When I signed up for Tough Mudder I told myself it would be a test
of strength, of mind, and of my ability to power through, despite any pain or
stress I encounter. When my Nonno (grandfather) passed away this past weekend I
came face to face with a training exercise I was hoping would never present
itself.
Last week on Thursday evening I received a phone call from my mom.
She did her best not to worry me off the bat but I could tell something was
wrong. We spent some time with small talk, discussing the day she had with her
mom before she told me of a call she received while with her. My dad called
telling her that he had just received a call himself, from my uncle, saying
that my Nonno had suffered cardiac arrest while waiting in Emergency at
Scarborough General Hospital; he had originally gone in due to high fever and
dizzy spells. My Nonna thought he had a blood infection again… and maybe he
did, I don’t even know. I do know that his organs were trying to shut down,
that his heart stopped while he was waiting for test results, and that it took
the doctors more than seven minutes to resuscitate him. He suffered cardiac
arrest. Did you know cardiac arrest is
synonymous with clinical death? He
died. He died and against their better judgement doctors were forced to
resuscitate him because he did not sign a DNR during his last stay at the
hospital. He was there for 3 and a half months due to several complications,
primarily an infection of the blood, and had returned home in time for Easter.
That was the last time I really saw my Nonno. When they resuscitated him last
week he was put on life support and kept alive just long enough for us to make
our own peace with the decision to let him join the Big Guy Upstairs.
Anyway, I’m painting a more detailed picture than I intended but
part of the journal is to rant, to unload, to de-stress. Talking about it
helps, but it also spins all kinds of questions in my head – did they do
everything to help him? Why did they send him home that first time? The answers
don’t matter though. He’s at peace now, he’s at rest, there’s no more pain, no
more suffering.
He was a fighter. He was sick for a long time. I still couldn’t tell you what
the name of the disease is that he had, but it had something to do with the
circulation of blood. He also had diabetes and a stubborn Italian appetite – it
takes real balls to eat pasta every
single day despite your doctors’ orders not to. Additionally he had several
other issues, and the medicine cabinet to prove it. He didn’t know how long he’d
be around 23 years ago… and yet he saw 4 more grandchildren come into this
world, many more weekends and summers taking us to Stouville market, garage
sales, and KFC. We picked pears and cherries in his backyard…smushed grapes
with our feet for wine. We raised bunnies and chickens summer after summer,
ignorant to the fact they’d be dinner one day. We’d argue about the temperature
in the house – it was always so hot because Nonno was always cold. We’d be
splitting peas in the backyard on a 30 degree day and Nonno would be wearing
wool socks, sandals, shorts, dress shirt, sweater vest and ball cap. In the
winter when we visited for Christmas we’d wear tshirts! 12 of us piled into the
basement of their bungalow, with Nonna using every element on the stove + the
oven and the wood stove burning hot
behind Nonno’s seat at the table kept us all more than toasty. We have pictures
of us red-faced and sweaty, my little cousins’ hair sticking to their faces,
all to keep Nonno happy and comfortable.
I loved that man so much. His heart was always in the right place even if his
words were harsh. He would tell it like it is whether you wanted to hear it or
not. All he ever wanted was for us to be able to take care of ourselves, to be
strong and mighty like him. He would tell us of growing up in Italy and why we
should finish every bit of food on our plate. He would tell tales of sharing a
room/bed with all of his brothers and sisters as a child and how lucky we were
to have everything that we did. He put things in perspective, even if we didn’t
always listen as attentively as he hoped. His skepticism in trusting people and
life lectures are something I now cherish and will miss dearly. My birthday
cards always translated to “be nice with mommy and daddy, take care of your
brother and sister, be good in school, don’t fight”. When I graduated
University he was beaming. Then again he beamed at my little cousin when she
graduated JK. He was just so proud
of us. He’d have given us the world if he could have.
My heart is out of tears. I cried a lot this weekend. Now I get flashes of the
funeral, of seeing him in the hospital, of seeing my Nonna cry, of my cousins
crying… and then I get a flash of him laughing at the head of the table, with
his hat sideways because one of us turned it for him to make him “look cool”
even though he told us we were making him look crazy. He’d sit there and tell
us the three places we could find ice cream or chocolate or cookies for after
lunch. When he sat with us at lunch for Easter, I could see the pep had left
him, the brightness, the drive to see another day was gone. His body had been
through enough and I could see his light was slowly fading. The call telling me
he had suffered cardiac arrest was a surprise in terms of timing, but in our
hearts we all knew his time was coming. It’s just a shame I couldn’t hug him
and have him tell me he loved me back one last time…
It’s Thursday today. A week has gone by almost. A day of hospital stress, a
weekend of anticipation and anxiety leading up to the wake, funeral and burial.
Then two long days of “my condolences, my thoughts are with you, so sorry for
you loss…”. Yesterday I returned to work and it was hard but I needed the
distraction of routine. It was difficult to focus. But I made it through the
day. I got home, made myself dinner, and got back into my training routine.
We’ve had a few friends sign up with us for Tough Mudder so we got two of them
out to hike/run with us at Heart Lake Conservation Area last night. I was
tired. I was sad. I was having a hard time believing I could do it. But I got
myself there – that was the first and more important step – getting to the
starting line. I had a cheerleader with me last night though. I’m not just
talking about Michael, my patient, supportive, loving husband. No. Though Michael plays a big role in my healing, I felt Nonno with me yesterday.
He’d call me crazy for doing this. In fact, I don’t even know that he’d fully
understand “the point” of paying money to play in mud. I think he can
understand better now. When I talk to him now I don’t break my English to make
it easier for him to understand, I don’t struggle to explain – I have faith
that his wings and halo break that one small barrier between us and he just
gets it now. So yesterday when I was running up those hills I pictured him
waiting for me at the top. When I was dragging my feet through the mud I
pictured him holding me up. When I looked out at the lake with the sun setting
beautifully through the trees, I smiled because I knew I’d be ok and he was ok
and everything, though difficult and trying, was going to be alright.
This challenge I’ve accepted is more than just an obstacle course. It’s a test
of my mental grit. The way I see it, Nonno perservered and pushed himself for a
much longer time. He got out of bed everyday leading up to his passing – it was
only on his last day with us that he debated staying in bed all day and yet he got up anyway. It’s going to take time.
Talking about him outloud hurts. And my ability to put on a happy face and
socialize is weak. I feel like I’ve lost a part of me but I know he’ll help me
through this. I know he’d want me to be strong. So Nonno, don’t worry, I’m crossing
that finish line for you, ti amo tanto <3
