Arrangements

While friend’s were selecting colors and materials for their home renovations and test-driving Bugabo strollers for their other home additions, I was organizing a funeral for three hundred and selecting granite for a head stone. Who knew all the wedding planning with friends would come in handy, though I had thought it would be for my own wedding, not my mother’s funeral service. I was driving back to my dad’s apartment in the days prior to the service, my heart heavy and my mind running with all the details that needed to be done. A box of candles was on the seat beside me, along with several family photos I had just enlarged and framed. These items, and my combined thoughts, caused me to smile as the thought ran through my head, “Martha Stewart needs to tap into the funeral business: Martha Stewart Funerals.” I could just see the “Good Things” page: Set out candles; one for each mourning family member. Enlarge and frame favourite family photos of your loved one in the context of family, relationship and on their own. Create a memory board of your loved one to have on display at the tea following the service; friends and family will appreciate the trip down memory lane. Create a color palette with your loved one’s favourite color, and incorporate their favourite flowers in the casket spray. You will appreciate the touches as you mourn your loved one.

Imagine my brother’s reaction upon opening the door for me when I reached dad’s apartment. I had dragged myself out of there an hour earlier to run errands for the service, and returned laughing. I told him about “Martha Stewart Funerals” and he joined in the laughter. A while later, as we worked on the funeral program and speech, he said, “I think you’re onto something. Instead of a wedding planner, you could be a funeral planner. Seriously, it’s a big event that you have to pull together in a matter of days. People are lost because of shock and emotion, they need some guidance.”

So on a cold December day, we said goodbye to our beloved wife, mother and friend. White lilies and pink roses filled the large casket spray. At the guest book table, we set out framed photos of our family, of mom and dad together, and mom holding cherry blossoms under a cherry tree. We set out four candles for the four of us; dad, my two brothers and I. The service was personable; my brother stood tall and read the eulogy we had written together, ministers spoke about her life and we sang her favourite hymns.

We were overwhelmed by the number of people who came. The funeral home estimated it to be close to three hundred people. The day was shockingly cold. The four of us bundled into the limo to take us down to the grave site. I’ll never forget the picture of looking out the front of the limo and seeing the dark outline of the hearse, the six pallbearers walking respectfully behind it. I turned around to look out the back and saw the mourners extending the length of the hill from the funeral chapel down to the graveyard, the mourners descending slowly, solemnly in the bitingly cold December fog.

Remembering December 2nd

December 2, 2008 was the date our lives were forever changed.  Around five in the evening, I headed out to the photo store, which was right next to my parents apartment in White Rock.  I called on the way to talk to mom, but it went to voice mail.  I passed their place on the way home, looked up to see the lights on, called again and it went to voicemail.  I came home to my place, five minutes away, was entering the code on my security system when my cell phone rang.  I answered to call to a fireman who told me my mother had had a heart attack.  I stood at my door entrance in disbelief.  I quickly threw my groceries in the fridge, turned around  and headed back to their apartment.

Dad was waiting for me in the hallway when I got there.  He was shaking and I hugged him.  We went inside, and he pointed out to the balcony where she had had the heart attack.  She had gone outside to clean up the winter debris off the balcony.  I picked up her coat, glasses, and righted the pots that had fallen over.

Back inside, I said to dad that we'd better get up to the hospital to see mom, I was assuming she had a heart attack, and would be waiting for us in the emergency section of the hospital.  That's when dad informed me that she had passed away.  I was in denial, and still thought she'd be waiting for us in emergency.  Maybe that's what I needed to believe in order for us to drive to the hospital.

Upon arrival, I was looking into the emergency room for mom.  We told the nurses at the desk what we were there for... and when we were shuffled into a little room... that's when I knew that what dad had told me was true.  Mom had passed away.

In hindsight, we saw the heart attack warnings: nausea, fatigue, shoulder pain, headache... all the symptoms that could be attributed to a bad headache, which mom sometimes suffered with.  Nothing could change the fact that the cornerstone of our family had been yanked from us.  She left behind an ill husband, and three children in their late 20s and early 30s... two nearby and one faraway.

Fragments

Before I get ripping into this blog, I should explain my fragmented thoughts. I'm just trying to get all the thoughts out of my head and onto paper. Blog posts may appear piecemeal... that being the way my mind has started behaving since dealing with the whole situation with dad. I find it hard to focus on things for a long time. I used to be able to sit down and read a book cover to cover, and now find it hard to focus on one magazine article the whole way through. My thoughts feel sporadic and random, and I find I can't finish tasks. So if the posts seem random and uncontinuous... welcome to my brain!

Our Story

It was the 1960s, and air travel had just been opened up to the masses. Dad and his best friend bought round the world tickets, and set off from their homeland of Australia to travel the world. They travelled through New Zealand, Fiji, California and Washington, before they ended up in Vancouver, where the adventure was stalled. Both met women, and fell in love.

Judging by the photos and stories, dad was quite the dashing gentleman. Mom was from a small interior BC town, who was living and working, somewhat tentatively, in Vancouver. She would have been quite taken with this fun-loving Aussie. Dad and mom fell in love, were married, and lived for three years in Vancouver. Then dad's mother in Australia, died suddenly, and they travelled back to Australia for the funeral. Dad had a deep pang of homesickness, and so they returned to Vancouver, packed up everything and shipped it to Australia... leaving nothing behind so no one would have the impression they were returning.

They lived for nine years in Australia, had two children, and started up a caravan business. Back in Canada, mom's mom fell ill with her heart... scarring from Scarlett fever as a child. She needed to have open heart surgery. Dad sold up everything... house on the canal in Surfer's Paradise, caravan business, and moved his wife and 2.5 children back to Canada. Mom was 7 months pregnant with my youngest brother when she moved.

We settled into life in Canada, in Surrey, BC. Our grandma went on to have two open heart surgeries, and lived for 29 years after we moved back to Canada. She passed away in October 2003 at 89 years. Three days after her funeral, dad was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease.

Mirror, Mirror

There's a 60 year old staring back in my reflection in the mirror. Which is odd, as I'm only 37. In looking at recent pictures of myself, I look exhausted. Is it any wonder, given the stress I've been under? It's time to do something about it, but I feel so wiped from the agony of the past two years, most days I want to sit down and cry. Which is hardly constructive in working through the largest decision of my life.

I've been thinking about writing about my situation for a while now. I've been reluctant to write a blog, as not only is it my story, it's my father's story as well. (I will do my best to protect his own personal privacy. And attempt to write with grace and humor, despite the anger I feel most of the time.) However, I feel that sharing our story will help other people who may be faced with a similar situation, or prepare themselves so that they can avoid an experience like ours. Also, my hope is, that in writing everything down, maybe it will help me in the decision making process.

And finally, I hope that in writing everything down, I only need to answer once to the question, "How is your dad?"