Before the deep sadness

Last night I had a dream about Matthew.

I was at a crowded bar when I bumped into him. My heart leapt. He smiled and asked me if I was sticking around. He said he’d be hitting the stage around 7 and I should stick around. I was so glad to see him that I didn’t think to ask questions.

Of course, I said. He told me to make sure I stayed late because the fun stuff didn’t start happening till after 11. 

He looked 19: skinny as a pole, shy smile, a dusting of brown freckles sprinkled across his nose. Handsome as ever. After I promised to stick around he tapped me lightly on the back and walked away. When I looked again, he’d been swallowed  up by the crowd. 

I woke up then. And missed him like crazy. I realized it had been a dream.

I walked to the kids’ room where they were sound asleep and watched them for a few minutes. Sometimes when I miss my brother it helps me to be near my kids.

Even though they’re not related by blood, Deaglan reminds me of Matthew. I think it’s because my favourite memories of my brother, the parts I hold nearest to me, are the memories of him as a small boy. He had a great laugh and I hear it every time Deaglan laughs. Back then he was pure, honest and in awe of life, the way Deaglan is these days.

It was before he felt the deep sadness.

Eckhart Tolle says this of suffering: Wouldn't it be wonderful if you could spare them [your children] from all suffering? No, it wouldn't. They would not evolve as human beings and would remain shallow, identified with the external form of things. Suffering drives you deeper.

I find this prospect of parenting the hardest to accept. 

I forgot about the dream when I woke up this morning. I shuffled downstairs, made coffee, got lunch stuff together, watched the news, showered, dressed and got us all out the door.  On the way to the Daycare, Tom Power played this and the dream came flooding back.

That song always stops me dead in my tracks.

I don't know what the dream was about. Next Wednesday will mark four years that Matthew's been gone. Maybe he just wanted to say hi. Tell me he's happy.

Whatever it was, it feels good to know he's on stage somewhere.

This was the last picture of us together. I was six months pregnant with Naveen. I'll always be sad that they missed each other by ten days.

The summer of pet funerals

Crash died back at the end of June.

He’d been sick for a few months. A lengthy vet visit, several tests and an expensive bill told us that he had either liver disease, cancer or both and unless we could afford to continue investigating through more lengthy visits and hefty bills, we needed to consider putting him down.

Turns out, we didn’t have to make the decision. He passed away one night, peacefully we hope, underneath our bed, while we were asleep.

He came to live with us six years ago after the vet had revived him from a near-fatal car accident. We’ve never known how old he was or even how many lives he might have had before he slowly won Shaune’s heart those few weeks he was in a crate, up for adoption after the vet had sewn him up. At the time, our dog’s diabetes had us at the clinic twice a week to pick up small vials of insulin.

We lost our dog several months later. He was 11. He’d been with me since he was eight weeks old.

I was grateful to have Crash close-by,  his rabbit-soft fur felt so good through my fingers those long grief-filled months after Judge died. I was inconsolable, could no longer even drive down the streets we’d walked him, watching episode after episode of The Dog Whisperer which I found strangely comforting. I was pregnant with Deaglan then, unaware of the change my life would take once a human baby came into it.

I think poor Crash never got the attention he deserved from me. I’ve been so busy these last five years, my lap hardly ever empty. I take comfort in knowing Shaune adored him, thought about his well-being constantly, lovingly, the way we had with Judge before children came and consumed all of our attention.

When he finally found the cat, that summer morning, Shaune ran downstairs to find me, sipping coffee, both kids on my lap. I saw something in his face, something he didn’t have to explain and made up an excuse as to why I had to run upstairs for a second with Daddy. Our king sized bed was pulled out from the wall, revealing missing toys, pacifiers, mismatched socks, and Crash amidst it all, laying on his side, his teeth exposed in a strange almost grisly way.

We’d been readying Deaglan for weeks of our cat's death, had explained that it could happen any time and that once it did, Crash would go immediately to heaven. And yet, nothing could really prepare him for it because when we told him, he cried for days. He began missing Judge too, who he’d actually never met – I was five months pregnant with him when we lost our dog.  For a few weeks he would recall stories of things he and Judge did together.

It was odd and endearing.

About a month ago, we noticed the cleaning fish, the one we got specifically to keep the tank that sits on the boys’ dresser clear of algae – we noticed he was dead. No one had even thought to name him. Shaune and I simply referred to him as The Cleaner even though we were convinced no one had ever explained this function to him, the proof being a tank that was constantly green and slimy, despite our attempts to clear it with different solutions the pet store recommended.

When we told Deaglan he was devastated. 

We took our places, consoling him, reminding him that he’d likely joined Crash and Judge and Grandma Mac and Uncle Matt up in heaven. And still, every few days he tells us how terribly he misses the fish – the one we can’t even refer to by name.

So, you can imagine how sick I am at the thought of telling our four year old of our latest casualties: that last Wednesday morning his Dad discovered his other two fish – the ones with names – Toopy and Binoo,  dead. They'd outlived all of our expectations: three full years, enormous, fluid and shiny. Imagine how grateful I am that the tank is murky enough from the Cleaner’s absence to not yet be noticed. 

Dread fills me every day we don't tell the kids. I know too well a four year old curiosity - the demand to see the dead bodies, ask a million times how it happened. 

This weekend I've been holed away studying for a final exam - I'm taking some industry related courses for work. Shaune took the kids to a bee farm yesterday and to an apple/pumpkin farm today. These pictures were taken this afternoon.

Sinister smiles

Eating apples yet unpaid for.

Finding just the right pumkin

Goodbye

My tribute to my brother at the funeral service today:

I know we all sit here, in sorrow and great sadness, trying to remember our own times with Matt. For me, his coming into this world served as a bridge from the place I had just left to this new home I could never have prepared for. I know I can speak for my sister Tara when I say that his birth sparked a joy for us that we needed in order to feel like this new place was home. Here was someone that would look at us as true sisters, not adopted, but his own. My sister will tell you to this day that although she is thrilled to have given birth to four beautiful girls, her hope of having a little boy ignited because of her love of Matthew. He was an adorable baby and a great source of happiness for all of us.
Of course as he got a little older he had his moments – as the youngest and most spoiled of us. He had no problem reminding you of the rules mom and dad had set out and being a tattle tale if he felt you were committing an infraction. But this part of him is not what I remember the most today.
Matthew and I had our best times as adults. I was so grateful that throughout his twenties and into his thirties we grew closer. He often confided in me. Especially when as a nineteen year-old he began the difficult journey of living his own truth in a society that still treats beautiful creatures of God like him as second class citizens. To this day, I am in awe of the courage and strength it must have taken to step out of the shadows and be who he was while most of us at that age were lucky enough to only have to deal with typical teenage stuff.
When Shaune and I moved to London at the end of the 90’s with my brother Mark, we loved having Matt in our lives on a regular basis. Because he still lived there too, we often had barbecues and get-togethers a few times a week. I saw him less regularly when he moved to Toronto but there were some memorable times when I would be mixing a drink order behind whatever bar I was working at and turn around to see his smiling face sitting on a stool demanding to be served.
In the last few years, I have had my most fulfilling times with my baby brother. When my son Deaglan was born, I wanted nothing more than to have Matthew be a big part of his life. Matt as most of you know, loves kids and is hands down the most fun uncle. Kelly and Asia can attest to that. I loved watching him hold my little boy. Something so gentle and peaceful always came over his handsome face as he interacted with our babies. He always showed up in true good uncle fashion with gifts for the kids. And how he knew exactly what they wanted, I will never know.
And I know that he was a good friend too. I’ve been lucky to speak to some of his closest friends in the last few days, friends like Libby, Fardos, Garry, Sean, Dave and so many others who have emailed me this week. And it is not surprising that they are deeply grieving losing this true friend of theirs. My heart goes out to all of you because I know that if he was a fraction of the friend to you as the brother he has been to me than you are all changed for it.
I was fortunate that Matt read a beautiful passage from the Bible at our wedding. He called me a few days before and asked me if he could change it around a bit – you know add a joke here and there. I think his sense of humour was one of the best parts of him. Always self-deprecating but quick and so so funny.
Matt, I love you and I miss you! I know you are somewhere safe, somewhere peaceful. I’m certain you are lifting the spirits of those around you all the time. Because as so many of your friends told me this week, you truly had the gift of making people feel loved, warm and just better. You will never leave my heart or the memories of my children. Shaune loved you like his own brother and we feel eternally grateful that you were here.

January 26 1979 - May 21 2010

We lost our sweet funny and wonderful baby brother a few days ago. It is senseless and baffling and I cannot put into words yet my grief. I love you Matt and hope you are in peace.