In Memory of Mary McAllister
My beautiful, strong and wise mother passed away on August 25th 2013 from pancreatic cancer. She was 52 years young. She was a mother of 4 girls and a talented RN. She had a zest for life that was altogether inspiring.
Our family's story with pancreatic cancer began in 2009. After I graduated from high school, my mom told us she was sick. She sat down at our kitchen table and very bravely told us she had pancreatic cancer. I recall reacting in a way that now seems very strange; it was as if she was telling me some common fact, like the weather or what we were having for supper that night. This statement didn’t seem real. So, I maintained a collected and rather emotionless demeanour. Calmly, I acknowledged her statement, I don’t even really remember what I said or if she heard, and I walked downstairs to my bedroom, to do god knows what, as she cried quietly into her hands – I will never forget that.
In my mother’s last days, 4 years after her diagnosis, the summer before I started medical school, she wasn’t always herself. At times, from pain killers, I think, she reminded me of a lost child; confused, disoriented and weak. At other times, she was completely herself. I didn’t really understand the gravity of the situation, because in the past four years, anytime she was unwell, she always bounced back. She would go from sitting on the couch with an IV one day (she used the pole from my clothes steamer to hang up her IV that she somehow convinced her colleagues from work to let her take home, since she outright refused to be admitted to hospital for any length of time), to getting groceries and taking my dog, her grand-dog, for a walk the next day. Several weeks before she died, I started to sleep in her room to make sure she didn’t get hurt trying to go to the bathroom or wandering from confusion. One night, she couldn’t really sleep, she was very lucid and sounded like herself for the first time in what felt like an eternity. She really wanted to talk. She asked me what I might do with our house after she died – it was just me and her that lived there, and my pug Stanley of course; my three sisters lived away. She casually wondered if I would repurpose some of the bedrooms or do any renovations. I was quick and direct to tell her that I liked it the way it was and for her not to worry. She talked about her life and how she hoped she had been a good mother. I told her, with a bit of a more loving tone, she was a great mom, but I returned to my direct tone and told her not to worry, that we were all going to be okay. For some reason, I thought telling her we would be okay would somehow make her feel better. She had a lot of questions but I kept telling her not to worry, and to get some rest – I will never forget that.
That conversation was the last one I would ever get to have with my mother as the mother I knew her to be. As in the following days, the last days I ever got to see my mother, she was never herself again. I had to leave for medical school orientation. Although I would later attend campus in New BRunswick, the orientation for both Halifax and New Brunswick students would be held in Halifax, 5 hours away. I didn’t want to leave her. I always felt a duty to be with her, even if I wasn’t always pleasant to be around. But I knew she would have wanted me to go, she told everyone else to make sure I went. I rushed out of the house, gave her a quick hug, even though it didn’t seem like she knew what was going on, so I didn’t bother to say much more, and I left. That was a Thursday. As I sat on the bus to Halifax, I knew my mom was in good hands. She was with her eldest brother. Her brother, who lived across Canada, dropped everything that summer and moved in with us to be there for my mom and all of us. There are really no words to describe my uncle or his supportive wife, my aunt. The following few three days were filled with a lot of nerve racking and exciting times, meeting new friends and well…partying like never before. Up to that point, I did not disclose with any of my new acquaintances what was happening with my mother back home. Late Sunday night, during a brewery tour in downtown Halifax, I got a call on my cell phone. I knew what the call was about. I answered. The calm but sad voice on the end said, “I’m so sorry Yasie, but your mom passed away”. I said “ok, I figured she did” and hung up the phone. I went to the bathroom, took a look at myself in the mirror and wondered what the hell I was supposed to do now. I decided to leave by myself. It was downtown Halifax and at this point, I didn’t really know the city well or where I was. After getting cat-called a couple of times and having to change sides of the road to avoid these people, I decided to get a cab to take me back to the dorm rooms that the Dalhousie Medicine New Brunswick students were staying in. I laid in the bed in my dorm room and stared at the white ceiling for 8 hours until morning, watching a little light flash every 8 seconds; I think it was the smoke detector maybe. My mind had never been so empty; I had no thoughts. The next morning, my first official day of medical school, I carried on like nothing had happened. I sat with our group on the lawn in front of the Dal Med building. A new friend and I decided to go to the bookstore to check out DalMed T-shirts. We perused for a bit, and out of no where, because of a sense of comfort with this person that I will never really be able to describe, even to this day, I decided to tell her that my mom died the night before. She looked at me with concern and asked me to repeat when this had happened. I told her again, last night. I said my mom had been sick for a while, so it was okay, not to worry. Somehow, this person, who is now a very important part of my life, kept her composure and was exactly what I needed her to be. She didn’t make a big deal out of it, but still somehow managed to make sure I knew she was there for me. Later that day, after some introductory lectures and the Hippocratic oath ceremony, I went back to Saint John 5 days early. I went to my mother’s funeral, I read a poem with my sister, and a few days later, I started medical school in New Brunswick.
For the following two years, Stanley and I lived in the house we used to share with my mother. Stanley was in pain, he wouldn’t go into her room. After 40 days, Stanley went back into her room. Eventually, we started sleeping in her room. It was strange. For a while, we carried on as if she was on a trip away and we would see her again soon. I went to school as if nothing had happened, occasionally tearing up when the lectures talked about cancer, but I had my best friends by my side, literally. What a strange way to handle such an incomprehensible loss.
Looking back, I wish I could have been different. First of all – I wish I didn’t walk away – I wish I could have gotten over my inability to freely express my emotions. I wish I hugged my mother and told her I loved her and that we would get through the diagnosis of cancer together. That we would try everything she wanted to try and try absolutely nothing she did not want to try. That is was okay to forgo painful treatments with little evidence, that I loved her anyways. That she didn’t have to suffer just to be physically present for us. Secondly – I wish, during the last conversation that I would ever get to have with my mother, the woman who gave birth to me, the woman who made me into the person I am today, that I asked her the million and one questions I have for her. I wish I could have told her how proud and thankful I was to have gotten to call her mom; someone who went to school at night, worked weekends across the boarder, worked the weeknight graveyard shifts and worked at the women’s health clinic on Tuesdays, all while still making sure my three sisters and I were happy, healthy and living a *very* good life. I wish I could have told her how proud I was at her strength to overcome some very terrible things that happened in her life and for being brave enough to make hard decision, and how that made me into the strong, educated person I am today. Finally, I wish I could find the words to thank the people who have always been there for me. From my uncle who spent so many months by her side, and my aunt for being so supportive of him doing this, to my mom’s best friend who was always there to cheer us up, to my best friends who threw me a princess party just because they knew I needed it, to the friend who stuck by me even though I dropped a whopper on her on our first day of medical school, to the man who didn’t know me then and never met my mother but always looks forward to hearing about her and helping me to keep her memory alive, and to my mom’s beautiful friends and family who continue to be sources of support. How do you ever thank these special people?
Looking back, I can say one thing for sure, I live my life very differently now. I try to communicate and be there for the people I love, even when I get caught up in my own life. I try to reach out when someone is struggling, rather than shudder in the comfort of silence. I ask questions even when it is tedious and difficult to talk about. I prioritize my family and friends over work, and as my mom said, I try to live each day as if it were my last, with no regrets. I also try to live a healthy life by exercising regularly, eating well and most importantly, laughing often.
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