip away like a firefly, creeping softly from the ground and rising for the first time.  I watched the husk of her earthly body wind down quietly like an old fashioned toy, and I held her close and kissed her as she took those last soft breaths.  And she healed me.  Softly, quietly, and without a lot of fuss or drama, she taught me her last lesson.  I'm strong enough to take care of myself.  I'm strong enough to do the right thing.  I'm strong enough to take the tough stuff on and I don't have to claim the world, I just get to claim my role in it.  And for one last time I had her all to myself.

That is the gold I get to share now.  Like a chocolate coin, it's shiny on the outside and sweet in the middle, and it tastes better when you share it.  And when you share a lot of them you have other people share theirs with you.  That is what makes life so very rich and so very sweet.

I always tell people that your immortality lives on in the memories other people have of you.  Mom, to me you will always be immortal and I will treasure every precious moment of your life.  And although I do have a lot of regrets I am at peace in that this time I have none.  I will keep being honest and straightforward with my family and friends, and I will live my life more the way she did; quietly and softly, with compassion and humour, and keep my childlike wonder, until I too go forward. I will continue to do the right thing even when no one else wants me to be right.   I'm a bit stubborn that way, but for all of you who really knew Gloria you also know I come by that trait honestly.