Haiku Mondays

I am starting up a new series here at DC: Haiku Mondays. Return here every Monday to see a new Haiku written by your truly.

Do not hesitate

To touch that mole on her neck

With your soft fingers

Grandma Klassen

It is almost a week now since my Grandmother passed away.

Monday, April 18 at 11:44 am Helen Klassen died peacefully at Boundry Trails Health centre. The two nights before I had sat vigil with her. Saturday night did not prove too difficult. She spent most of the time sleeping, with only the occasional sound. She did not open her eyes much, but she did not seem to be in any pain, which was as much as we could ask for. I spent that time reading, listening to music, and just waiting really. Sunday night was not so peaceful. I was there from 9:30-3:00am and there was hardly a quiet moment. Unable to take a breadth without tremendous effort she would writhe in pain every ten minute or so. The nursing staff was incredible, trying out different methods and medication to allow her to sleep comfortably, but nothing seemed to be working. I spent that time sitting with her, holding her hand and trying to comfort her as best I could. I had no idea what to do, I just hoped my presence could be of some comfort to her. By 3 she had calmed down a bit, which was when my father came to relieve me. I went home and fell asleep, exhausted.

The next day we had not made a plan as to when people would sit vigil, and I did not really love the idea of sitting at home doing nothing, so I went back to the hospital. I arrived at 10am to find my dad, aunt and cousin there. Grandma's breathing sounded terrible, but I was quickly told that was the sound of her breath going over her relaxed vocal chords. As much as it might sound otherwise, she was in no pain. Her breath did not change for and hour and a half, then suddenly it did. I'm not sure what was different, but we all heard it. Each of our heads came up and we moved around her. From that point each breath was smaller, shorter, shallower that then one before it. It was impossible to tell which was the last one. There was not one huge, final breath. Rather a slow fade. It was quiet beyond anything I had known, and her face showed joy and peace.

I love you Grandma.

To Grandma

My Grandmother is in the hospital. Over the last few years her health has been steadily declining. We were not sure exactly what was wrong, though there were a number of things it could have been. Six weeks ago she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Not one of the ones people survive. The last week or so has been especially quick in her dwindling health, and yesterday our family decided to begin a vigil. We are taking turns sitting with her, including throughout the night. My ability to rearrange my working hours allows me to take on this role. We are not sure how long she will be with us yet, but we are trying to be as prepared as possible. She has had a full life and now faces death with a courage I cannot fathom. In the past, when I have been confronted with the death of a loved one, I have turned to a poem by Christina Rossetti. I first read it back in my second year of university, and it has stayed with me since then.

Uphill

by Christina Rossetti

Does the road wing up-hill all the way?

Yes, to the very end.

Will the day's journey take the whole long day?

From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?

A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.

May not the darkness hide if from my face?

You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?

Those who have gone before.

Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?

They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?

Of labour you shall find the sum.

Will there be beds for me and all who seek?

Yea, beds for all who come.

New Music

Absolutely one of my favourite bands, TV On The Radio is prepping to release their latest record Nine Types of Light. Along with the music is a film, to which they just released a trailer. Check this out.