Tag Archives: death

A Turn for the Worse

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November 12th 1985 was a cold, overcast day in Toronto. I was taking the bus home from school during my Grade 13 year. For those who do not know, Ontario had a Grade 13 for anyone planning to go on to university.

I had to take two busses home and my transfer happened a half block away from North York General Hospital. My grandfather was at that hospital after a minor heart attack and I thought maybe I’d go see him before going home. Then I got to the corner and decided that I’d just go home, I had just visited a couple days before.

I went to the bus stop and waited about 8-10 minutes for the bus before seeing it approach the traffic lights behind me. I remember at that very moment changing my mind, thinking ‘I’m right here, I should visit him’. So I walked back to the street corner as the bus approached and passed, and I made the turn to go visit Papa T.

When I got to his hospital room I could hear him having an argument with my Granny about some minor thing. He was shaving, sitting upright in his bed with an electric razor, my granny holding a small mirror for him. We had a nice visit and I felt great walking back to the bus stop afterwards.

The next morning I was at the school for a 7am swim practice and about half way through I felt awful. I couldn’t describe the feeling then but dread would be the term I’d use looking back now. I actually stopped my set and got out of the pool. What made me feel worse was that a couple other kids stopped and joined me on the bench. I was team captain and this was a bad example I was setting, but I just couldn’t get myself back into the pool.

For first class I had a spare block and so did my friend Kassim, who had a car. I had never done anything like this before but I looked at my buddy and said, “Kassim, I feel awful, can you drive me home?”

He didn’t. He convinced me to stay. It was Grad Photo Day and we both had appointments for our photos before lunch. “Stay until lunch”, he said, “Get your grad photo and if you still feel like this at lunch I’ll take you home.”

He convinced me to stay, despite how awful I felt. I couldn’t understand the feeling I was experiencing because I didn’t feel sick, and so missing photos didn’t make sense.

I made it to lunch and went to the cafeteria. I remember pulling my lunch out of the brown paper bag it was in as I sat down. I was saying to Kassim and a couple other friends we sat with, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just feel like shit.”

Then I sat down, looked up and locked eyes with my sister peering across the cafeteria. This was unusual to say the least because she went to a different high school. We locked eyes, then with no explanation I simply said, “It’s my grandfather.” Then packed my lunch back into the bag, got up and walked out with my sister.

This made no sense to my friends, but they had met my sister so knew I was going home. I don’t remember my sister saying anything to me. I don’t think I signed out. We got into my uncle’s car and drove straight to the hospital.

I wish I didn’t go. I wish my last memory of Papa T was of him shaving and talking about what he was going to do after getting out of the hospital, not him on life support with his eyes taped shut because he was leaving them open, unblinking. But I got to say good bye to his body after he was already gone.

I went home and wrote this poem. I haven’t seen it in over 25 years, but my sister is helping my mom declutter before moving, she found it, and sent me a picture of it.

For Motel (Mottle) Truss, my Papa T:

A TURN FOR THE WORSE

–

The earth did not stop moving

The wind did not stop blowing

The leaves did not stop falling

But tears filled my eyes

–

Oh how insignificant life can appear

When right before your eyes

One is being lost

But you can only sit and watch

–

He is in the best of care

He has his loved ones hoping, praying

But he has taken a turn for the worse

And we can only await his departure

–

I only hope that until his final breath

The thoughts of Family

Override the pain

And I hope that our memories

Will overide the tears

–

By David Truss, Nov. 13, 1985.

Remembered and forgotten

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I went to a friend’s father’s funeral today. It was a Catholic service. The music was pleasant, the tribute was lovely. You can tell he was loved by family and friends. It was really nice.

This made me think a bit about what kind of service I’d want? If I had a terminal diagnosis and knew the date was looming, I’d probably want a celebration of life before I died. To me that is the time to actually get together and celebrate.

That said, I’d prefer to live a long healthy life and slip away in my sleep at a ripe, but cognitively sound, old age. Without knowing the date was coming, what kind of celebration would I want?

Two things come to mind. First, I’d want a long interval between my death and my celebration of life. Don’t hold it when the pain of loss is close, don’t make my death date a date to remember. That’s not a date I want defining memories of me. Second, it’s not very important what I want, after all, I’m gone. Let the people who I matter to pick a distant date, maybe my birthday for example, to gather in any way they wish, and to do with my ashes whatever they wish.

Forget the actual death, remember the life the way you want. The celebration isn’t for me, it’s for those left behind.

A dignified ending

I had a wonderful chat with a family member yesterday. She has a nursing background and is taking a course to become an end-of-life doula. In her words, we spend a lot of time helping to bring someone into this world, but don’t often give enough thought to that kind of support for people leaving this world. She also said something that stuck with me… we are very thoughtful and compassionate about caring for our pets end of life, more so than we are with humans.

When we see a pet suffering, we want to end that suffering. When a family member is suffering, we want them to hang on, to stay strong, and to endure for just a little longer. It makes me wonder, is this love and kindness or selfishness? Are we holding on for their sake or our own?

It’s one thing to want to end a life unnecessarily early, when counselling, support, and opportunities and potential for better days lay ahead… and yet another for someone with a painful and terminal illness. For the latter, there can be opportunities to make the process dignified and maybe even joyful.

In thinking about diseases of the mind, like Alzheimer’s, I wouldn’t want my family having to care for me while I can’t even remember them. If I had terminal cancer and was in pain every day, I would not want to drag out my end of life simply to prolong my daily suffering.

I can see a lot of value in an end-of-life doula to put the inevitable process of dying into perspective. To help provide not just support to a dying person but also to the family they leave behind. The process is not easy, and having kind and thoughtful support at such a stressful time is probably something many people would benefit from.

Hopefully I won’t be needing one any time soon, but it’s nice to know that there are people out there willing to provide caring palliative support to people in the same loving way we would provide end of life care for the animals we love.

What Is There To Fear?

Do you ever notice that people who have near death experiences seem to have a new lease on life? It makes me think that the fear around death is misguided. We shouldn’t fear death nearly as much as we should fear not living. Death is inevitable. And while I personally hope it is still quite distant, it really isn’t avoidable. What is avoidable is not really living. 

Not really living can be quite cliche. It’s living to work, not working to live; It’s counting the days to the weekend, your next vacation, or retirement; It’s eating for sustenance without enjoyment; It’s counting the minutes rather than spending them; It’s fearing to chase your dream; Wishing, but not doing; watching rather than participating; Wondering where the time went and lamenting; Hoping for different results, but not doing anything to get them. 

What is there to fear? It’s not death, it’s just not really living… which is something you always have control over. And if you take control, well then there really isn’t much to fear, is there? 

 

Nuggets of happiness

My dad passed away last week. Today we did the paperwork at the crematorium, and we’ll do a family gathering in the fall. He had a stroke while I was visiting over the March break and he never left the hospital after that.

While at the hospital, my youngest sister was staying with dad late one night and she was feeling hungry. She said to him, “I’m heading down to Tim Hortons, do you want anything?”

My dad responded, “No thanks, are you going to get some nuggets of happiness?”

Puzzled, my sister asked, “Do you mean Timbits?

Dad smiled and nodded ‘Yes’.

Nuggets of happiness. This is a great metaphor for coping with my father’s death. There are a lot of emotions, and a lot to deal with. There is great sadness. But then there are also those moments of fond, joyful, and humorous times that I’ll enjoy remembering. Little nuggets to love. Little nuggets that remind me he is still with me as long as I choose to remember.

I don’t think I’ll ever eat a Timbit again without remembering my dad.

And while there are many other emotions right now, I know the memories I cherish, the memories I will share with my mother, my siblings, my wife, my kids, and even grandkids in the future, will bring me joy and happiness.

2 minutes of silent sunrise

Today is my first day without a father on this planet. I’m glad I got to see him in March because he died 15 minutes before I got on my flight to Toronto. Here’s a beautiful sunrise I got to see on the flight.

I’m m with my family now, although just one sister is awake. It will be good to spend a bit of time with my mom and sisters.

Enjoy the sunrise, appreciate what you’ve got, hug your family.

One day closer

I am listening to a podcast by Sam Harris titled The Paradox of Death. Paraphrasing him, he says, ‘One thing you can be certain of is that today you are one day closer to death than you were yesterday’. He goes on to say that you can be totally depressed about that thought, or you can turn it around and realize how valuable every moment is.

There is so much we have to be thankful for. So many people we value and appreciate. Do we share (enough) time with them? Do we tell them they are appreciated? Do we worry too much about things that probably won’t ever happen? Do we appreciate the time we have left?

If I were only going to live for 50 more minutes, would the people I leave behind know what I thought of them? If I was going to live for only 50 more days, who would I spend my time with, and why am I not making more of an effort now? And if I lived for 50 more years, would I want to look back and see a life of gratitude or a life of unfilled and unfulfilled moments?

We are all one day closer. We all have the opportunity to cherish the time we have… or squander it.

When I’m gone

I’m away visiting my parents and had a little getaway planned to meet a buddy and go fishing. Unfortunately one of my uncles passed away from cancer (we knew it was coming), and that changed the plans.

The friend I was meeting replied to my cancellation news saying, “No problem family comes before fishing. Hope we can do it next year if you come down. Talk soon, take care.”

He’s a good enough friend that nothing more needed to be said.

My uncles service, outdoors, at the graveyard, was quaint, and a wonderful tribute to a kind, caring, and unassuming man, who put family above all else. He was given a year and a half to live 3 years ago, and I think it was a relief to both him and the people who cared for him that the suffering that was particularly bad for the last month had ended.

The burial confirmed in my mind that I want to be cremated after I die. I have no desire to hold onto any real estate after I am gone. It sounds crass but I would rather be flushed down the toilet than buried in a plot that takes up space on this planet, when I have no practical use for that space.

I heard once that one of the reasons Disney Land and Disney World check your bag when you enter their theme parks is to check for ashes. People want to have their ashes spread on ‘The happiest place on earth” so frequently that it is an actual concern for them.

We see dead animals all the time. Parts of them are in our freezers, they show up as roadkill, our pets die. When they are gone, it is just their meat and bones that remain, the animal that was ‘is’ no longer around. The same applies to us. It’s funny, I used to think, “Spread my ashes in the ocean… but make sure it’s a warm ocean because I hate the cold.” Now I realize how silly that is. When I’m gone, I’m gone, and what happens to my powdery remains is something I don’t care about.

What I do care about is the life that I have, and people I love, and the things I hope to do before I’m gone.