A lot can happen in a year...

Terrifying and horrific wouldn’t even begin to describe the night of May 1st, 2017. Despite anticipating the end was near, no one could have prepared us for everything that unfolded.

We were running on empty having spent multiple nights sleeping on the couch outside of my mom’s room and not getting much sleep. Lying awake worrying, listening for her calls for help and hoping to hear her snoring so we’d know she was still with us.

But this night was different. We hired a night nurse to help administer medications and keep an eye her so my sister and I reluctantly gave up our “couch beds” and went back downstairs to our rooms to sleep. Things were going well until around 4 am when the nurse came downstairs to wake us up. She told us to come upstairs quickly, it was time.

My mom was scared and confused, her mind clouded by the morphine but she needed it to keep her comfortable as her body slowly shut down. We kissed her and held her hand and tried our best to keep her calm. After a little while, she was able to fall back asleep. We stayed upstairs for the rest of the night as she would wake up scared, yelling out to us, unable to tell us what she was worrying about. Then, she'd fall back asleep. It went on for hours. We were all so exhausted and scared.

A friend of mine who is a nurse told me that despite being cognitively impaired by the morphine, most patients would respond well to touch. So, when I woke up the next morning, I went into her room and fixed her hair, put some lip chap on and spent a few minutes massaging her hands with moisturizer. That was the last moment I spent with my mom while she was alive. A few hours later, I was napping on the couch when my sister went in to check on her and I just remember hearing, "I think mom’s gone." She waited until we had all left the room before she took her last breath.

It’s hard to believe it has already been a year.

I suppose we knew it was inevitable and after more than eight years we should’ve expected it but her death is still something I can’t wrap my head around. Having had some time to reflect, the one thing I know is that her bright and positive spirit lives on. Not a day goes by without something reminding me of her and making me reach for the phone to try to call her.

Her final few weeks taught me more about her than I could learn in a lifetime. The way she said her goodbyes was so touching. Despite having limited strength and energy, she reached out to so many of her friends to thank them personally for their friendship and took the time to tell them how much she appreciated them.

I remember sitting in the living room when she called Steve Merker, Chief Ride Officer at the Princess Margaret Cancer Foundation. She told him that it was time to say goodbye and they spent over an hour talking about all the good times and the memories they had together. I fought back the tears wondering how she could be so strong knowing she was about to die. It was as awful as it was beautiful and I’ll never forget that moment. In talking to him after, he told me he couldn’t hang up the phone. He didn’t want it to be the last time they ever talked. And that’s the sort of impact she had on everyone she met.

An infectious personality, zest for life and undeniable strength in the face of adversity. She faced every day with courage and a positive outlook and that’s what kept her alive more than eight years longer than the doctors told her she’d live.

If you asked me a year ago today what I thought I’d be doing now, I’d probably break down and cry. I’ve done that A LOT over the past year. Losing a parent is incredibly difficult, I learned that when I lost my dad, but the word orphan, is haunting. They’re gone, they’re gone forever. I honestly didn’t think I’d be strong enough to push through but in all reality, I’m a product of my parents, I should’ve known better.

There were so many “ups” mixed in with the hard times. I worked as the FEI’s field reporter on international broadcasts of the World Cup Qualifiers and was named “Rising Reporter of the Year” at the Notable Awards. To top all of that off, I worked my first Grey Cup as a sideline reporter behind the Calgary Stampeders bench. I’ll never forget when I was a kid, all the times I sat watching football from the broadcast booth as my dad and Rod Black called games. I was so lucky! And then, fast forward to my first Grey Cup broadcast, that same Rod Black threw down to me for an update from the sidelines. If there was ever a moment I knew he was there, my dad was definitely smiling down on us that night.

It was a whirlwind year that has brought me to this moment, the 1st anniversary of my mom’s death. As I sit here with a keyboard covered in tears, I remember that the firsts are always the worst. If I can find the strength to get out of bed and do something positive every day, especially today, I know my mom and dad would be proud. It might not get easier but I know I’ll get better. I have to do that, for them.

Life is fragile and I wouldn’t be where I am today without the love and support of my friends and family. You know who you are so from the bottom of my heart- THANK YOU. Thank you for helping me through this first and the rest of the tough ones to come. <3

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