Remembering Mom and Dad
Three years ago this autumn, my mom called from Bancroft and told me she'd been to see the doctor; she was getting some tests back shortly for some swelling in her abdomen. Nothing to worry about, she said, but there was an edge to her voice and she seemed distracted.
Within three months, both she and my father – who had been living with prostate and bone cancer for a decade – had died.
A grey film of pain and loss stretched over those months, yet light shone through brilliant holes : Having my parents hold my daughter. The love and constant support of my wife, Alex. The reunion with my brothers and sister, and late nights together in vigil and – although sometimes grim – in laughter. The moments of unimaginable strength that the people I love showed. The response of my parents' friends and neighbours in Bancroft, Maynooth and Lake St. Peter.
This was three years ago, but the pain is still often fresh. The arrival of our wonderful new son stirs up memories, some sharp, some tender. He is as old now as our daughter was when my parents died, and in a way that seems like a milestone has been passed. I will survive this. My family will survive this. And joy and delight will survive this as well.
Comments
Beautiful writing as always,
Beautiful writing as always, Rob.
"And now we're here, and now is fine.
So far away from there, and there is time, time, time
To plant new seeds and watch them grow
So there'll be flowers in the window when we go."
- Travis, "Flowers in the Window", The Invisible Band (2001)
http://www.travisonline.com/
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Thanks to both of you.
Thanks to both of you.
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Rob. Thank you for sharing
Rob. Thank you for sharing such tenderness. While I am familiar with tremendous pain, I have not yet experienced the death of a parent, sibling or dear friend. This time of year, is a sort of death itself. The life that burst forth with such eagerness in the spring, flourished in the summer, matured in the autumn, is now preparing to end for the winter. It is no wonder that people find the winter months so difficult. We are experiencing a death of sorts. But the seasons, if we pay attention, are offering us a teaching: things are in a constant state of change. Birth. Life. Death. Birth... Nothing, even the seasons, remains forever in any one of those states. And while winter may feel painful to some, it is not a stagnant, empty time that lasts forever. Something is being prepared to burst forth. And while it is never exactly the same as the last time, it will happen. Like clockwork. The birth of your son is a beautiful reminder of this cycle of which we are all subjects