I have decided I hate the month of May. At its face, it sounds odd: it (supposedly) starts spring and warm weather here, it's closer to summer holidays, May long. Heck, my parents' wedding anniversary is in May, my high school graduation was in May 2001 (oh, the days of celebrating nearly 6 weeks before you knew for sure if you passed). But past and recent events make me believe that May is not my month.
For starters, we lost another family member this month. Ethan was a little boy who, two weeks shy of his first birthday, didn't survive complications from heart surgery. His grandfather and my dad are cousins, and his mom is also a substitute teacher. I can't imagine the trauma that entails. The funeral is tomorrow.
Lisa and Shaun have been through so much; Ethan was born with severe heart problems. When he was born, the doctors found the heart problems too much to handle, and they left the hospital for Ethan to die. He lived, and soon specialists started watching him. Long story short, many miracles later, the only doctor willing to operate was in California, so the family went. Ethan had the surgery on the 13, and passed away May 1. Rest peacefully, Ethan, and allow your family to find the strength to continue.
My grandmother also died in May. I was 14; just finishing Grade 9. Granny had lived with us for almost two years by that point, and always spent a fair amount of time in the hospital. I remember when Mom called when she passed; I asked how Grandma was doing, and Mom specifically repeated that she needed to speak with Dad. That's when I knew. Grandma was quite unhealthy - thanks to her emphysema, I will never smoke. She was depressed and wanted to go. She waited until my mom arrived that day at the hospital, and went to sleep. It's hard to believe I haven't seen her in 13 years.
But I think the death that has affected me the most was my cousin. On my mom's side, I only had two cousins: two sisters (four granddaughters only!). Theresa started getting sick when I was at the end of grade 6, and due to a unique illness, she wasn't diagnosed for months. That was the year that I learned way too much medical processes and terminologies and decided I would NEVER be a doctor or nurse. Her disease destroyed her kidneys, requiring dialysis three times a week for the rest of her life. She was only 17 when diagnosed, and barely made her graduation. She was sick for 6 years. Later on, we found she suffered from major depression, but tried to hide it from my family. I don't blame her: how would you like to spend your "fun years" not allowed to touch alcohol, be exhausted and in/out of hospital?
She was like an older sister to me. The four of us were close: when there are only two siblings that each have two daughters, it doesn't take much to have family gatherings. Even now, her sister's two kids feel more like a niece and nephew than 2nd cousins.
Fast forward to Easter of 2001, the medications that she continued to take caused leukaemia. That, on top of the Wegener's, meant she had to have a stem cell transplant. If worked, she would be able to have a kidney transplant, and effectively be cured of both. Her sister was the donor: she had to stop breastfeeding her 5 month old son to start injecting growth hormones. Terry's body couldn't handle the dialysis after the transplant. There were a few times where Mom was called to the hospital because they thought that might be it. Then, on May 10, 2001, surrounded by her parents, sister, and my mom, she slipped away. It's been almost a decade, and I can't go to the graveside. I have never been there; I'm sure that's denial, but I don't want to think of her like that. Maybe one day, with the right support.
Coincidentally, that same morning she died, my dad's mom also was admitted to the hospital, with severe health concerns. Needless to say, I truly believe that was the worst day of my life. Grandma 'recovered' after a few weeks in hospital.
Throw in Dad's best friend dying in 2005 (many teachers probably remember it because he died after school in the middle of the week), and Mom's diagnosis in May as well.
So, forgive me if I don't jump for joy that we're in May. I can't wait for June 1.
For starters, we lost another family member this month. Ethan was a little boy who, two weeks shy of his first birthday, didn't survive complications from heart surgery. His grandfather and my dad are cousins, and his mom is also a substitute teacher. I can't imagine the trauma that entails. The funeral is tomorrow.
Lisa and Shaun have been through so much; Ethan was born with severe heart problems. When he was born, the doctors found the heart problems too much to handle, and they left the hospital for Ethan to die. He lived, and soon specialists started watching him. Long story short, many miracles later, the only doctor willing to operate was in California, so the family went. Ethan had the surgery on the 13, and passed away May 1. Rest peacefully, Ethan, and allow your family to find the strength to continue.
My grandmother also died in May. I was 14; just finishing Grade 9. Granny had lived with us for almost two years by that point, and always spent a fair amount of time in the hospital. I remember when Mom called when she passed; I asked how Grandma was doing, and Mom specifically repeated that she needed to speak with Dad. That's when I knew. Grandma was quite unhealthy - thanks to her emphysema, I will never smoke. She was depressed and wanted to go. She waited until my mom arrived that day at the hospital, and went to sleep. It's hard to believe I haven't seen her in 13 years.
But I think the death that has affected me the most was my cousin. On my mom's side, I only had two cousins: two sisters (four granddaughters only!). Theresa started getting sick when I was at the end of grade 6, and due to a unique illness, she wasn't diagnosed for months. That was the year that I learned way too much medical processes and terminologies and decided I would NEVER be a doctor or nurse. Her disease destroyed her kidneys, requiring dialysis three times a week for the rest of her life. She was only 17 when diagnosed, and barely made her graduation. She was sick for 6 years. Later on, we found she suffered from major depression, but tried to hide it from my family. I don't blame her: how would you like to spend your "fun years" not allowed to touch alcohol, be exhausted and in/out of hospital?
She was like an older sister to me. The four of us were close: when there are only two siblings that each have two daughters, it doesn't take much to have family gatherings. Even now, her sister's two kids feel more like a niece and nephew than 2nd cousins.
Fast forward to Easter of 2001, the medications that she continued to take caused leukaemia. That, on top of the Wegener's, meant she had to have a stem cell transplant. If worked, she would be able to have a kidney transplant, and effectively be cured of both. Her sister was the donor: she had to stop breastfeeding her 5 month old son to start injecting growth hormones. Terry's body couldn't handle the dialysis after the transplant. There were a few times where Mom was called to the hospital because they thought that might be it. Then, on May 10, 2001, surrounded by her parents, sister, and my mom, she slipped away. It's been almost a decade, and I can't go to the graveside. I have never been there; I'm sure that's denial, but I don't want to think of her like that. Maybe one day, with the right support.
Coincidentally, that same morning she died, my dad's mom also was admitted to the hospital, with severe health concerns. Needless to say, I truly believe that was the worst day of my life. Grandma 'recovered' after a few weeks in hospital.
Throw in Dad's best friend dying in 2005 (many teachers probably remember it because he died after school in the middle of the week), and Mom's diagnosis in May as well.
So, forgive me if I don't jump for joy that we're in May. I can't wait for June 1.
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