Moment of Silence

Nature is about balance. There can never be too much of one thing, or else everything falls apart. Being scientifically-minded, that's something I believe in deeply, and I know that there's a force of some kind in the universe that's keeping this balance in check, and I'm okay with it. For all the good that comes, you must accept the bad. That's just how it is.

My grandfather passed away the day after I returned home from Vancouver. It's a complicated and long story, but suffice it to say that he had been in the hospital for almost the whole time I was gone. My family didn't tell me about it until the day before I was supposed to come home. Although I was ready to rearrange my travel plans, my father told me that Grandpa was stable for the time being, and that it wasn't necessary to switch my flight. When I landed on Wednesday, it was late and so I just got the story from my father, who said that he had somehow cracked his ribs (probably from a fall) and didn't tell anyone, and that he now had pneumonia which wasn't going away, and the cracked ribs weren't helping him to breathe. The oxygen level in his bloodstream was borderline, and even when they administered a high level of oxygen to him, it wasn't improving. They had to restrain him because he kept trying to pull the needles out of his arms and the oxygen mask from his face. He couldn't see, or hear, and now he couldn't really speak. Essentially, the diagnosis was that his probability of recovery was about 0%. If, by some chance, he did recover, the quality of life would be such that he wouldn't be able to function, even in a nursing home. My father told me that the time had come for us to make a choice, and that we'd make it the next day.

This was the first time that I've ever been faced with this possibility. It wasn't like we were going to "pull the plug", since he was still breathing on his own, but if they stopped the antibiotics and fluids and just left it to morphine and oxygen, then he would be more comfortable, and then it would just be a matter of time.

The next day at work was kind of strange. I was glad that everyone was happy to see me, and wanted to hear all about my trip and my experiences (which they had been following on a daily basis). It kept my mind occupied, and I wasn't staring at the phone, waiting for the call that I dreaded. After work, I went to my parents' for dinner. On the way there, I realized that I wasn't wearing my iron ring. I wear it all the time but I have to take it off for work occasionally, and I thought I had put it back on before I left the office, but I figured I must have been distracted. It gave me an eerie feeling. We drove to the hospital, and my brother said something that made me laugh hysterically, until I realized that I was crying. I pulled myself together as we arrived. My parents led the way to the room. I tried everything I could to prepare myself for whatever I was going to see.

My grandfather was lying in the bed, with tubes in his arms, gasping for breath. The last time I saw him, even though he had sight and hearing issues and he had problems with his memory, he was extremely healthy for a man of 93 years of age. He had a straight back, walked on his own (mostly), and had all of his own teeth (I really hope I got some of those genes). He was also fairly tall, but in the hospital bed he looked so small and frail. He moved around constantly, like he was trying to get out of the bed. I pretty much lost it at that point. I walked over to his bedside and held his hand. It was really warm, and he squeezed my hand once in a while. He seemed to relax a little bit, which was reassuring. I didn't say anything to him, since he couldn't hear me anyway, but in a weird, irrational way I hoped he could sense what I was thinking through my hand. When it was time to go, I looked back at him on my way out and said goodbye.

We went to my uncle's house, which was down the street. I was still emotional, which set off my cousins. I asked my cousin, who's a doctor, to explain the situation to me. From the discussion she had with the hospital physician, she agreed that his chances of recovery were not good. We were in the middle of talking about the next step we should take when the phone rang. The hospital called to tell us that he had passed away. This was literally minutes after we had left the room.

One of the first things I felt was relief. I was relieved that I had made it home in time. My greatest fear was that I wouldn't be able to see him, to say goodbye. Thirteen years ago, my grandmother died five minutes before we arrived. Even now, that thought haunts me. I was also relieved that he wasn't suffering anymore. Watching him struggling like that hurt my heart. But in the back of my mind, I was relieved that he decided to take matters into his own hands, and that none of us had to make the choice. It seems like a selfish thing to feel, but I can't help it.

We all went back to the hospital. I looked at him as we entered the room. It was quiet. No more machines, no more gasping, no more movement. They had covered him up to his face, and I'd like to say that he looked peaceful but that wasn't true. It was as though his face was frozen in time.

He was my last surviving grandparent. He was extremely stubborn, extremely private, extremely hard to know. In the last few years, it's been even tougher with his declining mental state. But now, looking back at the photos of him and me together, I know that he cared for me and my brothers and cousins. You can see it on his face.

"There are places I remember all my life, though some have changed"

The Wrap-Up

Well, the end is near. I'll be heading home tomorrow. Hopefully the airport will be a little less crowded (39,000 people in one day is quite a lot). Are you suffering from Olympics withdrawal yet? I sure am.

The past two weeks have been really surreal. Vancouver and Whistler have been fantastic as always, but when you add in all of the emotion and excitement from the Olympics, it's been a crazy high the whole time.

Things that surprised me:

• the patriotism: we've been gung-ho about Canada in the past, but nothing like this. Everyone in the world must know our anthem by now. I have never in my life seen so much red and white.
  
• the cynicism in the press: okay fine, we didn't exactly work out all the bugs up front, but even when things were going relatively well, the international press was still dumping on us. Should they have moved the Cypress events? It's not like moving your car. They planned for the events to be held there months, maybe years in advance. And really, where would they have moved them? Whistler may be big but to add two more stadiums, rearrange the security and figure out the transportation would have been disastrous. "Worst games ever"? Really? I don't know where that reporter was sitting, but as far as I could tell everyone here was having a great time.
• the recovery: along the same vein, having an athlete die right before the start was somewhat of a PR fiasco. The protest/riot at the beginning was also a pretty big damper. But they figured it out in the end. Being respectful to the athlete and his country, mentioning it from time to time (but not all the time) was a good idea. Whether or not there were other public disturbances, it's hard to say since I heard the media were asked not to publicize it. And thank goodness they worked something out in the closing ceremonies to cover the hydraulic mess from the opening ceremonies. The moment I saw that, all was forgiven (almost...).
  
• the Hollywood quality: how many "made for Hollywood" moments were there? The bronze-winning figure skater whose mother had died days earlier, the nail-biting overtime goal for gold, the formerly blind bobsleigh driver who won gold, the cross-country skier who finished third despite injuring herself during the warm-up, and the list goes on.
• the cheesiness: as I said earlier, the opening ceremonies were slightly disappointing. The closing was good at the beginning, but then sort of degenerated into the same sort of embarrassment as before. I get that we were trying to make fun of ourselves, but I think as Canadians we have a sense of humour that only we understand.

Now that it's all over, there are a few things I hope will happen. I hope that at least part of the enthusiasm that we experienced here will carry over to the Paralympic Games later this month. I hope that city councillor is successful in reopening some of the pavilions and exhibits. I hope the money that was being funnelled into the sports programs over the past 4 years to "own the podium" will continue. I hope, sometime in the near future, we actually will own the podium.

Thanks for following me on my Olympic journey. However, I don't think it's over quite yet. I was at a London Drugs today and my total came to $20.12. No joke.

"Most beautiful place reborn and blown off roof, my view about-face whether great will be done"

Putting the "Win" in "Winter"

Hello friends! A brief hiatus in the blogging but most definitely not a break in the action. It's been all go, no stop for the past few days, but I can't believe that it's over already. As per usual, I feel like I need a vacation from my vacation.

I don't need to reiterate the events of the past few days. In a word: awesomeness. The basic atmosphere that I felt in Vancouver was also there in Whistler. Our hotel was right beside the entrance to the downhill venue. The sliding centre was on Blackcomb, and I don't know if any of you have ever seen bobsleigh live, but that has become one of my favourite events. If you're willing to hike uphill, you can stand right beside the track as the sleds go by. First, you hear them rumbling towards you, and then in a flash you see something pass in front of you, and then you can feel the air displacement as they disappear around the corner or down the track. The intensity is unbelievable. And when you can go from second to third place in 1/100 of a second, it just boggles the mind. And although 50 km of cross-country skiing sounds boring (and insane), a mass start is actually really interesting. And given the final footrace to the end, where we lost gold by 1.6 seconds, it looks like we could be a contender for nordic sports in the future.

I'm just about ready to collapse tonight, so stay tuned tomorrow for the wrap-up.

"Long may it wave, and grace our own, blue skies and stormy weather, within my heart, above my home, the Maple Leaf forever!"