Reflections

Revealing

The clock said 4:23. I don’t know if it was the cat crying outside that woke me, or the nightmare. That dream was vivid–and was the kind of dream that stays with me all day.

The airport in my dream was crowded, although nothing even close to what I experienced on Boxing Day. I don’t know where I was headed, and I doubt that my destination even matters. People were quiet, keeping to themselves although starting to form lines to board their flights. Then all of a sudden I looked up and almost every person that I could see was maskless. I looked around to try to figure out why everyone would have taken their masks off. In the distance I saw my brother who had also removed one of his two masks, but was hesitant to go totally naked. I was the only one wearing a mask. People were starting to chat with each other, and neglected to maintain physical distance.

Someone commented that it was for a group photo. But when cameras were put away only a few people replaced their masks. It was like the whole country had been given permission to return to the previous “normal”. I’m not ready for that.

Lately I have made a decision to cut back on most of my work beginning this June, when the school term ends. With predictions of the pandemic becoming endemic there will be the lightening of restrictions in the community, in the schools and every place where I have been working outside of my home. I have been considering my comfort level of being in a room with many other people, either talking or singing, without masks or social distancing. These thoughts bring fear and anxiety. I want to minimize potential exposure to any illness.

Or, is that really my fear — the illness? I have come to appreciate the anonymity that the mask provides. Most people don’t take the time to really look into your eyes when the mouth and half of the face is covered. The mask provides that barrier and the distance that I certainly have grown to value.

When I am wearing a mask I can cry and no-one really notices. I can smile or frown, keeping my eyes steady. Again, nobody notices. And when you are wearing a mask people tend to keep their physical distance as well. It’s like the mask is a reminder that we still need to be careful. A protective barrier. Life without a mask will require significant change in what has become very normal behaviour for me.

Dreams that stick with me throughout the morning and sometimes throughout the day and many days beyond can reveal a lot about what is really going on deep inside.

Timing

November 24, 2021…..the day dad passed.

One week ago today dad was in agony at the hospital. The 72-hour ward was over capacity, with many patients kept out in the hallways because not enough beds in rooms were available. Nurses often came 1 to 2 hours after being called. Medication was delayed so the pain was intense. We were told that preparing papers for a transfer to hospice care was in the process, but two days before that were we told that they had been filed. The ”transition liaison” stated, loud enough for dad, his roommate and family, and for us to hear that ”we didn’t expect him to survive the night so filing was delayed”. The move to hospice was a positive move in that dad would be cared for lovingly by nurse whose sole purpose was to make the final days as comfortable as possible for the patient and the family.

I have spent each night this past week sleeping on a cot in dad’s room. Each hour a nurse comes in just to check on dad, and every four hours he is given some medication. Sleep has not been great, but I am getting through the nights, knowing that in the morning someone will come and stay with dad so I can go home for a shower and a short break. ”Home” is my parent’s place where mom greets me each time with ”what are you doing here?” ”where have you been?” ”why is dad in hospice?” Poor mom no longer remembers much, but as soon as she is reminded of dad’s condition and what is going on, she wants to know what will happen to her.

And so my sister and her husband are in a tough spot. They have promised mom that they will live with her ”forever”. The day of dad’s stroke they were moving furniture into their new home a few blocks away. This is a new home they will most likely never occupy. Lots of questions lie ahead, and decisions will be made when the time is right. Several months ago my sister and her husband decided that they needed to sell their acreage and move closer to mom and dad since dad was getting tired and needed help caring for mom. Because of mom’s dementia and very stubborn spirit, a move into a care home would not be a suitable option at this time. Plus the Covid-19 pandemic has reinforced the idea that living communally in one’s senior years might not be the safest plan.

As my sister said, everything fell into place. Usually with the sale of an old home and purchase of a new home, along with the logistics of packing, downsizing and moving three provinces away, there are often many hurdles to overcome. Not this time. Everything fell into place.

And each morning I wake up (actually I wake up several times an hour during the night….) wondering what will happen to dad today? Each morning brings new discoveries about the dying process, reactions of each family member, the wonderful care of the nursing staff. Dad keeps breathing. Today there is no evidence of consciousness or response to voices, noises, music or motion. Is it his last morning? Or is he going to continue to confound the nurses and defy death. Is it his stubborn determination to complete his work and stay true to his promises? Is it his fear of the unknown and what happens after death? Or is it his timing, God’s timing?

Birds at the window

Each room here at Hospice House has a little bird feeder outside one of the windows. I noticed that birds were constantly at the feeder across the hall, in Michael’s old room. Dad’s feeder had no birds visiting at all until a few minutes ago. I wonder if he could hear the chirping. I wonder why all of a sudden the birds came.

I also wonder how much weaker a person could possibly get before leaving this physical body. The breathing is weak and the pauses are getting longer, but he keeps on breathing again. Is he waiting for my brother to arrive? That will be at least 5 more hours. Dad is putting up such a strong fight.

When Michael was dying he reminded me to keep the curtains open so that he could leave. This was several days before he actually did leave. On that final morning, the curtains were open. Dad has given no instructions. He was doing everything possible in his life to make sure he could look after mom, and not have to die before she did. Mom is scared of life without dad and requires constant reassurance that my sister will stay with her. Dad knew that she would feel that way, and he worked so hard to make sure he stayed strong and healthy, but at the same time keeping his records in order.

There are many things I have learned in these past two weeks — many things I need to say and have written down so that when decisions need to be made, there will be no question or confusion, nor disagreement among family. My sister and I are in total agreement over many things, but my brother is not. Here are some of my thoughts and desires:

Keep me covered when in hospital
I don’t want my life prolonged if what I have is terminal, or if there is permanent severe brain damage (i.e. I am unable to communicate)
Physical limitations are okay, but if my mental capacity is gone, then palliative is best
Hospice is my preference, to keep family and friends sane
When visiting, keep numbers low and talking to a minimum. Say what needs to be said, but incessant chatter is discouraged
Visitors should be kept to immediate family, cousins and close friends. I’ll leave a list somewhere
I like listening to music, but check my Spotify and YouTube to see what are my current favourites. Classical, Baroque and jazz are nice, but I also like pop music
More will be added as time goes on…….

When I die I want people to party. Drink a toast to me; many toasts to a life full of adventures, restarts, joys, learning. I generally don’t like big parties but I know that many people do, so I will be very happy to provide the reason to party.

The birds came back a second and third time to fight over the seeds. They are gone again….nope, they are just teasing us!

Hospice House

As we were directed down the hallway to my father’s new room, memories from 2010 started resurfacing. The nurses had just finished settling dad into his room which happened to be directly across the hall from Michael’s when he spent his final 3 weeks here almost 12 years ago. The first nurse who came to speak to me on Wednesday was Michael’s favourite nurse! She is so kind and reassuring, and I remember from 2010 that she always seem to appear at just the time she was needed. She cares deeply for each of her patients, but her real gift is in caring for the grieving families.

My sister, my son and I are making sure someone is with dad 24 hours a day, so he doesn’t wake up confused or alone. His waking moments are few and far between, although last night he was awake enough to say a few words on the phone to my brother, and watch about 10 minutes of a hockey game on TV.

Time seems to stand still this week. My day is spent almost entirely at my father’s bedside, except for short breaks for a coffee, or shower in the mornings. Knowing what to do when someone is so close to dying is tough. Do I stay here? Do I go home and risk having to turn around and come back. My car sits at the airport; my students are in limbo not knowing when their next lesson will happen, while still trying to prepare for the recital next weekend; the conductor I work with has to lead and accompany choir rehearsals until I return home. But, I can’t leave and go back home like nothing is happening.

My dad has been the glue that holds my family together. He loves and has cared for my mom for over 63 years, and has been especially patient with her since my brother died 33 years ago, and even more in the past 20 months while needing to stay home and take over all the responsibilities during the pandemic. Unfortunately, mom’s dementia has made his time ”stuck” at home so much more challenging.

Ever since his retirement at the age of 57, my dad has spent 5 to 7 days a week volunteering for both the Canadian Cancer Society and Scouts Canada. He has devoted his life to his family, and in service to the community. Dad has been an inspiration to people all around him, and a superb role model for us and our children. His grandchildren adore him and look up to him. His friends and colleagues admire his work ethic, wisdom and compassion for others.

What he is going through now is not fair, but then again, life isn’t always fair. When my brother was dying, my brother would play, then later listen to Billy Joel’s ”Only the Good die young”. Somehow that was comforting. Dad is no longer young at 90 years of age, but he was certainly good!

10 1/2 years ago at dad’s 80th birthday party

It’s early in the morning. I was awaken with dad’s call ”help me, help me”. I sat with him for a while, and now am listening to him breathe. The nurse said it is his final moments or hours. He is weak. His breathing is taking on a new, slow, relaxed rhythm with long pauses between.

Dad has lived a good life. He lived to help others. He lived selflessly, with understanding and compassion. He gave us good memories. There were the many, many hikes and camping trips; the 6-week summer trip across Canada and our many cruises and holidays together when mom no longer wanted to travel. He never stopped being curious about new things and new technologies. He was constantly interested in what his children and grandchildren were up to, and very supportive of each one of them.

In these quiet early moments on a Sunday morning at the Hospice House I feel at peace knowing that dad has received the best compassionate care possible. He will soon be at peace, without the pain and exhaustion of the past many months.

On death and dying

It wasn’t a phone call I was hoping for. In fact, I thought my sister wanted to talk about problems with her move. She and her husband decided a few months ago to sell their home on the prairies and move closer to our parents to help dad look after mom, and cook for them once in a while.

My mom has been declining over the past several years, and now is unable to do most things except the basics of getting dressed, and doing dishes. She still knows who we are and can carry on a short conversation, then will repeat the question she has over and over and over. That was starting to wear on dad, and fortunately he was able to spend a week in September visiting me and relaxing, enjoying meals out and some sight-seeing.

Before the Pandemic, we would travel somewhere together each summer. That all began the year he turned 74 when we traveled to Ireland for a 3-week ”Pub and Music” tour. He had a great time visiting the home country of his father, enjoying scenery that he had only seen in encyclopedias and online. One of his grand-daughters joined us for a few days as we took in Belfast, Antrim County (my grand-father’s hometown) and the Giant’s Causeway. That trip took dad and I all around Ireland. He seemed happiest to be able to look at the magnificent scenery, including the cliffs of Moher. Tasting the whiskeys, the beer, eating potatoes, stopping for a quick lunch which consisted of a glass of Guinness at a tiny pub, eating fries on mashed potatoes, drinking beer again in the evening. Dad spent months planning this trip, and continued each year to dream and plan yet another trip.

We have taken the Alaska Cruise twice, Baltic Capitals cruise, a cruise from Montreal to Boston, and traveled to Thailand and Germany to visit family.

The call last Sunday was to let me know that he had suffered a stroke, but was talking and scheming again. We talked on the phone on Tuesday, enjoying a laugh. He said they (hospital staff) were doing their best to help him, even though he was still in a hallway waiting for a bed. By Wednesday morning the doctor suggested I not wait the week, but come as soon as I could. Now it’s the second Tuesday. When we left him last night, the pain medication was allowing him to rest peacefully. Sunday morning he had rallied, ate all his breakfast, talked and joked with us. He talked on the phone to family; my mother was brought in to see him. By Sunday evening he was unable to communicate again, except in short bursts. Each morning we don’t know what to expect when we arrive for visiting hours. They are moving him today to the Hospice House so we can be with him 24 hours a day.

And now we cling on to all the wonderful memories of a life well-lived, and devoted to serving and helping others. As he lives out his last hours and maybe days, we want him to not have to endure more pain and discomfort. We hope that the decisions made along with the doctors are the right ones. Moving from life-prolonging care to comfort care was the first decision. To help him leave this world in peace, rather than in agony and constant struggle is important. The memories that I want to hang on to are those of the father that we knew when growing up, the loving husband, the grandfather. When my nephews each reached a certain age, he would take them on a trip somewhere fun and interesting. Each of my 4 nephews will have that lasting memory of him. When my kids were young we moved closer to mom and dad, and dad became like a father to them — attending sports games regularly, high-school graduations, weddings. For the past many years he has eaten regularly at the restaurant where my son worked and owned. Dad is a huge fan of all 8 of his grandchildren!

What do you hear?

What do you hear when you listen to a piece of music? What is the first thing that pops into your mind?

A few minutes ago I listened to about 20 seconds of a new song, and was quite surprised at my response. Of course, as usual, I follow the melody along the staff, painting the notes on my mind as it develops. And then suddenly I found myself drifting to a person, and recalling my last interaction with her? Also recalling many previous interactions through the years. I know many creative people see colours when they hear notes — a full symphony must be like watching the aurora borealis, or a psychedelic painting! I don’t have that gift, and really don’t desire it.

For me, music brings back memories. These memories might have absolutely nothing to do with the music that I am hearing, yet the music seems trigger a memory response in me. A lot can happen in mind even during the 20 seconds of the excerpt. I was taken back to the days when I used to perform with this person. We did concerts all over, and seemed to have great fun doing it. I proceeded to recall some tension, mistrust and growing apart. The question of a future relationship with this person, and wondering how that would unfold during the next months and years.

What do you hear when you listen to a piece of music? What do you see? What do you think about? What do you understand? I am convinced that everyone hears, sees, recalls and understands something different even if listening to the same composition. It’s much like how we all understand a conversation in different ways. We come from a variety of cultural backgrounds, training and natural talents, therefore seeing and understanding the same ideas in the same way would really be impossible and unlikely.

In 2018, a research team of anthropologists, psychologists, biologists, musicians and linguists from top universities around the globe confirmed through computational data that “music is the universal language of mankind.”
Erica Chayes Wida, today.com December 4, 2020

Harvard professor and poet, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow is credited with saying “music is the universal language of mankind” over 200 years ago. The article is about how music connects us, and has been a source of healing over the centuries. Music does connect us in many ways, and is a language all of its own. But, I also understand that even though we may be connected through music, at the same time we are interpreting the language according to our own background and understanding.

May we continue to listen, not only to the individual notes, and through our own minds but be open to where listening takes us. For me, that 20 seconds of a new song took me to a place of sadness and longing for a renewed relationship.

Be Chill

If you look very closely at the buoy you will notice black birds. They are scattered around the base as well as on the scaffolding. The white paint is not paint at all but the sign that these birds come to rest on this buoy regularly. Perhaps there are birds on it all day long, every day of the year. I won’t ever know how true that is, since I was just sailing past.

Yesterday morning I took the ferry from Vancouver Island to the mainland. Since it was just a trip to meet my father and bring him to Victoria for a few days, I left my car in the parking lot, and walked on. Normally when I take the ferry I can be quite anti-social and sit in my car for the whole trip. This time I was able to get a much different perspective. In my rush I forgot to bring along a book that I been reading, and my phone’s batteries were dying quickly, so I spent the 1 1/2 hours looking out over the ocean, watching the islands float by, experiencing the wind in my face. It was a very unexpectedly relaxing trip.

Normally my days are filled with work, catching up on work that was missed because of procrastination or forgetfulness, practicing for upcoming events, preparing for choir or lessons, or trying to keep up with the housework and grocery shopping. With my dad here for a short vacation I am looking at the next 4 days as a chance to really chill. There will be work that I have to sneak in while he is resting, but mostly I will spend the days planning for the next day, and enjoying the few plans for each day. And of course, rescheduling due to rainy weather.

First item on the agenda once we returned home was opening up a bottle of wine to enjoy in the back yard. The monthly bouquet of flowers was waiting for me at the front door. The flowers are a birthday gift from my children that I look forward to every month! The neighbours seem to have all gone away for the weekend so it was rather quiet, and very chilly for someone used to living in BC’s desert interior. A few minutes after the photo was taken, dad went back into the house to grab warmer sweaters and jacket!

When I was young I didn’t trust men. There was no way I would let any man get close, including my father. So besides the rare occasions during the summer where I would help dad with timetabling for the new school year, or when he would help me with my math homework, we had no relationship. But, starting about 16 years ago, each year the two of us would travel. Mom didn’t enjoy traveling, and dad didn’t enjoy staying home. Our first big trip was a 3-week self-guided Pub and Music tour of Ireland. He spent months planning that trip, and brought along a binder full of research, maps and things that we needed to see. Since then we have gone somewhere together each year, except last year—the year of the plague. Armed with double-vaccination and my strong sense of paranoia, we hope to avoid any transmission of Covid.

I started this post a few weeks ago. The trip was a success — dad enjoyed the break from care-giving, and I took a break from work. We stayed healthy, ate good meals, and saw many beautiful sights around the city and neighbouring towns. Another goal this year, now, is to try to set aside days where I can just be. Be quiet. Be still. Be chill.

Vacancy

With Toffee’s passing in July, apparently he left a vacancy not only in my heart, but in my home. Mouse moved in last week — at least I first noticed him last week. Perhaps he is a she, which would bring even more unwanted house guests in the near future. This mouse evades traps, and moves between my house and my neighbour’s. We live in a town house, and my neighbour is less inclined to clean his floor than I am. Toffee would look for any chance he had to break into Dr. M’s home because he knew he would find many treasurers (crumbs, vegetable peelings and other food) on the kitchen floor. I am convinced that Mouse also has made that discovery.

Two days after the initial sighting, which was also the morning after Mouse spent time watching the Voice with me, I opened my doors wide, and put cotton pads laced with tea tree oil in every corner of the house just hoping that Mouse would want to escape. A stray started to walk in the open door, until I convinced her to leave quietly. She followed me around the garden for a few minutes until a student startled her and she ran. I should have let her in to find Mouse!

I started to think about “vacancy” in my life and not just in my home. When something that once occupied my time and attention is no longer there, what do I find to fill that spot? Is it something worse, or do I search for an improvement? I had decided not to replace Toffee. Perhaps if I had replaced him with another desired pet I would not have allowed Mouse to move in and take over my life.

On a positive note…my floors have never been cleaner! I am making my house as uninviting for a mouse as possible. Tea tree oil has been replaced with peppermint oil (according to google, mice hate peppermint oil). Each day I am deep cleaning one more cupboard or closet.

On Rebuilding

We were the last off the airplane. Our flight took us out of Bangkok, via Hong Kong, landing in Vancouver. I had packed a few things to keep the children occupied, and the airline gave each of them a small backpack full of useful items, which remained for years as memory of the journey that brought them to Canada to start a new life.

This was taken a few months after our arrival in Canada.

My children, aged 3, 5, 7 and 9 were quite unaware of what lay ahead of them. My father and brother both happened to be in Vancouver that day, and unbeknownst to each other, they each arrived with a set of warm, second-hand coats for me and the children. My 9-yr old, who was supposed to be my biggest helper ended up quite ill from the stress of that long flight. The flight attendants suggested we just wait until someone could come along with a wheelchair to help us. Apparently the man who wheeled my daughter out with the rest of us following close behind was a big-shot in the airport. We were treated as celebrities.

The drive home to my parent’s place, about 5 hours, was quiet and pleasant, as we were exhausted and the kids slept most of the way. That was the beginning of our new beginning. We stayed with mom and dad for 6 weeks, learning how to live in Canada, experiencing ER visits and hospital stays, starting school as ESL students, finding a church that might accept a single mom with 4 little kids. So many new things for the children. What for me seemed like normal life, for them must have been terrifying and confusing. They had a very limited understanding of English, and no concept of how to entertain themselves during free, unstructured play-time. Saying, “go outside and play in the backyard” was answered with (in Thai) “what are we supposed to do?”

I arrived in Canada with 4 kids, 2 suitcases and $100. From there, through the generosity of family, friends, strangers and the government I began to rebuild my life, again. And it wasn’t the last time I had to rebuild.

Lesson learned

While working through a separation and divorce, my lawyer suggested I figure out a way to show the judge that I am trying to improve my own situation and provide a good life for my children by obtaining more training. I registered for the Provincial Instructor Diploma which would qualify me to teach my specialty at the college level.

Several other “mid-life” adults gathered in the assigned room at the local college (about a 4 hour drive from my home) waiting for the professor to arrive from Vancouver. Unfortunately he was stuck in a snow storm, and would be arriving the next morning. Not wanting to waste our valuable time away from family, that Friday evening several strangers became friends. We shared why we were there, what we wanted to take away from this course, then returned to our homes and hotel rooms to prepare for the next two days full of instruction and learning.

The professor did arrive Saturday morning and he proved to be well worth the wait! His detours into fascinating discoveries regarding research on the adult brain kept my attention for hours. In fact I wanted him to keep talking and forget about the small group work that seems to be the new way of conducting class activities.

He spoke about “amygdala hijack”. Although he talked about it in relation to young adults making poor decisions after drinking, I understand that it also is a result of stress. Another topic we learned about was retention of new concepts, skills and knowledge, and how to overcome the lack of retention that becomes worse and worse as we age. At the time of this course I was 39 years old. The professor appeared quite old to me. He was probably around the age I am now, but then that was old! But, if anyone could teach about lack of retention because of old age, I was convinced that he could!

Even with all the detours into other areas of study and research, we managed to cover all the course material over the two very packed weekends of classes. About 10 years ago my father and I travelled to Italy where we met up with my daughter who had just graduated from a university in Germany. Her grad gift was to travel with us while we explored Tuscany. We stayed in a lovely villa and did some touring every day. My future son-in-law let me borrow his GPS for our trip, to keep us from getting lost. He is originally from the Czech Republic so naturally his GPS was Czech. We managed to program it to speak to us in English with an Australian accent. “Jack” was his name, and Jack had decided to take us on long, long scenic detours, up hills on roads that weren’t really roads. They were more like pathways that seemed to go straight uphill. What should have been a 20 minute drive often ended up taking 2 hours or more. Often Jack would tell us to “turn left here” on a one-street heading the opposite direction. He was continually saying “recalculating”, mostly because I chickened out and took too long to turn as he suggested.

The trip was scary at times, but we did see much unexpected scenery. My father is very patient and good-natured, and we enjoyed many laughs. In fact we still chuckle about the adventures that Jack had in store for us. We found wineries and olive oil plantations that were not tourist traps. In fact, tourists were so rare in these out-of-the-way places that staff didn’t speak English. One restaurant we stopped at for lunch in a very small village had their sign in English, so we were hopeful. But when got inside, not only did all the costumers stop talking to watch us find a table (small town — unfamiliar guests!) but we quickly realized that the owner/manager/server did not speak a word of English. He shouted something out to all the other costumers and one gentleman came over to help translate. My daughter who is fluent in German was able to communicate with this gentleman and we ordered successfully, and enjoyed one of the best meals of the trip!

I enjoy detours, both in life and in learning. Several of my piano students over the years have been young, curious boys, and on the autism spectrum. They come in with questions, often related only vaguely to what we are learning, yet I have allowed us to explore those questions, gradually leading back to what is on the page in front of them. I know this requires patience, and forces me to relax more short-term goals and expectations for each particular student, but it keeps them coming back and eagerly looking forward to their own scenic detours.

Whether it is an errant GPS named Jack, or a teaching style that allows for scenic detours, going off the beaten path leads to many new discoveries. This is one way to learn about letting go and experiencing far more than originally intended.