I know this blog is about Marco moving to Australia for two years, but more importantly it’s about change and fear of change. Something so significant has happened in my life while waiting for this next transition that I feel I have to write about it.  It altered the way I look at change and at fear of change.  My amazing Dad passed away yesterday – November 14, 2015 at 2:20 pm in a place and in a way that was so exceptional that I can’t find the words to describe it.

About 8 years ago, Dad was diagnosed with a disease called Cortical Basal Ganglionic Degeneration, a rare, progressive neurodegenerative disease involving the cerebral cortex and the basal ganglia.  When we first read up on the disease I was terrified and I know what I felt was minor in comparison to what my parents were feeling.  They had been together for 53 years, my Mom was 18 when they met.  They had a wonderful relationship and had never been apart for more than a few days. Throughout the next 7 years, they had to deal with so much change and so much fear it’s hard to imagine.  Their lives had gone from the couple who traveled, camped, fished and danced together, to the couple who were confined to home as a stream of caregivers invaded their private world twice a day to tend to Dad’s needs – rarely the same person.  Mom had to learn how to do the finances, use technology, drive again and be a caregiver herself. As Dad’s unkind disease progressed, Mom tried her best to care for him at home, but due to the combination of  health issues of her own along the way, and the progression of his illness, they came to the heartbreaking decision (together, as always) that Dad should go into care.  In January, 2015, Dad entered the Wascana Rehabilitation Centre, a level 4 care facility in Regina.  The change was so very hard on both of them.  Mom would reach out in the night to hold his hand but he wasn’t there. When she woke up, she was alone and afraid.  She shed many tears, and Dad shed a few as well.

What happened over the next 9 months was not what we expected.  As difficult as it was, Dad’s new home became a very special place for all of us, but especially for my parents.  The Wascana Rehab Centre is a facility that’s situated in a beautiful park setting.  It provides rehabilitation services for both children and adults and is a home to many of them.  The huge foyer has trees growing in it, there is a pool, a woodworking shop, a chapel, a solarium on each floor.  It has a hostel in it for those from out of town visiting, or coming to appointments where you can stay – cook meals in a communal kitchen, sit in a lovely big and comfy room – find comfort in not being alone.

The most important part of Wascana is the staff – from the nursing staff to the chaplain to the cleaning staff.  I have never experienced such a caring environment before.  My Mom got to know the staff and the residents – many had been there for years.  It took time, but she came to trust that they always had my Dad’s best interests at heart and  when she was not there, he was being cared for with love.  She visited Dad every day and they extended their care to her as well. This was never so apparent as in the last days of Dad’s life.  When we knew my Dad was nearing the end, they moved his bed into the solarium, a lovely room where he and his family could gather comfortably for his last days together.  They made sure he had no pain and that we also, were cared for.  The staff would pop in, give him a little hug, wash his face and talk to him.  He wasn’t able to answer, but that didn’t stop them.  As they had every day for nine months, they shaved him with his electric razor, combed his hair and treated him with dignity.  They also hugged Mom, checking to be sure she had what she needed, asking about her well-being. Our family watched my Dad over the next three days experience the journey toward death as it should be experienced – in peace and dignity, surrounded by love.  Dad had not opened his eyes for two days and was unable to speak, but they assured us that he could still hear.  A few moments before he passed away, Mom leaned over to give my Dad a kiss and say a final goodbye.  Dad puckered up his mouth and they kissed.  It was a moment between them that my Mom will cherish forever.   For my Mom, while she will grieve the most and has lost the most, I believe she is at peace because this difficult journey towards death (and I can’t describe, nor do I want to, the incredible harshness of this disease) ended so gently.  I too, am at peace, and I no longer fear dying.  It was, as it should be, a perfect death.

Rest in peace, Dad – you have forever changed everyone you touched for the better.

Marco’s October.  Chopping wood for the winter…cleaning out the central vac…changing the filters for the air exchanger…making notes, notes, notes, notes, notes…don’t forget this…don’t forget that…remember to do this…remember to do that…what if this happens…what if that happens…when you get the oil changed in the spring, remember to ask the mechanic to…the cats need to see the vet in January…I put that light on a timer…if the power goes out the heater in the sunroom shuts off and the plants will freeze…

It’s endless.  And well-meant.  It’s necessary.  That being said, it causes my breath to catch, that panicked feeling in the pit of my stomach to return, my head to spin and the tears to well.  This is all an important part of this exciting and terrifying process of being apart for the next 24 long months.  Phew, I just can’t bring myself to say what it really is, it’s TWO YEARS…somehow, 24 months is more manageable. Silly, yes, but a blog is about being honest, not about what people might think of me so honesty is what you’ll get.

Marco and I are great, and I really mean that.  I feel we’re more connected than we’ve been in a long time, we seem to have our priorities in place and each day it seems we appreciate each other in a way that we haven’t for awhile.  It’s because we know what we’ll miss, we know that’s we’re both making a sacrifice for the good of our family, our relationship, ourselves.  One thing that we both have learned in the past 28 years that we’ve been together is to appreciate where we are and what we have.  We traveled a lot – we met in Halifax, moved to Vancouver, then to the Netherlands, then to Winnipeg, to Saskatoon, finally ending back in Winnipeg.  What we discovered very quickly was that wherever we were, whatever we were doing, there were things that we would miss when our lives took us down another road.  Just recently, we bought a book of Winnipeg walks and decided to re-discover the city we’d lived in for the past 13 years.  What an amazing city we live in and there are so many things we still have yet to discover.  That’s true of everything we’ve done and hopefully everything we will do in the future.  And armed with that knowledge, we will approach the next two years with the same open minds and excitement, not only about Australia, but about our own relationship.  There is so much yet to discover and as sad as I am sometimes, I can barely contain the excitement I have of new things to come.  Every day, my good friends and my family, as well as people I really know only superficially, stop me to tell me that whatever we need while Marco is away, they are there for us.  That fills me with such a sense of well-being.

I know for our kids, Casimir and Marieke, there is also apprehension.  Marieke, because while she’s living at home right now, she knows that when Marco returns in two years, she will likely be living in the Netherlands working on her Master’s degree in Art History.  She knows that life is changing in ways that she may not feel quite ready for.  Casimir is living with his girlfriend Larissa, and they are excited about their future as well, but Casimir’s music career may very well be firmly launched in a way it has not yet been, by the time Marco gets home and I think he feels the sense of loss at the idea of Marco being away as well.  They may not be baby steps Marco will be missing, but both our kids are at very crucial and life-changing times in their lives and Marco won’t be as near to them while these changes take place as we would all like.

I have moments when I feel a bit ashamed for even feeling sad and scared, because I know how lucky I am, what a great and privileged life I lead.  Seriously, I wonder, how can I feel this way when I know that I have so much to be thankful for.  I have a great family, Marco will get to do his science again, we’ll have the chance to travel together, maybe the kids will get to visit Australia.  When I think about these things I envision my Hummingbird dream again and I feel this tremendous peaceful blanket cover me.  At that moment, I know that it’s going to be okay.  Actually, it’s going to be more than okay, it’s going to be amazing.

It’s official – signed, sealed, delivered.  Marco is starting his new job in Sydney, Australia on January 4, 2016.  Every so often lately, I have to re-read my first blog post, Hummingbird Dreams, to remind myself that it’s all going to be okay.  This week has been a bit rough for some reason.  Maybe it’s the Harper Election Blues.  I am so afraid of waking up on October 20, 2015 to a Conservative government again, which will envelope me in sadness, I believe.  This government, who has created our new reality, who has done so much damage to scientific research in Canada, leaves a burning anger somewhere deep inside our family.  It’s buried beneath an excitement about trying something new and I try so hard to focus on that.  Wow, I’m surprised when that anger surfaces – I forget about it and then, wham!

Last night Marco, Casimir, Marieke and I went to the Take Back the Night protest – so proud of Marieke who was one of the organizers.  Looking around at the 250 people who showed up in the pouring rain to walk the streets in honour of the missing and murdered indigenous girls and women of our own country, again highlighted the total disregard this government has shown its citizens on so many levels.  It’s certainly not just science that has suffered under the Harper regime.  These realizations all feed my anger and I have to work so hard to remain positive.  Tonight, Marco and I went to another event called ‘Vote for the Environment – rebuilding environment laws for a just and sustainable Canada’.  The clawbacks to environment legislation and funding cuts have dramatically endangered our water, fisheries, wildlife and climate.  The panel was excellent, the questions were good, but of course, it was the converted who were in attendance.  I took away something, though, that I will try to focus on over the next while.  Thanks to Darren Courchene,  who reminded us that we can’t use anger to drive change.  We have to let go of that anger and replace it with understanding and compassion and only then will things improve.  So, my hope is that I’ll be able to let the anger that still lingers, go.  I will go back to my Hummingbird Dreams to find that peaceful place, and I’ll try to find a way to make positive change in my life whenever I can.  That means finding the strength to carry not only myself through this journey we’re about to embark on, but to help my family through it as well. I do acknowledge, however, my fear and sadness at the idea of not having Marco close enough to hug.  I’ll just have to snuggle up to one of the cats, pick up my iPad and FaceTime when I’m lonely.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m still thrilled that Marco will be doing what he really should be doing and I can’t wait to have the opportunity to travel again and explore new places. And when I’m not traveling, thanks, all you techie geeks for developing these fantastic survival tools for long distance relationships. I owe you one.

Marco is in Australia right now for his presentation and site visit.  We’ll know very soon if he’ll be heading off for his 2 years at the University of New South Wales in Sydney.  I am so excited for him and I am certain this is the right thing for us to do.  While I didn’t think it would be difficult to say good bye this time, as he’s back on Wednesday, I was caught off guard – in fact, it took my breath away.  The realization that this was likely really going to happen suddenly hit me and I guess I didn’t feel as strong and confident as I did when I wrote ‘Hummingbird Dreams’.  When I arrived home from the airport I wandered around the house feeling quite literally lost.  While I love cooking I just didn’t feel inspired, so I gnawed on a dried-out piece of chicken I’d picked up at the grocery store on my way home and washed it down with some red wine.  I’m really going to have to get myself together if I hope  to manage for the next 24 months – I’ll either weigh 80 lbs by the end of it, or 280 depending on the direction I take.  I am truly thankful for good friends – had a call from Anne, checking in to see if Marco got away okay, Natasha came by for a visit, then Tim and Vicki stopped by later in the evening for a glass of wine and some good debating about the state of the world (well, really, that was Tim and Marieke). I felt much less alone.  Marco Face-Timed us from the Vancouver airport – we bought matching iPads before he left (I know, too cute – kind of like the modern version of matching sweaters) so that we’d easily be able to stay in touch when he’s away.  I was feeling okay when I went to bed.

I spent the day doing things that we usually do together on a Saturday – shopping, gardening, drinking coffee and reading the paper.  Tonight Marieke cooked dinner when she got home from work, and I cleaned up.  We were both feeling a little anxious.  While we sat on the steps having a glass of wine (this seems to be a theme, honestly it sounds worse than it is – I guess I’ll watch that along with my eating habits 🙂 ), we tried to identify the source of Marieke’s anxiety in particular and in doing so, uncovered the source of mine as well.  Marieke and I love it when Marco goes away for a few days – we leave things on the counter, just slightly out of place, I might not make the bed, we might leave the dishes until morning, we have girls nights –  but we always know he’s coming home and order will be restored.  You see, I’m a bit chaotic.  I’m not naturally an organized person, especially not at home.  In fact, when Marco is away, I sometimes feel like I’m unraveling bit by bit.  It’s hard to explain, but he provides structure to our home and while he can drive us crazy with his desire for order, we rely on it and crave that order.  He’s the one who will notice if something is broken or out of place, he’s the one who reminds us to do things that need to be done around our home.  If we can’t find our keys, he can usually tell us where he saw them last – that does come at a price, but at least we get our keys back.  He’s there when we get home, with a fire started, a glass of wine (oops, there’s that word again), a cup of tea.  He really is our anchor.  What I didn’t realize was how much stress not having that might cause both Marieke and I.  Casimir is living on his own but I know that he finds comfort just knowing that Marco is there, even when he gets so busy with his life that he hasn’t seen him for a couple of weeks.  I think talking about it tonight really helped us to understand one of the ways his absence will be felt.  Of course, I’ll miss my best friend, my partner in almost everything I do.  I’ll miss our social life together with friends, watching movies, going for dinner, cooking together, all those things.  But it goes deeper than that.  He really is our foundation and I’m not sure he knows the extent of that.

Over the next while, something I need to work at, for the sake of Marieke, Casimir and for myself, is to figure out how to create that sense of stability and peace in our home without Marco.  That’s going to be a tough one, but I’m up for the challenge.  I know there will be some bumps along the way but I truly believe that this adventure is still a wonderful opportunity for Marco, and also a chance for me to re-discover myself and tap into all of those strengths I know are there, I just haven’t had to use them for many years.

Everyone seems to have a bucket list.  If I started to put my dreams into a bucket, I’d need a really big bucket.  The problem with my bucket would be this.  I have a dream, I tuck it safely into my bucket for another day.  Phew, saved THAT dream, I feel better.  One day I’m going to do all of those things on my bucket list.  My bucket would just get more and more full because everything I put in it is for another day.  As a relatively impatient person (okay, Marco says I’m the most impatient person he knows and he isn’t the first to make this observation) I can’t stand all that stuff just sitting in my bucket waiting to be picked.  All my dreams would feel a bit like I did in my high school gym class.  ‘Pick me, pick me!’  That would make for a lot of unhappy, insecure, unfulfilled dreams just wasting away in an old bucket.

I know from experience that death puts a damper on our bucket lists.  It cuts our dreams short – we never know when it might happen.  I’ve lost friends in their teens and twenties, cousins as babies and young adults, elderly friends and relatives.  It’s like nothing else – it will happen when it happens and it won’t wait for us to complete a few things we really wanted to do but just never found the time.  So in fact, while everyone talks about how important it is to have a bucket list, it’s based on a false reality – the belief that we can plan when we will dig into our bucket and we’ll get started whenever we want.  Let’s be honest – most of us tuck our dreams away in a bucket so we feel better – ‘Ha, now I have a plan.  I’m going to do that…later’.

When I woke up from my Hummingbird Dream (read blog post number  one, then you’ll know what I’m talking about), I felt different and it sounds goofy to say that I felt ‘more present’ than I had when I went to sleep a few hours before.  The idea that instead of talking endlessly with Marco about the house we would buy someday in Nova Scotia to retire, or the Beethoven Festival we would go to one day in Germany (yep, that’s how devoted I am – this isn’t called livingwithoutbeethoven for no reason), we had decided to actually-physically-no-bucket-required…do something exciting and maybe even a bit ‘risky’.

Today we’re heading off for a week in Nova Scotia thanks to buddy passes from my brother.  Then, just a few days after we get home, Marco is heading to Australia for the first time.  Now, in all fairness, it could also be his last, you never know.  Maybe he’ll get there for his presentation and visit and decide it’s not for him.  A month ago, I would have fantasized about things all falling through so we could just plod along contentedly through life.  Now I’m worrying a bit that Marco might change his mind and decide he doesn’t like it.  What then????  I’ve started a blog, I’ve organized piano lessons, I’m planning to spend more time drawing, I’m excited about traveling to Australia in a couple of months for a visit…the list goes on and on and on.

As I mentioned, I’m impatient.  I fight change fairly quickly.  I panic, reject the idea, think about it for a few seconds, then I get excited about it.  Sometimes I flip flop for awhile between the agony and the ecstasy.  So, now I’ve decided that it’s all good, Marco can go, I’ll be okay.  Here comes the impatience.  All this waiting is too much for me, I’ve decided it’s okay to do this and so I want to do it right now.  It doesn’t work that way so I guess I’ll have to wait.  In the meantime, we’ll have a great trip to Nova Scotia.