For My Dad

I’m writing this for myself really. It’s long, so even if no one else reads it – I wrote it for me. I wanted to write down much of what we’ve gone through the past weeks – all of what I’m feeling and thinking to have a record of it and also to maybe help me process it all. I’m sharing it in the event it could also help others or can be relatable in any way.

I actually started this site in part because of my Dad. He always praised my entertaining, my garden, my decor, etc. all the things I loved – he praised constantly and he always encouraged me to share it more. He would say my house looks like a mini chateau (hence the name) and that it looked like a magazine. He was very sweet like that. I’ve lost interest and motivation in it for several months. I don’t know if I’ll get back to it. But for now I thought it best I share something about him.

After several weeks of dithering, I’ve decided to do a blog post about my grief at the loss of my Dad. He passed away peacefully the evening of July 13th. It’s been hard to sit down and get my thoughts sorted since he passed away. Not really knowing or desiring how to explain all of this – after weeks of sharing quotes about grief or doing the opposite and posting and sharing and trying to pretend like I’m not struggling, suffering and depressed – I thought it best to just try. Try to type, try to get it out and try to get through it.

Get through it. Interesting choice of words. If you’ve followed my posts over the years or if you’ve known me way back before Facebook, Instagram, etc. you know I’m a quotes fan; always have been. I’ve been posting them for years. I often post them when I’m overwhelmed- personally or shocked by some tragic world event. I go looking for someone more eloquent and wise than I to give me words that illustrate what I’m thinking and feeling when it’s all too surreal or scary. 

I think it mainly started in first year University, when I suffered from depression and I would stumble on a great quote while studying – I had them printed and pasted up all over my dorm room – they helped me feel less alone. Over the years I often print new ones and keep them up around me – usually on my desk at work or at home.

Over the past month my sister and I have been sharing many quotes. Grief is a really weird feeling – it ebbs and flows and it can disappear and then creep up on you and you’ll feel it so much – it’s consuming. Our intention is not to depress others, we just find they comfort us so we share them in hopes it could comfort others as well. I stumbled on the below quote weeks back and since the loss of my Dad it’s the mantra I keep playing in my head “the only way out is through”.

What powerful words. I found it reading an article about grief. It was an article meant to address all different forms of grief – divorce was a big topic; you need to grieve the loss of a partner. That quote really applies to all stages in life we just want to be over. You have to go through it – through every bullshit, frustrating and painful process to get through. Not get over it, get through it. So this is my attempt to get through it – putting as much on paper as I can and see if it helps. If you read it, thank you! ☺️ If you stop here – I totally get it, I can completely relate to the feeling of avoiding this because it’s scary and upsetting. If you haven’t lost a parent before nothing you do can prepare you for it – but I understand the desire to avoid it when someone else talks of it. The thought of it can be overwhelming and upsetting so it’s easier to avoid it – I used to do it too. I’ve heard a lot, “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through” and now that I’m going through it I can tell you – I still can’t imagine it either. I can’t put into words what it feels like, or what I’m thinking – it’s like a million things happening at once and then nothing, repeat. It’s my mind racing a million miles an hour and then…quiet. I can sense the people avoiding it around me lately – it’s awkward, but I get it – I was that person before all of this. You feel like an idiot asking “how are you?” Knowing the answer is “umm…not good!” …BUT, I’ve learned the reaching out is a huge blessing and an amazing feeling. Do it more. You don’t remind someone of their loss – they know and always remember. It can make you feel less dismissed, validated, cared for — no one can make this better but you can be here – just a text, or a like or a hug, anything just to reach out.

This section I typed out the night my Dad died and I’ve decided not to touch it or alter – there’s truth in how choppy and messy it is. That night I couldn’t comprehend anything- it was surreal and I was vacillating between shock, gratitude, grief and trying to come up with the memories to include in a Eulogy. So I’ve left it the way I typed it that night:

July 13, 2019

It’s 11:30 PM on the worst day of my life that I start typing. I’ve lost my father today. My guide, my protector, my confidant and my cheerleader. I can’t process this. What the fuck just happened?! How did this happen? How did we get through today!? Driving in Toronto traffic to unplug my Dad – how the fuck did I drive over an hour there and back!? He fought so hard – he wanted to live – to see more and do more with the family & friends he loves so much. We thought he was in the clear. That’s the heartbreaking messed up part of all of this – we thought he beat it! Just weeks ago he got the all-clear – great shape! Watch your weight, stay hydrated, see you in two months – less than a month later he’s gone!? HOW!!? Despite having a diagnosis a year ago – his loss is actually very sudden and tragic for us. This turned fast.

It’s so strange how I’ve been thinking – for what feels like ages now – about how devastated I’d be to write the words I’m writing now. Today, I realize, you can’t prepare for the loss. It’s just so overwhelming how fast your thoughts flood you and then you get slammed with a wave of numbness and silence as you process it all. The quietness of grief can feel deafening and paralyzing at times. I think of stupid things, like how much he and I loved Downton Abbey, or The Crown and could watch it over and over again without ever getting sick of it. Or how much he loved going to art exhibits with me because “I could explain the paintings and give them meaning”. Each time I would host him at my house I would almost immediately get a text thanking me for the visit and how much he enjoyed it and what a great hostess I am. He always praised the things I loved, my decorating, my cooking, my knowledge of history, or how good I looked with my hair down (too many comments on that one!). He was my constant cheerleader. Cheerleader. That word stands out to me. Early June of 2018 when we first found out my Dad had leukaemia I couldn’t let it in, I couldn’t process it. I was like a steeled through the day – just numb to it ‘it’s not real’, ‘it’s a mistake’ — the first time I burst into tears was when I thought “he’s always been my cheerleader – I can’t lose my cheerleader!” It still makes me cry.

Now all I can think is how can I possibly put the thousands of thoughts I’m having into words. How do I put 36 years of this man meaning so much in my in day-to-day life into coherent sentences? It’s impossible. All I can do it write down the highlights that seem to be hitting me at the most random moments – try to cry, smile, laugh, swear and sift through all the thoughts to get more clear. So I keep typing…

My Dad was not always present. He didn’t make every soccer practice or game. That was always Mom. But when Dad did show up- the game always followed with a reward of donuts or ice cream. So, I was always excited if Dad was going to a game. I can remember him often making us spaghetti bolognese – which was one of two meals he knew how to make. So I often got pasta before practices or games. He also loved making his family pancakes for breakfast – his favourite to make was blueberry but I obviously always wanted chocolate chips and he lovingly obliged. I can remember him even doing this on the first days of school, or other important milestones. If he wasn’t present for everything – when he was – he wanted it to be special. He didn’t proofread or edit any of the dozens of papers I wrote in University. He’d be impressed with my knowledge, but it was more dinner conversation vs. active support and effort. But since the day my parents dropped me off for Welcome Week at McMaster University – he reminded me “only if you graduate will you get your graduate ring”. This ring was a BIG deal to my Dad. He wore his nearly every day, so I knew it was important to him and that it was important to him to get one for me as well. I can remember how proud he was on my graduation day. And this normally very sentimental and emotional man didn’t remind me or take away from my day the fact his mom had died seven years earlier on that day. It’s likely the only June 6th he didn’t allow to be overshadowed by that – and I’m so grateful because I didn’t realize until years later that was the case.

Out of his three kids, I think he got the biggest laughs out of silly stuff I would say. A classic was that I couldn’t say “saucy” when my brother was giving attitude, so I used to say “don’t be sow-sey, Jeremy!” And I tended to boss Jer and his friends around a lot. My Dad always enjoyed watching me do that.
The two other lines I said as a kid that my Dad never stopped quoting was when he told me that he didn’t have any money to get me something and I replied, “Just go the wall and get some” because every time my Dad went up to a bank machine he came back with cash. Another story he never stopped reminding me of was when we were in Disneyland and we watched an entire show on the four food groups. When we were leaving the usual quizzing started and he asked me, “ok, Victoria, what were the four food groups you just learned?” And I very confidently replied “breakfast, lunch, dinner and snack” —- I was 5! And I can still remember him knee-buckle-laughing – I can actually remember my entire family laughing – but my Dad especially. And he brought it up constantly – pretty sure he brought it up this past year.

He was also fixated on protecting us. I do remember him going to an after school conference for parents on Child Safety and a police officer taught the parents the 3 finger rule “don’t talk, don’t take, don’t go” and that saying is burned into my memory. Nearly every day until I was 21 years old my Dad would say “what’s the three-finger rule?”. It’s a good rule, it worked well.

When I was little I had real problems sleeping at night. I always found it easier to stay awake all night and sleep all day. I clearly inherited that from him. But I actually had insomnia problems. When I got into a habit of sleeping in the doorway of my sister’s and my bedroom – not sure why I did that – my Dad embraced it and decided to tuck me in there. So if in the night I ended up in the doorway asleep I would always wake up with a blanket and tucked in – with usually my favourite Return of the Jedi blanket – (which was actually Jer’s). I can also remember waking up at midnight and often my Dad was still up watching the news, or games or one of his favourite shows and never got annoyed with me sitting with him for a bit until I fell back asleep. I think he actually enjoyed the company.

My Dad accepted me and encouraged me. The only time I got shit from him was when he thought I was taking advantage of my mom – which we kids did a lot, she spoiled us…and him! But he was fiercely protective of her. And the only other time I got shit from him was when I was being hard on my sister or brother. He was also fiercely protective of them. Of all of us! He gave us the code word “Varykino” which was the Russian cottage in Dr. Zhivagho – his favourite movie, none of us could remember it until about age 16, haha. So it worked – no stranger was guessing that word.

When I was a teenager I was not close with my Dad but he was around more now that he had his own company and worked from home. We didn’t share the same interests, but I was easily the best of the kids to get $20 out of him. There was often a treat on my desk when I got home from school – a cream egg or mini eggs – he indulged and spoiled us like that. He would pick me up drunk from a friends house and never scold or embarrass me. He let me think I was getting away with it and hiding it from him – but both my Mom and Dad said to never be afraid to call us – ever! And we never were.
When I went to university, my first year there was absolutely the lowest and hardest time in my life. Depression and loneliness hit me hard. I was writing disturbing and lengthy emails to my parents. My mom always wrote back equally long caring and advice-teeming emails. My Dad wrote back only two very short emails; the first “it’s ok, you can leave University, come back and home and keep working at McDonald’s”. The second was to address my loneliness – I had a roommate that was never there – always at her boyfriend’s residence – the subject line read “We’ve found you a new roommate” and I honestly thought it was serious. When I clicked it to open I was terrified and it was a picture of a giant gorilla smiling. I burst out laughing. I can’t think of another time I laughed so hard. He had a way of cutting through the bullshit. He always believed I inherited that trait from him.

In University we became a lot closer. He took a real interest in what I was studying. I still remember the day he drove out to Hamilton and bought me a McMaster sweatshirt – which I wore a lot for many years. We used to have great debates and talks over dinner about moments in history.

When I graduated I can’t recall him ever being more proud. He insisted on getting me a Grad ring. It didn’t mean a lot to me, but he talked about it all through my schooling – “pass that exam or. you won’t get your ring”, so I knew it was important to him. He wore his most of my life, I knew it meant a lot to him that I have one too. The day we went to get my McMaster Grad ring, he lived up the University life. He bought me the most expensive ring, then wanted a full tour and onto the pub for several pints. He really enjoyed that day and I really enjoyed it with him. Whenever I wore that ring, he noticed. He was incredibly proud.

When I graduated and started working full time at Bell – he was full of praise. When I went condo hunting and came home – discouraged having spent the entire day looking and the smallest condo units downtown, my Dad said: “why don’t you look at Applewood Landmark” a very nice condominium in Etobicoke that my Gammy lived in and my Great Aunt still lives in. I laughed like he was nuts. But then he checked and low and behold, an affordable, great spaced unit on the 20th floor overlooking Toronto and Lake Ontario was available. I lived there for 4 years and all thanks to him pushing that.
When I bought my house in Oakville – for what at the time seemed like an astronomical cost, he praised it again. He loved visiting. He loved our dogs, our yard, and even our basement reno. Full of praise and enjoyment being at our house each time. I wish I had him over more and I will miss those visits so much! Each time he would send a text or email thanking me and praising all that I do and how much he enjoyed himself. One time he brought a big bouquet of roses for all the Downton Abbey & Dinner nights I hosted and it was just incredibly thoughtful. He was thoughtful and always thinking of little gifts for people.
As I got older he and I had many similar interests. In wine, food, shows, history, etc. we bonded more and every time we were together. What a blessing. No fights, no bickers, no slamming doors, just a lovely time and a hug and an “i love you baby” each time we’d say goodbye.
This last years battle was very tough on all of us, but especially him. He wanted to live, he wanted more. He didn’t want us to struggle or worry – but he also wanted to be here. He was afraid of how much he’d miss. He talked a lot about the trips we’d take and what shows were coming up we can enjoy together. I will enjoy them for him. We will take those trips to honour him and bring him with us in our hearts. I will watch The Crown, the Downton Abbey show and movie – all the things he was looking forward to. And I hope he’s with me.

Of course, the last time I saw him, had I known that was the last conversation I would have stayed longer, said more, done more. But you can’t. Everyone feels this way. One more minute, hour, day. In a way we were blessed to have the much time to prepare – if you can prepare – and also it was so fast that it was merciful and I’m grateful. So grateful! I feel weird feeling that way – but I do!

Today, on the news of my Dad’s passing, my phone was flooded with one thing that stood out. Beyond the condolences and the let me know what I can do’s —- it was his smile. His eyes that always lit up when he saw someone he knew and that big welcoming smile. Over and over again as my phone blew up with a myriad of messages – it was that people would miss his smile. He was always a happy and fun guy. Our friends through all our phases growing up used to say that “your Dad is awesome” “your Dad is so great!” “your Dad is so fun!” — no dispute here.

My main regret was never getting to go to Italy with him. The first time he went (yes! he’s been several times: lucky guy!) he came home and over and over again said he’d love to see Italy through my eyes because of all the history and art history I loved. We booked a trip last year and the day we had to confirm the flights was the same day we found out about him having Leukaemia. My Dad being the wonderful kind man he is insisted we go on without him. Think of that, we had NO idea where he’d be by the time we got on the plane and he still insisted. I am so grateful he pushed it – I had an unforgettable girls trip with my mom and sister thanks to him. But I will never forget my trips with him – our London trip and two trips to Paris are now some of my best memories. So much so I can’t type it right now, it’s too sad for me to think we’re not getting back to London or Italy with him. It’s breaking my heart.

My Dad always wanted to help people. He had a soft spot for the outcast, or the bullied or the struggling. He made people happy – he smiled, was always encouraging and thoughtful.

I can’t stand the pain I feel today. I feel it everywhere! I’ve never felt this heavy – this sensitive and also so disconnected. I’ve never felt anything like it and I don’t know how to deal with it. But it’s now, as of today, a part of life. I will honour him. I will enjoy the things he enjoyed and smile each time I think of him and miss that he’s not apart of it. I will wear my hair down more – he always harped on my about that. I will smile, I will laugh, I will move on with his loving memory in my heart and soul.

I am truly blessed to have had him as a father. A constant cheerleader in my corner, smiling, encouraging and embracing me.

I will love you and miss you forever, Daddy. I can only imagine the most random things will remind me of you – a Prosecco wine stopper, the Cutco jam spreader knife, each time London shoves her head onto my lap from under the table to beg for food (one of your favourite things she did)

I can’t think. I can’t feel. I feel empty and flooded. I miss you so much!!!

The Following Weeks

I can’t read that without crying. That night felt like ages ago and yesterday.

My Dad lived well; he grew up with a loving mother and brother, had great schooling, he traveled, had a successful company of his own for over 20 years. And of course a loving family. He lived in a lovely big house in one of the most affluent neighbourhoods in the country. He drank and ate well – kind of amazing he made it to 70 years of age as well as he did. He was “Mr. Social” having endless lunches and dinners with friends and family. It’s why we chose a Celebration of Life to honour him rather than a funeral. This is the picture we used – this is my Dad; having a good time with a drink, dessert and a smile ♥️

Last Fall

I think out of my entire family I was processing all of this the fastest. Last fall I was fortunate enough to support my Mom & Dad through the stem cell transplant process. My brother and sister we recommended not to go in and visit because they have young kids – he was on a completely isolated floor – gowns, gloves, masks – all the gear. If you aren’t familiar with this process I won’t go into a lot of detail here – will only just say it’s weeks of your body basically dying (shutting down) and re-birthing. It’s intense, disturbing and also amazing. To see my father go from strong to being scared, to feeling tired, to barely a shadow of himself and slowly come back was such an incredible experience. Although very difficult – I was in awe of him. My mother’s strength was incredible. This can actually be harder on the loved ones. My Dad never felt pain – but he complained a lot and was frustrated at the process.

I have two vivid memories of this experience. The first is the day I could tell my Dad had had enough. He had lost all patience, was telling everyone off – my mom, me, the nurses, doctors. He was fed up and over it – he wanted to go home. He was resisting physiotherapy – which was a very key part of his recovery. When you go through this process you lose a lot of weight and muscle very fast – you can atrophy. He was too weak, too frustrated and too embarrassed to keep at it. But he had to do it. He was a real jerk that day (not that I could blame him). But it’s one fo the first times I can remember feeling like a parent to my parent. I waited until everyone left the room, including my mom, and I leaned over his bed and said “look at me, look into my eyes and listen to me. We can not take you out of here.” At this point he rolled his eyes and turned away from me, and I said in a very stern no-bullshit voice, “Look at me!” And he turned back to me, reluctantly and kind of frightened. And I gave my speech:

If you think this is easy for us and the staff here – you’re wrong. This is draining Mom – her driving in every day to stand here the entire time in this room for hours listening to all the doctors and nurses – all that information just flooding her every day. This is not easy for anyone. All of this is difficult. I know you’re struggling, but you didn’t go through all of this for nothing. You want to go home – you want to see your kids and grandkids again. I’m telling you – I am completely serious – if you don’t do these exercises you will not leave this hospital room. We can’t wheel you out of here the entire way home so you can give up and die in your bed. We can’t even get you out of this hospital unless you can walk from this room to the elevator and back at least 4 times on your own. We can’t even get you to the parking lot if you can’t do that – let alone in the car and all the way home.

I could see his eye widen and the realization. Not only that I wasn’t fucking around but that this is where we are; the final stage of getting him out of there. We both stayed quiet for a few minutes – I stood back up and went to the window to give him time to let that sink in. I could feel him replaying it in his head over and over. We didn’t say anything for several minutes. My mom came back in the room and my Dad looked up at her and said: “ok, let’s walk”. She looked at me all surprised, kind of a, ‘what the hell just happened?’ – no arguing, he sat up (which took A LOT of energy) and asked me, “four times?”, and I nodded back, “four times there and back”. With all the determination he could muster, he said, “let’s do it” and he stood up and started. In the hallway, my mom whispered, “four times for what?” And I told her what I said. She said, “oh Tori, well done”. The next several days were him counting to one, one and a half, two and two and a half, sometimes we’d hit three and he’d try to lie and convince me it was four. One day I lied and said “nope, one more round” and he did five – when we got back in his room I confessed I lied and that he actually did five rounds – and he gave me the biggest smile and his eyes were bright for the first time in weeks – he said nothing – but I could see his pride at what he’d done all over his face and in his eyes ♥️. The pride filled the room. It was so palpable even my mom said when we were leaving “today was a good day! I’m actually looking forward to getting him home on a weekend pass now. I actually think we can do this”. Because after all of this – my mom’s biggest fear was getting him home. Then the burden was all on her. How terrifying to take this man from a hospital room full of monitors, tubes, bags and gear to just their bedroom? Terrifying! However terrified my Dad was, my mom was equally scared – maybe more. She heard all the side effects, the what could happen, the endless list of possible nightmares. I’m not sure my Dad ever really heard them. If he did he either forgot or was too scared that he parked them somewhere way back in his memory and lost it all during what he called “chemo brain” phase where his memory became absolute shit. We got him home – successfully. I slept over those first two weekends so my Mom felt more at ease. But I wasn’t needed, every time he rang his bell by his bedside, which was often, my mom was up and next to him before I even opened my door to see what was going on.

I’m highly confident my mom did not have a full nights sleep from the end of Sept 2018 to the night of July 13, 2019. This entire process was very wearing on her. She is quite simply the strongest, most energetic and inspiring person I know. I wish all of what I’m writing here I could have shared at his Celebration of Life – but I couldn’t. She could – that brave woman stood up there and had the entire room of 100+ people in awe of her strength, memory and ability to tell the story of my Dad when we were all still in such shock. I love her so much and every time I’m told I remind people of her it’s the biggest compliment I could ever get!

My second memory of the fall 2018 period was when my Dad was safe and sound and home and my mom had a moment to breathe and reflect – she said to me – sometime in November – “Tori, your father and I have both said we do not think we could have gotten through this process without you. You brought humour, energy and levity to a very difficult process – and I’m so grateful. I know I couldn’t have done it without you. You made it less scary and less stressful”. wow! I was moved and emotional by those words but I also said back to her “I was just going by your energy – you seemed unafraid and undaunted – I just took your queue”. To which we both burst out laughing. Even if we both fed off each other and somehow calmed the other and my Dad – we all got through it. But honestly, she never seemed freaked out – so I knew I couldn’t be. She took the brunt – every day she drove all the way in to visit for several hours and drove back home. When I went with her – we teased each other, we made jokes about my Dad so we could laugh off the stress of it all. Like the day before he was to have the stem cell transplant – he was all upset his TV remote didn’t work. You may think ‘well he’s scared, he’s distracting himself’ but no – if you knew Derek Murray Brown – this was entirely normal and annoying. LOL! I do appreciate he needed the TV to distract himself. But at this point, he was more than capable of getting up to the TV and changing the few channels he had manually. He was just having a diva moment.

This was a bonding experience that if I had had the choice to go through – I wouldn’t have. However, typing this out and reflecting back I’m so very grateful for it. I had tons of time with my Mom on the commute – and I’ll never forget the days when my Dad was at his worst – what the doctors call The Seven Days – the seven days where his body was dying and shutting down to almost nothing in order to be “re-born” with new stem cells. On one of the worst days – he said nothing. He had no energy to really talk. My mom and I just stood in the room for a few hours (you couldn’t sit in his room at Princess Margaret Hospital). That day he slept like he hadn’t slept in days just because he could sense our presence. I love that. It’s how new parents must feel with their babies – knowing you’re the one that brings a sense of security and peace.

I could drone on about the weeks and months of this process (well I kind of have 😉) but I can’t and don’t really want to anymore. Once he was home, the days were much of the same. Slow, quiet, isolated and routined. We had some big events like Easter, Father’s Day and Birthdays. I know he was grateful to have those to look forward to after such an arduous process.

I can remember how excited he was when we’d visit in those mid-winter semi-isolated months. He finally could socialize a bit – no touching or hugging. We could fist-bump the air to say goodbye. A text or email would usually follow with how much he enjoyed seeing us. But he wasn’t himself. He couldn’t keep up or talk a whole lot. But you could see in his eyes and his smile that he loved when we visited – even if it was a bit too much for him. He had very few topics of conversation to carry – I often kept it to Downton Abbey and The Crown – his two favourite shows. He was so looking forward to the new Downton Abbey movie and the new season of The Crown. I made the mistake the night he died of looking at emails from him. To this day, it’s the most cathartic cry I’ve had – I had to stop. and right now I can’t read them. Still not ready – I will be – soon. But I do remember smiling at the sheer number of emails he had sent me on those two shows. Amazing. They will be hard to watch without him and I’m sure I’ll need to indulge in copious amounts of Prosecco while watching them.

His Last Month

On June 15th I drove to Oshawa to visit a friend and do a podcast with her on The Royals. I had told my Dad I was doing it – he was so interested in it. I got emails and texts asking me about it. When we finished the podcast I drove to my parents for Father’s Day dinner. All the grandkids were there and my sister was as well. I can remember not liking the way my Dad looked. He looked older, frailer. I remember saying to my mom, “Dad looks like shit, is everything ok?” And she said he may be exhausted by the grandkids having stayed over —- which I’m sure he was. But also, we all knew too well now, it’s likely his cancer was starting to creep back. He had an all-clear on June 7th, by June 15th I could see a deterioration. Looking back, I’m no longer surprised how fast all of this happened given those two dates. Nevertheless, he was fascinated to no end about this podcast – he asked me all kinds of questions and it was the most interested I saw him in something in a long while. He never heard it. I’ll listen to it someday and hope he’s with me enjoying it – especially the moments where I mention him directly.

Amazingly, when my cousin Meghan wanted to do a small family gathering – mainly to see my Dad – my whole family was miraculously available on such short notice. But on June 30th we all spent an afternoon in Meghan and Paul’s beautiful backyard. Gorgeous weather, great food and good laughs. My Dad was very weak and very tired but you could see on his face how much he was enjoying himself. After just two hours he got tired pretty quickly and asked me to take him home. I did, and he didn’t look good. I told my mom I wasn’t feeling good about Dad. She said she agreed and would book him an appointment at Princess Margaret Hospital that week to get him checked out. His cough was bad and his breathing laboured. These were HOT days – so we were all hopeful the humidity was just getting to him. My gut was telling me something else. Ever since June 15th I wasn’t feeling good about it. I tried to stay hopeful. Dave and I visited Mom and Dad at their house the next day. Dave made some fresh fruit and veggie juices for my Dad in an effort to boost his energy – My Dad said it tasted like drinking the lawn 😆. We stayed for a bit, chatting in the backyard. He was in a great mood and his energy was better than the day before. He was glad to be getting checked out though – he didn’t fight that he needed to see his Doctor. When we left he hugged me and said “bye-bye, baby, see you soon” – something he’s probably said to me thousands of times but I’m so glad those were the last words I heard from him. Not the “tell your mother I’d like chilli for dinner” that he said the day before 🤣! Last words don’t matter though. They really don’t. I don’t remember my last words to him that day – I doubt he would have either. It doesn’t matter. I was glad that’s the last time I spent with him when he was still all there and enjoying our time together.

The Last Week

His last week is a bit of a blur now. I know he walked into Princess Margaret Hospital by himself on July 5th. They suspected he had pneumonia and got him admitted and hydrated. He was feeling better within hours. He was to stay the weekend to be monitored. Monday, July 8th our fears were realized and we found out the Leukaemia was back. How bad – don’t know? More tests, more waiting. Thursday morning my Mom got a phone call around 2 am – My Dad wasn’t able to breathe and wasn’t getting oxygen to his brain. She told me about this around 10am – she was already downtown. I hopped into an Uber and made my way into Mount Sinai Hospital. By the time I got there he was stable, heavily sedated and on a ventilator. He couldn’t talk, obviously, but he could blink. To be honest I’m not sure what he would have been like after that episode. I came in Friday morning with my Mom and every part of me felt he wouldn’t be leaving that hospital room. I tried to bury it and I didn’t say anything – I put a brave smiling face on for my Mom and I think she was doing the same for me. The math just wasn’t adding up. June 7th all good, July 5th admitted and July 11th things were escalating. We got some answers Friday morning – the leukaemia was back, it’s the rare form of CML that was highly accelerated and it was causing pneumonia.

The Last Day

Saturday, July 13th, my Mom went in on her own – we were not expecting anything to happen over the weekend- just keeping him stable and monitoring. My mom called me on her way home around 10am – telling me it doesn’t look good. He’s not improving and not much more they can do. There’s one procedure they can try on his lungs but that will be it. She headed home – clearly in shock and disbelief. She asked me not to tell my brother and sister – that it would only upset them unnecessarily and we’ll wait until we know more. I lied and said I won’t tell them anything.

To backtrack a bit, this is what happened when we first knew of the Leukaemia – I found out and only my Dad, Mom, Dave and I knew for about 5 weeks. I found out by chance, my Mom needed me to check with our travel agent on insurance. We were confirming our trip to Italy that very day and she wasn’t sure how much money would be lost if we all had to cancel. So I found out – my Dad was very annoyed that my mom told me. Later he said he was grateful she had a confidant through those weeks. We told no one else for weeks. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done – keeping that from my brother and sister. I’m so glad I could tell Dave and he was amazing during those weeks. Even though it was very hard – I had to respect my parent’s wishes.

On that Saturday I didn’t feel the same. I didn’t feel I needed to keep it quiet now – something told me they needed to know and prepare. I called my brother first. Up to this point my brother and sister hadn’t seen him in hospital – they couldn’t visualize and understand how bad it was. I then drove to my sister’s house to tell her in person. They were both distraught but strong. I drove home and all of us went about our day – trying to not think about it. Early afternoon, I got the call from my mom “he’s not going to make it, they want us to go in now” I asked her to wait and that I would drive and I told her I’ve told Amanda and I’ll grab her on the way. How the hell I ever did that drive I’ll never know. We had a torrential rainfall when we hit the city – which made for an even more stressful drive. I’m grateful for my mother and sister’s strength on that car ride – I think I could feel their strength and it allowed me to be strong and keep driving.

I don’t want to share the final moments. My brother and his boys were able to join us to say goodbye thanks to FaceTime – I’m so glad they could! and that my sister thought of that. I’m comforted that some of the last sounds my Dad heard were from the cottage – the place he loved most in this world. My Dad was well travelled and had many favourite places – but the cottage was his #1. The thought he could hear our voices and those birds chirping, the breeze, the water, the crickets — gives my family a great sense of peace.

When we were leaving the hospital we all needed a moment. I couldn’t drive yet. We ordered lattes and got something to eat and sat there. I remember moments were quiet — too quiet. But I remember the three of us agreeing we were feeling grateful – grateful for the care, the painlessness of it all and that we could be there. Grateful his fight was over, grateful he had a great and healthy 69 years of a 70-year-old life. I remember feeling an odd sense of calm – which I imagine was the shock and surreal-ness of it all. The finality of it did not kick in. At times it still feels like it hasn’t.

The After: The New Life Without Dad

We have an email from him saying “this is what progress looks like” and it’s a picture of him in April and a picture of him in June. Although he does look better, I fucking hate that email so much – it breaks my heart he thought he was in the clear. He sent it on June 23rd – too close to when he passed away.

The last few weeks made me grateful I don’t have young kids. My brother and sister have been rockstars dealing with their boys on this subject. My sister’s son, who is nearly four years old, will never know my Dad. He won’t remember Papa. It’s hindered her grief having to care for him – she can’t take the time needs to process …and it does take time!

Grief is a myriad of emotions that are out of your control. I remember grabbing a garden rake the other day – and just a wave of grief washed over me – “my Dad bought me this rake”. 💔 We had to take Bud to the vet the other day and I couldn’t remember the shampoo we buy for the dogs because I would just take a picture and send it to my Dad and he would just grab it for me and bring it to my house. 💔 Putting the wine stopper in my bottle of prosecco, “Dad bought me this wine stopper”. 💔 A million little things creep up. Some make me laugh, some make me cry – some reminded me of how annoying he could be 😂🙄.

I said earlier I think I’ve been processing things faster than the rest of my family. I seem to be just a few days ahead of where they are. I don’t know why. Maybe because my Mom was so “in it” she was handling all the decisions and doctor’s information – I just had to be there- so I had the freedom to really see how bad he was getting and how fast. I saw him in the hospital, my siblings didn’t until that final day. Even the slideshow at his Celebration of Life was created by me – so I had already had endless cry fits going through hundreds of photos and scanning and cropping them all. I made the playlist as well – going through his favourites – I think it gave me those few days to really just feel the grief so intensely.

This is actually a touching moment. Last fall my sister was making a book of memories for my Dad – something he could keep next to his hospital bed to cheer him up. It was full of messages from friends and family and loads of pictures from his life. I was so annoyed while making that book because I couldn’t find one of my favourite pictures. So when he passed I was even more determined I’d find that picture for his slideshow. After going through boxes and boxes of his photos – nothing. I gave up. sat on my couch, started watching something and then I remembered – I have a box of pictures upstairs 💡it may be in there. After going through about six photo albums and a dozen envelops of photos there was one stack left. I grabbed the stack of what must be 200 photos and as I grabbed the stack, the very photo I was looking for slipped out and right onto the table. 💗 How amazing is that?! I think I had help 😌. This is the photo:

His Celebration of Life was amazing. It felt right to celebrate him. He was a celebratory guy. Seeing so many people he loved and who loved him was just so heartwarming. The room was so hot – one of the hottest summer days we’ve had and the room was full of people – but it was fun! And so was my Dad. Always up for a good drink – we had the bar stocked with his favourites for guests to enjoy 🥃🍻🥂🍷. We had great food with great friends & family. When we booked Seasons restaurant the owner was very mattered of fact – “yes we can do that”, “yes we’ll have that ready” and when it came to “and what’s the name?” And my mom said, “Derek Brown” he looked up at us shocked, whipped his glasses off his face and said “Derek! Oh my god, Derek Brown??!” – he didn’t recognize us without him with us. My Dad had been going there for years. We used to joke he was part of the Oakville Mafia – all the business owners knew eachother and he was well connected. The man we nicknamed “King Derek” would have loved to have been remembered by so many. So many of our friends and coworkers who never met my Dad showed up – it was truly touching to see those faces in the crowd 💕.

He liked the high life and lived the high life. I’ll miss him every day. One day I hope it stops hurting so much and it’s more of a sad missing him. One day I won’t be walking my dogs through the trails and think “my dad will never have a walk through the trails again” and feel the sorrow and grief fill every molecule of my body.

Anyways, I think I’m done rambling on now. In a way this has really helped. If you took the time to read all of this – thank you! I know it’s long and a on rambling but I appreciate it.

I am grateful. Grateful for my family. My mom is so strong, I am amazed by her every day. My sister’s strength inspired me – she had such sense of mind the day we said goodbye and so many great ideas for his Celebration of Life. She is so much like my Dad – a lot of his traits live on through her. My brother is incredibly strong and dependable. Sons and Fathers have a certain bond. My father lost his Dad when he was 7 years old – he always struggled with how well he was doing as a father and how he should have behaved. He nailed it. Not every day, but overall he loved us, kept us safe and was our cheerleader. I see my brother the same way with his kids. Dave has been an absolute tower of strength for me and I am so grateful to him. My Dad adored him – always asked about him, was always thinking of him. The day my Dad was being admitted to Princess Margaret Hospital to undergo his weeks of treatment – he stopped to call and see how Dave was doing, knowing Dave was really anxious about his brother’s wedding that day. That was my Dad, through and through – thoughtful. In the days after losing my father, Dave fed me when I had no appetite. Made sure I was drinking veggie juices and hydrating. He made me walk with the dogs to get out. He literally spent hours sorting through thousands of photos to pull out ones of my Dad so I could pull together that slideshow for his Celebration of Life. Dave has been incredibly supportive through all of this. I am truly so lucky to have him as my partner.

Thank you to anyone that keeps checking in. It means so much 😘. Thank you to those that give a like or a heart to something I’ve shared online – it means a lot.

I was driving a few weeks ago and my iPhone had my iTunes on shuffle. I just had to keep sifting through my thousands of songs and Jessie J’s “This Christmas Day” came on. I burst into tears and had to pull over for the ugly cry. I forgot about this song. It came out last Christmas and it made me sad because my Dad (& Mom) were missing Christmas, staying isolated from everyone. The lyrics just cut right into me and they are so beautiful and poignant now. I listen to it as I type this – and a few other songs, and it brings me comfort. I’m going to modify those lyrics a bit (i just love them):

I don’t need no diamonds or a fancy car
Or a jet to fly me right up to the star
I just need your guidance, since we’ve been apart
I feel your love beside me, mending my broken heart
I see you, I call your name
I feel you, I hear you say
I know you’re not okay, I know it’s not the same
But you love me, and that will never change
I know you see me smiling, holding back my tears
Just nothing compares to this without you to share it with, my dear
I’m thinking ’bout the good times, wishing you were here
I’m gonna celebrate, drinking your favourite, cheers
I know you’re somewhere that’s beautiful in every way
I know you’re somewhere that I will be with you one day
I know you’re right there
And I love you, And I miss you, yes, every single day

I’ll end with the quote that got my parents through the last year. My sister found it and we taped it to the wall of his hospital room and he printed it and framed it when he got home.

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Goodbye, Dad. I love you and miss you every day. I’ll cheers to you often and smile and laugh at the memories. I’ll enjoy the shows you can’t watch, the events you’ll miss and trips you can’t take – but I’ll bring you with me in my heart.