Jim’s mom was dying. As was her way, she never told anyone. She knew last November that she had pancreatic cancer. Always the gracious lady, she did not want to put anyone out or for anyone to feel sympathy or either to oblige them to see her and therefore be obliged to bring her things. She didn’t even tell my mom and they considered were the best of friends. After all they did spend their formative child raising days in Northern Manitoba in our small town of Swan River. She had her brood of 5 and my mom with her seven.
Mom knew something was not right. For months she did not see her. Even the seniors’ group that met on Mondays were missing her. No one knew. The odd times when mom phoned she would speak of her aches and pains but no mention of her cancer. She talked about how tired she was now or how her hip hurt when she walked. At some point she told mom that she was losing hair. But still no mention of chemotherapy. In a way, if she never said it, maybe it was also not allowing the cancer to play a part in her life. In the end we don’t know why she was like that. Everyone deals with the thought of death in a different way.
I always said that we have libraries filled with books and CDs on weddings, happy coupling, births and life events. Somehow we never talk about the etiquette of dying. Yet we all die. There is no choice. It’s not like I chose to do something different. Other people die but maybe I will try something else. NO,.. we all have to end in the same way. Our paths are predestined just not the time.
How we end and what we do when we end is the only choice we have.
So finally Jim called. There was only a few weeks left and he decided we had to know. When I called to tell mom, she immediately insisted on seeing her.
It was a strange week for me. Pierre had just left for Quebec. His brother in law Max called on Saturday and told him that his father was dying. Pierre took the flight out that night. Just four days before I had a terrible bicycle accident.
It was a beautiful sunny day. Inspired by our friend Jean Cote, I wanted to start training for a bike trip next spring in Los Cabos. We were avid bike riders but it had been years. Pierre took the bikes down from the hooks in the garage and pumped up the tires. I had had a bike overhauled that spring. We both noticed that this bike that he was preparing for me was not the one I brought into the shop. But it was my favorite one and I had no problems using it.
We planned a short easy ride on the trail close to our house. It was a beautifully paved trail that I have walked numerous times alone or with the children or the dogs. Or both. It was a simply trail, no real hill to speak of, maybe a couple of sloops. When we could not find our helmets we chose to not worry about it since this was such a simply trail, wide, freshly paved and it was a bright sunny dry day.
Going into the sloop coming around the trail, I was reaching to break slightly since I was well ahead of Pierre and I was going into the slope. I remembered only that my bike started to wooble and my only thought was “shit this is the bike that was not tuned, the front is falling apart”. After that, I remembered nothing except some vague thoughts of being lifted onto a bed to be scanned and it hurt like shit. I also remembered Pierre sitting me down while he went to get a cab. Strange, I also remembered that the cab was over $30. Everything in between was not in the memory banks…not the ride on the ambulance, not the doctors, although I remembered someone telling me they were going to lift me.
So broken collar bone, and multiple fractures over 4 ribs and 7 stitches on my head later, I was recovering at home when Pierre left for Quebec.
Two days after he left I was sitting in dad’s car going to visit Mrs. Toy. We had gathered vegetables and squashes from the garden to bring to her. I was heavily medicated for the pain. Armed with loads of kale and swiss chard and different herbs from the garden, we walked up the back wooden stairs. Dad carried the winter squashes since I still wore a brace on my arm. The caregiver cautiously opened the door, a question in her eyes. We did not even bother to explain who we were and mom pushed through the door in her own focused way of doing what she came to do which was to see her friend. She did not even nod to the poor woman who was just doing her job and was not going to let anyone come into the house. She saw Mrs Toy sitting at the kitchen table and she pushed right past and went to her. Some people may say the Chinese are impolite or pushy but I know she was just focused and nothing else was important or needed any explanation. She was the best friend and she was here to see her.
Mrs Toy was a grey shrunken version of the woman we knew. Her hair was sparse and spotty. But a spark came into her eyes when she saw mom. They hugged in the same Chinese way which means a short almost non contact hug. Mom sat down immediately and leaned forward to ask her how she was. The interaction between the two women was intense and they talked as if they were all alone in the world.
We still had no idea of the extent of the damage of the cancer. There was still that sense of hope and if we did this and that we could recover. They talked in terms of how to care for her. We tried to tease her into eating something. Of course she refused. She just did not have any appetite. Mom reminded her of the tragedy of their other friends and they both shared a laugh.
It was over an hour when Jimmy came in. Now he presented a different story. Off to the side he told us how worn out she was and that the time was very limited. I started to move mom out of the house since I knew that despite the energy in Mrs Toy’s voice, Jimmy knew her better and she was worn out from this visit.
A couple of weeks later she was gone.