Green Apples

This week my son Zach and I had a long conversation about school, his feelings and some of his fears.  Surprisingly I was able to use last week’s blog to highlight that he wasn’t alone in his feelings of loneliness and despair at this point in his life, and that there seemed to be a number of parallels to me as a teenager.   Clearly mine were for different reasons, but we were able to draw on many similarities as an anchor for our conversation.  

Although the conversation started innocently enough, it soon turned into a rather emotional and deep discussion with a few tears shed by both of us.  As I held him close I told him it was okay to cry, and in fact an important part of growing up and maturing and that even as adults we need to let our emotions out.   

Zach in a less emotional setting,
about to tackle an opponent in school
rugby - May 2012

I know Zach will read this weeks blog with interest as he was peering over my shoulder earlier tonight, but what I guess I didn’t tell him during our conversation, that there have been times in the past couple of years (some might say “tumultuous” years) where my emotions have been so close to the surface that I literally have felt that I might completely lose my emotional stability with the slightest of nudges.   Sure there were very good reasons, but they felt “skin deep” if you know what I mean and holding my feelings in check was excruciating beyond belief.   At those moments in time I felt that I was at the very edge of my sanity – using everything in my power to just cope with the flood of emotions that swirled around me. 

One of the most vivid memories of that “edge” feeling were the moments immediately after my dad died.  It was Valentines Day 2011, and I had been in his hospital room sitting with him most of the day, watching him struggle to breath on his own.   It seemed just like any other moment in time, except that he took a breath, exhaled and just stopped.   Just like that, I was waiting for him to breath again, but he didn’t…it was his time.   Within seconds the medical team alerted to his monitor bound into his room and I was pushed aside – understandably. 

Clearly an emotion moment, but in a way I was relieved to know that he wasn’t struggling anymore and not in any pain.  My siblings and I had been on a bedside vigil since Friday night after I had arrived back from Canada - a marathon week that saw me leave Australia on Monday, only to get a call from my sister less than 12 hours after landing back in Toronto Tuesday.  She explained that dad had taken a fall in the hospital and was now in a coma, and that I had better come home as quickly as I could.   Dropping the phone I literally drove straight to the airport and boarded the quickest flight back to Australia, this time via Hong Kong.   In less than four days I had been in the air almost sixty hours and across the Pacific Ocean twice…   My brother picked me up form Tullamarine airport in Melbourne around 11:00 pm Friday night and we rushed the hour and half to the small country hospital where dad was waiting for us.  

Dad was in the room set aside for dying…near the front door of the small country hospital.   The night nurse on-duty said that they were glad we had arrived and thought that he would only last a few more minutes – the time was 12:20 am Saturday morning.   All through the night dad’s vitals ebbed and flowed, nearing death then regaining his composure time and again.   We all knew it was only a matter of time…but given dad’s strength of character who knew when that would be!   

Dad during his radiation and
Chemotherapy

By late Saturday afternoon my two brothers and I were getting a little punchy (to say the least) after almost no sleep for the past week; my sister having to attend a wedding and so she had to step away Saturday afternoon.   It was at that time that I asked my brothers what their funniest memories of dad were and for the next two or three hours we regaled each other in some of dad’s crazy stories (trust me there were lots to share!).  At some point during the proceedings the nurse came in and was taking down dad’s vitals, I looked over as James was mid story and dad was frowning and appeared rather tense.  I asked if everything was okay, and the nurse said that it was likely that he could hear us, which only made the rather irreverent story James was telling more hilarious! 

By late Sunday night dad’s condition had somewhat stabilized, he had defied the odds and the parade of doctors and nurses proclamations that attended him over the past few days.  With each new shift they pronounced almost certainly that it would only be a matter of minutes before he passed.   We lost count of the number shifts that started and ended, each successive team leaving the hospital shaking their heads in disbelief.

We all knew the inevitable was lurking, but as Monday dawned my siblings who had been by his side for the better part of the prior week had to go back to work.  Who knew how long dad would linger.  Fortunately for me I was able to stay with him.  All through the day I sat with him in his sun-filled room, watching the dust glint in the air as it slowly swirled in the room, at times talking to him, telling him to hang in there, at other moments nodding off as the extreme tiredness got the better of me before I’d get up and take a quick walk down the hall or step outside for a quick breath of fresh air.

Dad’s breathing was better and more consistent most of the morning, but around 1:30 pm he started to labor again and I called for the doctor.  There was nothing they could do except perhaps increase his medication a little.  I thanked them and sat back down…a million thoughts running through my mind, trying to make sense of the past six months, one eye-watching dad the other distracted and deep in thought.  

At 1:50 pm time stood still…dad had just taken his last breath.

Green apples...

In calmer times I wondered how I coped with the gamut of emotions that had coursed through my body in those moments following the doctors pronouncement, it was a weird sensation partly numb, yet with a heightened set of emotions and feelings.  I felt as though I was on the edge and staring into the abyss, yet so stunned that I couldn’t cry, well at least not until I spoke to my sister then the floodgates just opened up.  The strangest thought came to me in those moments following his death; with both mum and dad now gone I was now an orphan…what a strange thought to have at a time like this?

How do you survive moments like that?   I told Zach that my older sister Glenda and I had devised a little survival mechanism to survive the loss of our parents and other tough emotional moments in our lives.  I said that we give ourselves permission to have a “green apple” a day.  

The green apple was a metaphor for a gift that we would give to ourselves each day that was purely for ourselves to help us replenish our souls.   A little something to tide us over the bad days and help us look forward to the better days ahead.   It could be something as small as taking a long leisurely walk on a sunny day, perhaps reading a book even when there are chores to be done…just cos’ we could.   It was something purely for us on our time.

Unsure if Zach had been able to absorb the concept I had to smile to myself Thursday when he called me at work late in the afternoon to tell me that he had come home from school around 3:30 pm and decided to take a nap, he woke up refreshed and wanted to call me and tell me. 

He said that he had really enjoyed his “green apple” and asked me what mine was going to be today… clearly the torch has been passed!