This time last year, I was preparing to make some major changes. My dad was physically very weak from a heart attack he had suffered on January 22nd and he was waiting to get his call for open-heart bypass surgery, ten hours away from their home on the other side of the province. My step-mom was sick as well. She had been diagnosed with cancer the previous summer and there were a lot of strange little symptoms starting to creep back in. It was a scary and unpredictable time and I really didn't feel comfortable staying in Ontario and going about my life when I felt I should be there to help. My work didn't really matter... I can do that from anywhere, so it wasn't a big issue. And I made arrangements for some other women in my community to take over my Guiding units, which they did so very willingly. I love them dearly for it. So... I packed up and went back to Newfoundland. When I left Ontario, I did so on a one-way ticket. I had no idea how long I would actually be out there. One of the bigger things for me - apart from worrying about my parents - was that it was difficult to picture myself living day-to-day back in that culture... and, in fact, I felt like a stranger in a foreign land when I stepped off the plane. But I am so glad that I was there.
It took awhile for my dad to get his call for surgery.... During that time, we tried to keep things as low-stress as possible -- which is nearly impossible with a house so full of people and chaos. He was no longer allowed to work at the job he so dearly loved, but that still didn't stop us from occasionally hopping in the car and going out to explore anyway (he works in the wildlife / natural resources field). It was good for him in small doses. We just had to be careful not to overwhelm him. His doctors warned that another heart attack - the "big one" - was imminent and the next time it happened he would probably not be so lucky.... so we kept that in mind during every waking moment. I stuck close to him, oppressively so at times ;-) and he had no choice but to reluctantly let me be the parent some days. He was very good in his new-found role of the strong-willed, stubborn child. Getting him to take his nitro when I recognized that he was struggling with chest pain was like dealing with a two-year-old. But we got through it.
I initially went out there to accompany him (and my step-mom) to St John's for his surgery but there ended up being a monkey wrench thrown into that plan. My step-mom had her own issues to deal with. While I was out there, she ended up needing her own surgery. It devastated her not to be with him during his time of need. That was harder for her to deal with, in fact, than her cancer. In the end, my brother and nephew ended up accompanying my dad as his support team and I ended up staying in Corner Brook to help my momma get through her own surgery and appointments. It was a tumultuous time. I wasn't overly anxious or depressed though, just because there wasn't time for that. But any moment I stopped to take a break - even for five minutes - I would immediately fall asleep. I was so emotionally and physically drained. We all were.
I noticed differences in my other family members as well, that were of concern. My younger step-sister (who suffers from a developmental autism-like illness) would often be awake all night long, most likely worrying about dad and I would hear her moving about in her room and whining. We had to keep in mind that this was affecting the girls more than we truly realized. On a few occasions, I'd go into her room to keep her company during the night and was surprised to learn that she was open to that -- believe me, I am not exactly her favourite person in the world... mainly because I'm the original "daddy's girl" and she has now taken over that role. Her jealously is fierce some days. But I still tried my best to connect with her. One night in particular, I went into her room around 2am after I heard her crying for "dada". Her light was on, even though I know I had turned it off when I tucked her in earlier that evening. She really developed a fear of the dark during all of this and I felt so bad for her. I laid next to her on her bed and talked to her as though she could understand it all... because who am I to think that she can't, after all? And you know something? It really seemed to help her. At one point that night, she reached out and took my hand in hers. I held my breath and tried not to cry. (She's not usually physically demonstrative with her affection, so it was a big deal.) Over a period of about twenty minutes, she studied my hand in detail - the lines in my palm, the shine of my nail polish.... And she even made eye contact with me a few times. She quietly listened to everything I was saying. I explained that daddy's surgery had gone well and the doctors had made him all better. I explained that we had to be careful with our hugs when he came home because he was still hurting and it would take a little while for his chest to heal. I also reassured her that I was no threat to her; he was HER daddy and I was soon going back home where I belonged now that he was going to be all better. LOL. She seemed to like that part maybe best of all ;-) She eventually took my hand and placed it against her heart, saying, "Nana... lub." It was one of the most powerful and moving moments of my entire life. I whispered, "I love you too little girl," and tucked her in. Within minutes, she was asleep. It was the first night in weeks that she actually slept through the night. I, however, did not. When I went downstairs to my own room, the floodgates opened. I wept for hours, trying desperately to muffle my sobs into my pillow so that I didn't wake anyone else up.... although I'm sure they were aware. I cried for my dad and step-mom and everything that they were going through. I cried in relief that things finally seemed to be getting better and there was a chance that I might NOT lose them both just yet. I cried at the connection that I had just shared with my sister. It was a long night. But I got up the next day and we all carried on. Because that's what we do.
I have created a little "family" of my own here in Ontario and I feel this is where I was meant to be. I may not always be here physically, of course... different times may bring new changes and I may have to move elsewhere for economic reasons. I've thought about that on occasion over the past year or so, but I think I'll be here for another little while at least. A part of my soul will always live here, though. This is where I did my healing. This place has been really good to me.
I think through all of this the main thing I've gotten is to never take anything for granted. I have become less self-focused and less apt to thinking that I can always do things "tomorrow". Unfortunately, tomorrow doesn't always come. I'm lucky that I got to share so many extra tomorrows with my parents and that I didn't lose them both last year. It's taught me a lot about the power of showing your gratitude. There's not a day that goes by that they don't know how much I love them and how much I appreciate what they've done for me. They've helped to shape me into a person I am proud to be. And I love them so much.
The same goes for other important people in my life. Tonight I've having dinner with some dear old friends and a dear new one. I've been unbelievably blessed in my life over the past few years, so much so that I sometimes find it hard to believe that this is really my life. But, at the risk of sounding narcissistic, I think I have to take some of the credit there for this streak of happiness. I really try my best to be a good person and to help people as much as I can. I think by living this way, I bring a lot of goodness back to my own life as well. And it's worth it.
NWK
