Gregory, my oldest, turns 19 today. His last year as a teenager.
We took him to a sushi bar for lunch and he chose Thai for dinner. He likes good food!
Today is supposed to be a happy day. For the most part it is. Until I pulled up pictures from this day in the past.
This is Greg and my father when he turned 16. This is the first year Dad isn’t here to help celebrate.
I miss him so much. I know he’s with us and our memories are forever but it doesn’t make it easier. This picture hit me hard. I wish he was here with us to sing happy birthday to my son.
Back in the early eighties there were four of us. My parents and my older sister completed our family. We were pretty close and did most things together. Naturally as we grew up, life became busier and we moved apart.
We would take long drives to tournaments, parades, races, or competitions. Every weekend we had something to do. Summers were spent with my grandparents or visiting relatives in another country. Whatever the plans, we were doing it as a family.
We grew up on the east coast of Canada. After high school my sister moved west to Calgary and I moved south to North Carolina. Many miles and a couple time zones separate us. Eventually my parents moved to NC after I had children of my own. They were grandparents now.
We tried and could never get the angle right. Poor John kept getting cut off. 🤦🏻♀️
Even living so far away we tried to spend Christmas together. My parents would host. My sister would fly down from Calgary. We would bring my grandmother down from Nova Scotia. We had a great time.
And then tragedy struck.
When I was 32 years old my mother called me telling me they found my sister dead of an apparent pulmonary embolism in her apartment. She was only 35. Over the next several weeks we made arrangements all over Calgary by phone. My husband and I flew to Alberta to clean out her apartment, collect her belongings, and bring her ashes home.
Fast forward to six year later. Now I’m 38. My father died of cancer a few months ago. We have cleaned out his house, collected or donated his belongings, and brought his ashes home. Our cozy little family of four has now become two.
Yes, I have my own three beautiful, kind hearted children and a loving husband but not having my sister there to talk with in the middle of the night; or for a laugh during Christmas dinner. Not being able to call up my daddy and ask him for advice or tell him about an accomplishment his grandchild has done is hard.
I know it will get easier.
I really am hoping we are done with death for a while. Two immediate family members in six years is too much.
Did you ever just lose you s*** on somebody over something minor? Like really lose you s***? No? Just me?
Yup. I did. I went bananas over the most petty thing. It really wasn’t about the thing. It certainly wasn’t about the person. It just happened to be the last little thing I could tolerate, or rather couldn’t tolerate, at that point in that particular day.
You see, life is hard. Even on a good day you have to remember to eat, drink water, brush your teeth, and don’t forget about going to work and paying your bills! Naturally some days are better than others. There might even be multiple good years, but life is not easy.
Then there are years like 2020. Things just keep happening, adding to the stress. New Year’s Eve was great! My husband and I went out to a roaring 20s themed event with neighbours. We dressed up and had a great time.
And then …
My father got sick. Well, he was diagnosed with stage 4 renal cancer in June of 2018. He was told he could have major surgery to remove his kidney followed by radiation and chemo. He was told if left untreated he would have between 2-5 years. There were no guarantees they could help at all because it was so advanced when they found it. He elected to not have surgery, chemo, nor radiation. He felt he would rather have two good years than five years feeling sick or not fully recovering from surgery. You see, he felt fine. He wasn’t hurting. He wasn’t feeling sick. He wanted to be able to enjoy as many of his days as possible that he had left.
Shortly after Christmas Dad started getting pain in his shoulder. He called to make an appointment with his primary care doctor who happened to be on vacation. They offered him a visit with a different provider in their practice but he opted to wait until his doctor was available. It was only going to be another week.
So the first week of January he goes to his doctor. They do x-rays and blood work then sent him home and asked him to wait by the phone for the results. His calcium was really high so they sent him to the emergency room for treatment. There they found his cancer had spread. It was everywhere. Now he had tumours in his humerus, his spine encroaching on his spinal cord, his lungs, his rib, his blood, his lymph nodes, I could go on. They told him to go home and get his affairs in order.
That was a hard blow. He felt fine last week and now he has to prepare for his death. He was admitted to the hospital that day and spent a week there and was told to get up with his oncologist for follow up after discharge. That took another week.
So now it’s the end of January and he is going to do radiation for pain control. He had a total of 18 radiation treatments and two biopsies. During this time I worked 12 hour shifts on Saturdays and Sundays and spent Monday to Friday taking him back and forth to appointments.
Week 2 of February he spent back in the hospital with an elevated calcium again. When he got out, the radiation weakened his humerus riddled with cancer to the point it snapped under its own weight when he stood up. It needed surgical repair but his blood work didn’t allow for it. He walked around for the rest of his life with his arm literally broken in two.
One of Dad’s oncologists mentioned a newer medication that works with renal cancer. It was an immune boosting chemotherapy. 60% of people have no side effects; 40% have mild diarrhoea; less than 1% of people reported a severe reaction. He decided he would give it a try. So the last Wednesday of February he sat for the infusion. Unfortunately, Dad was in the latter category. He had enough. He was in constant pain from the cancer and the broken arm. He was now weak, needing assistance to stand. He was done suffering.
Dad started hospice the first Thursday in March. He began asking “how many hours” until family arrived. Not days, hours. Saturday he was sitting up and having conversations. He called his one sister who couldn’t travel via FaceTime. Sunday he was unable to sit up and could only mumble. Monday morning he died.
This is March of 2020 and now a pandemic has spread. We managed to have a small memorial service for him the following Saturday before the world closed. Closing out an estate when you can’t go anywhere is difficult. Nearly 4 months later we are still working on it.
Mom moved in with us the day Dad died. She brought her two dogs with her. My household now has four dogs and six people. March was spent trying to figure out life after Dad’s death. April was spent clearing out their house. May comes along and Mom fell, breaking her hip.
After surgery (partial hip replacement) and a brief rehab stay (they want people out as soon as physically possible to prevent the spread of the virus) she came home. She is completely dependent because she is trying to learn how to walk with her new hip. Our family members take turns helping her.
Also in May I went back to work. Now I’m working full time and still trying to deal with Dad’s estate. Also, I’m helping my mother out as much as possible because she can’t do it. Oh, and I have three kids and four dogs, etc.
To say life is stressful is an understatement. And this is just the highlights. There are so many more things I don’t have the mental capacity to share. We were supposed to take the kids to New York City, as their Christmas present, but that was cancelled. I was supposed to spend two weeks in Paris with a good friend from out of state I haven’t seen in years, that was cancelled. Oh and let’s add to this quarantine meaning everyone in the house is home all of the time. There is no quiet time.
Want to know the final kicker? Our AC broke the end of June in North Carolina. A four year old system needed over $2000 of repairs while it was ninety degrees or more outside.
I’m tired. No, I’m exhausted. Mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted. Every little thing irritates me. My kids could look at me wrong and I blow up. It’s not fair to them. It’s not fair to my husband that I am so agitated all the time. It is not fair to my mother who has done nothing wrong.
Finally, I went to the beach. My husband told me to go. He convinced me I needed a break.
Four and a half hours of driving alone each way, listening to podcasts and audio books, some salt water, good company, and a couple beverages later I felt so much better.
I’m not saying my stress is gone but I feel much better. Will I still loose my cool on someone who doesn’t deserve it? Maybe. But hopefully not anytime soon.
Were we rich? No, but we were not poor either. I grew up as a white, middle class Christian in the suburbs of Canada. My parents were married until my father’s death.
I don’t know what it feels like to be persecuted because I’m Jewish, or Muslim, or any other religion. I don’t know what it feels like to be judged because we were too poor to afford housing, water, heat, food, clothes, etc. I don’t know what it feels like to be physically, mentally, or sexually abused. I don’t know what it feels like to grow up in the home of a single parent. I don’t know what it feels like to have to watch my back my entire life because the colour of my skin is darker than someone else’s.
I don’t know.
I cannot put myself in the shoes of any human on this planet that has. I can’t even begin to imagine how any of that feels.
Because I grew up privileged.
Luckily for me my parents taught me that. They made me work for everything I got as a child. They made me learn that not everyone was as fortunate as we were. They showed me how to be compassionate and how to love everyone.
My mother used to sell Mary Kay. She would donate her time to a program called Look Good, Feel Better where they would give women fighting cancer make overs. She taught me how to give.
My father was the most honest, giving man I have ever met. Without question if you needed help, even in the middle of the night, he would help you. As a mechanic he would often trade his services for goods if someone couldn’t afford the required maintenance or repairs. He taught me compassion.
My parents taught me people of all shapes, sizes, religions, colours, and backgrounds matter. They taught me to find the good in everyone.
My heart breaks for all of those in this world who are afraid to call for help because the help might be worse than the problem they find themselves in. I have never felt as though I can’t approach a stranger for help for the fear I may be perceived as a threat.
For all of you who have, I see you.
I am sorry.
I am sorry you have a reason to be afraid. I am sorry you can’t walk down the street without watching your back. I am sorry you are arrested for reporting the same news as your white colleagues that were not. I am sorry you can’t go for a jog without the fear of being killed. I am sorry you don’t know if your next encounter with the police, for any reason, may be your last breath.
I am sorry.
I read a book explaining white privilege to those who don’t understand. It told of a true story where two young women with the same credit history, same job history, and same age apply for an apartment around the same time. One of the applicants is black and the other white. The black applicant, who applied first, was told she was too risky for the landlord to take a chance on her. The white applicant, who would not have had the opportunity if the black woman was given a chance, was offered the apartment because she “looked” honest. That passage made me angry.
If you don’t realise you are privileged based on your skin colour, you aren’t watching what is happening around you. I know I am privileged.
To say 2020 has already been one heck of a year would be an understatement. So much death. So much devastation. So many tragedies around the globe. I’ve heard people say they want a do over or a mulligan. I don’t. I don’t want to live this year over again.
There has been so much death in the lives of close friends. I know too many who have lost husbands, fathers, grandparents, etc. For my family alone it’s been a rough year. Dad died, our family trip to NYC was cancelled, my two week Parisian get away was cancelled, my 86 year old grandmother with dementia broke her arm living in another country whose borders are closed so no one can see her, and then the icing on the cake comes with another broken bone.
My mother fell and broke her hip. Not just a little break either. They needed to give her a partial hip replacement because she had so many fractures to her femur. EMS brought her to the ER and helped her pain. She was moved to a floor while waiting for surgery. She had surgery in the morning and was back in her room before dinner.
Right now they are letting me sit with her. I have to leave after visiting hours and can come back while she’s in the hospital. She will be going to a rehab facility for 2-4 weeks where no one will be allowed to visit when they discharge her from the hospital.
I don’t dare ask what’s next or what else can happen. The last time I asked what other crap life can throw at me, I quickly regretted it. For now I will just be grateful for the paramedics, nurses, aides, techs, doctors, and everyone else for helping my mother and alleviating her pain. Your personal sacrifices have not gone unnoticed. Thank you!
Life is different now. Not just for my mother trying to learn how to live without her soulmate or my kids missing their grandfather but for everyone. Life changes. How we live it changes too.
Now when I leave the house I wear a necklace containing my father’s ashes and his thumb print. I also wear a mask. Not for my health but for the health of those around me. I don’t want to be the person who unknowingly spreads a potentially deadly virus to someone who is immunocompromised because I am not showing symptoms.
North Carolina is starting to open again. Slowly and in phases businesses are opening their doors. They are facing a new normal too. Many places require face coverings. Markings on the floor indicate 6’ spacing. The amount of people inside is limited to half capacity. Restaurants are still take out only.
Work is different too. This is how I respond to some calls now. Any potential for airborne droplets require an N95, eye protection, face shield, gown, and gloves. Any call that is a respiratory, any patient with a fever, any potential COVID-19 response has the same gear but a surgical mask in place of the N95.
Normal at my house now includes four dogs and six people, kids trying their best with online distance learning, and a husband working out of the garage. Normal is not what it used to be. I’m sure normal will change again in the near future. I guess we all have to sit back and enjoy the journey.
The last several months have been a whirlwind of emotions to say the least. December was life as normal. Then 2020 hit. What should have been a “new beginning” as the decade changed, quickly turned into my father dying, a pandemic spreading, my mother moving into our house, and emptying their house of possessions they accumulated over the last 45 years of life together.
Dad started his treatment for cancer the first Monday of February. I had decided to take intermittent leave from work to help take care of him. I would drive him to his appointments during the week and work my assigned weekends. Before February was over Dad had lost incredible strength and was quickly dying. I changed my leave from intermittent to long term. Dad died March 9th. I was able to stay out of work on leave to help my mother adjust to life without Dad and close out his estate. I was out of work for just under 3 months. What a 3 months they were.
This is the inbox for my work email. In the event you can’t read the number in the picture it says that 1854 unread messages were waiting for me on my return. You see, as a paramedic during a pandemic where information changes nearly daily, you receive a LOT of emails. I also had almost 8 hours of online learning I had to complete before returning to work. I was able to watch all the videos and complete all the tests the day before so on day 1 of return to work I just had to tackle that inbox. Our responses had changed since I left as well. Now we have to wear masks (different style depending on call type), gowns, eye protection, and face shields along with our gloves on some calls. A new tool to assist during transportation of cardiac arrest patients had been implemented. To say returning to work was a mix of emotions and overwhelming would be an understatement.
When I walked into my office I was greeted by leaves and flowers and signs and a card. How welcoming! Any trepidation I may have felt flew out the window. My coworkers will help me adjust. They will have my back.
That weekend I received a total of five cards. All five cards were thank you cards. Not welcome back nor sympathy cards. Thank you cards. They all said thank you for being their supervisor. They were signed by day shift, night shift, and people who aren’t even on my shift. One of the cards even contained a gift card. I felt so incredibly appreciated. I felt loved. I felt warm fuzzies.
It is such an amazing feeling to know people appreciate you. I have some of the best coworkers around. They sure know how to make a girl feel special!
This may seem like a wall that needs painting to most but it is so much more than that. This wall was covered a very short time ago. There were motivational posters, encouraging statements, and my father’s dream board. It said things like “replace Jocelyn’s rings”, “take Jocelyn to Hawaii”, “Jocelyn retire”, etc. He had a handful of things on his list. Most of them were for Mom. He only managed to complete two of the wishes on his dream board. He left them on his board with notes stating they were accomplished. Removing his dreams was hard.
This dirty carpet is the now empty room that housed the bedroom furniture Dad used as a little boy for the last 16 years. It was all donated. Some family that otherwise cannot afford furniture hopefully will get use out of it. It wasn’t just this that was donated. All the Christmas, Halloween, and Easter decorations, the bedroom furniture my parents had their entire marriage, their office furniture, even their dishes have been donated. Their entire house feels empty.
Dad as a boy
Wedding day!
Family photos in the 1980s
25th wedding anniversary
It feels like I threw Dad away today.
I am so sorry Daddy. I miss you. I love you. I didn’t mean to throw you away.
Some people might call it the quarantine blues. Some might call it being overwhelmed. Whatever it is, right now I am not okay, and that’s okay. You know why? Because I will be.
A month ago my Dad died. I wasn’t ready to lose him then and I am still not ready for life without him now. That same day our house grew by a fourth dog and a sixth human. All of this happened while a pandemic was spreading and now everyone has to stay at home.
I feel responsible for taking care of everyone, dogs and humans alike. I feel when I forget something that I’m failing, as a wife, as a mother, and as a daughter. I feel like I have to remember to feed kids, feed the dogs, make doctor and dentist appointments, give dogs their flea/tick deterrent, make vet appointments, pay the bills, like ALL the bills, remember all the dates for all the things, etc. I also feel like I have to clean the house, do the laundry, do the dishes, or remind people to do all those things. It never ends.
While doing all the things, I also feel like I have to be strong. I can’t show my grief or pain. I can’t be frustrated. I have to be the shoulder for everyone to lean on. I have to be level headed, calm, and comforting at all times. I feel like if I get frustrated or anxious, I’m to blame.
Nothing anyone has done has made me put this pressure on myself. I did it all on my own. Not my husband, nor my mother, nor my children have been needy or greedy. I have decided I need to carry the entire load myself. I rarely ask for help and when I do it’s usually out of frustration.
I have a phenomenal support system. I have coworkers who message me regularly. I have friends that check on me and truly would come to my rescue. I have a loving husband, the most caring mother, and my children know when I need anything, even just a glass of water, and they get it without me having to ask. But I have trouble delegating tasks and not being the supervisor over them.
I saw this list online somewhere and it hit home. Clearly I am exhausted. Mentally, emotionally, completely exhausted. But that’s okay. This list made me recognise what the problem is. This list made me understand I need to ask for help. This list may have just saved me from losing my s*** on an undeserving soul.
There are still more things that need to get done than I can comprehend. There will always be things that need to get done. But you know what? It’s not today’s problem. Today I am going to sit on the couch and snuggle with my puppy. I’m going to ignore the slightly agitated tones of anyone else. I’m sure they are just as exhausted as I am. We will get though this together. We will all be okay.
I’ve heard knowing it’s coming makes death easier than when it’s unexpected. It doesn’t.
My dad was diagnosed with cancer less than two years ago. This picture was taken at Christmas. He was happy. He wasn’t in any pain. All that changed quickly.
A week ago my father, although not the pain free fellow from Christmas, was walking around on his own. He had finished radiation and started an immune boosting chemotherapy. Unfortunately he had a bad reaction to the chemo and decided he was done.
Last Thursday my father started with hospice. He had family coming in from out of state and from another country this weekend. Saturday he was sitting up having conversations with everyone. Sunday he could barely speak. He couldn’t sit up without assistance. He was suffering. Monday morning I received the phone call saying he was breathing funny. He died before I could make it to his house.
My father was a kind and generous man. He was a man of his word. He was an extremely hard worker. He loved his family and friends. He would give you the shirt off his back and refuse anything in return. His wife, children, and grandchildren were his entire world.
It’s not even been 12 hours. I miss him so much already. Saying goodbye is never easy. My sister Traci died unexpectedly. My father’s death was expected. I know he’s no longer suffering but it isn’t any easier.
Oily Minded Medic 