Mortality.

     Today's post is, I suppose, a bit more serious than the last few.  (As much as I love shoes, I also have a deeper side...)  Today I'm thinking about mortality - not mine, necessarily, but mortality in general.  There are, as always, a few reasons as to why I'm thinking about this topic today.  I have received some sad news in the last little while.  One piece of news is that my Nana is in hospital, and while she is stable, it's still scary to know someone you love (even one who might frustrate you sometimes) is hurting and scared.  Her husband, my Papa, is also living with cancer and although he is doing fairly well, 'fairly well' is a relative term when it comes to lung cancer.

     I also learned yesterday that my parents' friends' 17 year old grandson was killed yesterday in a car accident.  He and some buddies were cruising around after finishing their final exams and ran a stop sign and he was killed instantly.  I don't know the details, but assume there might have been alcohol or drugs involved in the post-exam celebration.  As a high school teacher, I often woke up fearful (especially post-exams and post-last day of school) that one of my students had made a poor choice the night before resulting in death.  It has happened to me only once - one of my grade 11 students was killed in a car accident the night his hockey team won provincial finals.  His empty chair in my classroom the next morning has haunted me since.

My "GG" - Ethel Mae 

     I've been quite lucky in my life.  I have lost very few of the people close to me.  My GG (short for great-grandmother) was the first of my older relatives to pass on.  She died at the age of 91 in 1999, when I was in my late 20s.  I was sad to lose her, but it was not unexpected.  My real sadness came in the fact that I couldn't attend her funeral as I was living on the east coast and was scheduled to be moving home a few days later and it didn't make sense to pay to change the ticket.  GG was quite a character, and she lived a long, full life.  She is remembered by me for her collection of Red Rose figurines, her candy dish, the smell of her apartment, her nanaimo bars, her hatred of photos (the one at left is the only one I have), and her pride in her appearance.  GG wore a wig, but I only saw her once without it, and even when she moved into the nursing home, she always wore a blouse and skirt (with a hankie tucked up the sleeve of her blouse).

My Nanny - Hannah Jean

     My Nanny was the next to go.  She passed away on December 22, 2007 after a series of illnesses that left her physically and mentally frustrated.  Her death definitely had a greater impact on me, as my Nanny and I had had a very special relationship.  I was her first grandchild, and she loved me best (my sisters and cousins might dispute that, but Nanny and I know it's true).  In preparation for this post I went back through old emails and found a series of memories my middle sister (Sis) and I shared back and forth when Nanny died.  Here are some of my favourites:

• Making chocolate chip cookies (and being allowed to make a super giant “big Fred” cookie with the last remaining batter)
• Drying our hair by the vent on the kitchen floor so we wouldn’t go to bed with wet hair
• Playing dress-up with the old clothes in the attic
• Using the grinder to make homemade breadcrumbs
• Planting and picking pansies in her backyard garden
• Listening to Nanny ask if everyone had a drink and if the potatoes were on as she was on the stretcher going into to heart surgery
• Nanny arriving to the hospital with pink bunny ears on the day her 1^st  great grandchild was born
• spinning in the chair in her back room 'til we wanted to throw up
• Nanny teaching me to use her sewing machine so I could taper my jeans to within an inch of their lives 
• watching her take out her teeth to brush them, and the toothpaste roller in her bathroom
• Nanny giving backrubs and falling asleep at the foot of one of our beds when she was waiting for US to fall asleep
• sitting on the front porch in the summer
• the way she'd always pour the apple juice from the tin into a pitcher
• the way her basement smelled

I miss my Nanny, but know she is in a better place than she was in her last months on earth.   She is now with her god, and both of the husbands she lost while she was alive, and I believe she has been able to resume both the physical and mental strength that had abandoned her towards the end.  I know we'll meet again. 

Me and my friend David

  

     The first time I lost someone who wasn't an aging relative I was in my early 30s.  I was teaching in Muskoka and was very good friends with one of my co-workers, an incredibly smart and funny man named David.  David and I were both single, but never dated (he was too short for me and my ass was too small for his liking, we'd joke).  Working at a small boarding school in a rural environment meant that we didn't have a lot of social outlets, but we spent many evenings and weekend afternoons hanging out, debating politics and books, drinkin' and smokin' and debriefin' from our crazy jobs, and talking about the love of his life - his sailboat - and all of the wonderful trips during which he had sailed her.  One spring, upon return from a March Break trip to Cuba, David was complaining that his liver hurt.  He chalked it up to the amount of rum he'd drunk while he was away, but went to get it checked anyway.  He very quickly learned that he had secondary liver cancer (he actually learned this news the same day as the funeral for the student I referred to in the first paragraph), and the doctors couldn't find the primary source, making treatment very difficult.  David lived through that summer, but died just as it was turning to fall.  Here is the email I sent to notify my friends and family of his passing:

Most of you knew, or at least had heard of, my friend David.
David died this morning.  It was not unexpected, as he's been battling cancer and of late the cancer was winning.
I am trying not to fall apart over the loss of my best friend.  
Last week he was really scared and struggling with how he wanted to spend his remaining time - taking the drugs that might keep him alive, or enjoying the time he had left.  When I asked David what he wanted to do, he replied "I want to get on my boat and sail away". 
I wish you great winds, clear skies, and happy sails, David.  I love you.

David's sailboat on
Georgian Bay

David was my first friend to die.  He was a bit older than me, but not so much so that I did not feel the echo of my own mortality.  This was fascinating for me.  I was facing the fact that not only did old people die, but young people did too, and tragically, and millions of lives were affected daily by death and yet the world just keeps on spinning.  I would die, my sisters would die, my parents (gasp!) would die, and everyone I knew and loved and didn't love would one day die.  An obvious statement, I know, and one that many people realize when they are much younger than I was, but I think this recognition of mortality is one of the things that make us "grow up" - regardless of when it happens.

     So I didn't intend to bum anyone out today (that is, if anyone is still reading - I know this post is a long one), but this is what I was thinking about and I wanted to share my thoughts.  So to GG and Nanny and David - I miss and love you and you're always in my thoughts. To my Nana and Papa - take good care, be strong, and know you're surrounded by those who love you. And to John and Heather who lost their grandson this week and to anyone else who has lost someone recently or has a critically ill friend or family member - my heart is with you.