Oak 1 English Oak (Quercus robur)

In Scots Gaelic, an Darach means “the Oak”, and àite nan Darach means “place of Oaks”.  Mill Creek Townhomes, and the woods in which they are nestled are definitely àite nan Darach.  Representing longevity, strength, justice, and honesty, the mighty oak was the most revered tree in Greek, Celtic, and Roman mythology. The grand Oak’s strength is very much in need in our community right now. 

The cold, hard, truth about enjoying a spectacularly good day is that it is, simultaneously, someone else’s very worst day.  Life’s Yin and Yang, our shared burden - knowing that the houses of joy and anguish both have revolving doors.  Understanding that as we are born, someone is dying; that as we rise, someone is falling; that as we laugh, someone is crying and that, despite clinging to hope, we cannot end or even pause that cycle - we are all constantly trading places.  

Despite a pesky problem with fainting (for which I am receiving superlative health care), this has been a wonderful summer for me.  I’ve been very happy, I’ve enjoyed some marvellous nature adventures with a dear friend, been in the right place at the right time to shoot some amazing wildlife, we celebrated a milestone anniversary — in a restaurant!!!!! second time in four years!!!!! — all the while being very healthy (except for that fainting bit).  And this is the agony of being human - someone had to be having their worst summer and indeed someone was.  Two someones.  Both very close to me.  Both residents here at Mill Creek.  

The human experience is akin to landscape photography.  It is the aggregate of a man’s life - his relationships, communications, emotions, values, education, experiences, etc.  It is like looking through a wide-angle lens — seeing everything, far and wide, in the scene in front of the camera.  Cancer is like HDR (high dynamic range) photography where the image is enhanced by both its brightest and darkest elements. From diagnosis to remission, or to cure, or even to death, the fight against cancer encompasses some of life’s brightest and darkest moments and everything in between. It seems as though the past fortnight has been all about cancer and I’m torn between wanting to cry or shriek with fury!

Having sought neither friend’s permission — neither to write about them nor use their names — I’ve created aliases for both:

"Mag"

Magnolia
In the language of flowers, Magnolias symbolise nobility, and love of nature.
Nobility meaning being noble in character and having high moral principles, not birth rank.
I’d like to introduce you to “Mag” who is the embodiment of nobility,
and who loves nature almost more than life itself:

When we purchased this home, Mag was the President of our condo association.  Within scant days of our offer to purchase being accepted, Cam had a phone call from Mag, welcoming us to the community, inviting us to the annual party (to be held on moving day, of all times) and offering to answer any questions we might have.  He was kind and friendly and helpful and after that conversation, Cam knew Mag would be a good friend to us.  He was not wrong.  That was two years ago.

Since then, Cam and I have both forged strong bonds with Mag - Cam through his involvement with the condo board (on which Mag still serves) and me through birding and nature and the amazingness that is our woods.  He is always available to answer questions, solve problems, pitch in when work must be done and best, be that unwavering, friendly face in our wee complex.  He’s truly a gem of the first order.

Just prior to last month’s board meeting, Cam received word that Mag would not be there because he was not well.  Our thoughts went to a cold, a tummy bug or - God forbid - maybe even COVID (which is on the rise in our county).  At the meeting, the President informed the board that Mag was stricken with a form of cancerous leukaemia, and was beginning a months-long series of chemo treatments and blood transfusions.  Shock, disbelief, anger, fear, worry and too many questions to record here.  Why do such bad things always seem to happen to such good people?  Question for the ages, non?  

Yesterday we saw Mag’s wife outside cleaning up some storm debris in front of their garage so we stopped to chat.  She was “cautiously happy” to report that the chemo seems to be working its magic, that Mag was - at that very moment - having another transfusion, and that their medical team was confident they’d be able to get him into remission.  That remission is not a cure is an important distinction and, for this form of leukaemia, there is no cure.  All my prayers these days, have pleas for a long-lasting remission. 
 

"Zin" Zinnia
In the language of flowers, Zinnias symbolise lasting affection and thoughts of absent friends.  
I’d like to introduce you to “Zin” for whom we will have affection ever more,
and who is never far from our thoughts:

Zin and his wife live next door to us.  He introduced himself to Cam on moving day and offered any help we might need.  That evening the power went out and he popped over with a flashlight just in case Cam hadn’t been able to find ours.  A couple of days later he banged on our door late in the afternoon, told us to stop what we were doing and join them on their balcony for a cold drink, a rest and a chat.  We weren’t ideally dressed (unpacking!), but he said if we thought they cared about our clothes, we couldn’t be more wrong.  Off we went.

We spent a good two hours together that afternoon and learned from them a lot about condo life, their lives and in turn they learned a bit about us.  Upon hearing Cam was a golfer, Zin told his wife to get him in at their club which she did, on her iPad, whilst we were all chatting.  More special to us than that, they connected Cam with the various senior mens’ league coordinators and, with that entrée, he was warmly welcomed by all, has fit in beautifully, and has made lots of new friends.  

Zin and his wife winter in Florida.  When they returned this spring they were both very excited because, in a matter of weeks, they were off to the UK for a vacation.  The first time we saw “Mrs. Zin” after their holiday, she told us they’d had a lovely time but that she’d caught a cold whilst away, and now Zin had it.  He couldn’t shake it.  Every time we saw Zin this summer and asked how he was feeling, he always said that he wasn’t feeling well at all and ohmigosh, did he ever lose a lot of weight.  At one point, following x-rays, he was diagnosed with and medicated for pneumonia.  When it didn’t clear up, his script was renewed.  Last week Cam bumped into Mrs. Zin on the driveway, asked after Zin and was horrified to learn he was in hospital and had been placed in the ICU where there was more highly concentrated oxygen.  She told Cam that they’d discovered a mass on his lung.  

Not having seen her for a couple of days, Cam banged on their door and, getting no response, called and left a message.  When she returned his call it was to, tearfully, tell him that Zin was, that very day, being transferred to hospice - the cancer had spread throughout his body and there was nothing more to be done.  Heartbreakingly, Zin has been summoned to his long home.  Shock.  Disbelief.  Horror.  Anger.  Pretty much the full bandwidth of negative emotion.  Again, why do such bad things always seem to happen to such good people?

The “C” Word

Cancer has been part of my human experience and I promise you, that journey is a bitch.  Pure and simple.  Unless you’ve been there, it’s impossible to understand the terror caused by a cancer diagnosis.  Even listening to my doctor’s somber voice, even watching Mum fall apart, and even watching Dad’s face blanch, I was - in the moment - unable to get my head around the severity of ovarian cancer and the rigours of the road ahead.  Then the mist cleared and - terror!  All my subsequent days spent trying, in vain, not to think about dying.

Chemo sucks the life out of you and, just when you think you cannot endure another treatment, in walks your oncologist with the news that he’s scheduled you for yet another round.  My mum was my nurse, my cheerleader, my guardian angel, my crutch - my everything - during my war.  She often had to get me dressed, cope with the entirely unpleasant aftereffects of chemo, and get me to TGH (downtown Toronto) - all before reporting to work in Don Mills.  Neither her spirit nor her energy flagged during that entire time.  I’d never have recovered without her - not a chance.  

Cancer is not contagious.  You cannot “catch” it by spending time with a cancer patient.  The biggest shock and disappointment of my cancer journey was discovering who would stay by my side, who would step up to help us (our family, my friends, and my parents’ friends) and who would disappear entirely (some from each group).  Before cancer, I’d have bet the farm that everyone in my extended family, every one of my friends, and all of Mum and Dad’s friends would be there for us, wholly supportive.  I’d have lost that farm, so I am damn-sure going to be there for both Mag and Mrs Zin, however I am able and in whatever capacity they need or want.  

Community is everything to me.  I see community as being neither a place defined by a postal code, nor a conglomeration of buildings - homes, shops, schools, etc.  Community is relationships, fellowship, amity, village life, harmony, and a cosy, folksy hospitality - pull up a chair and join us.

Community is comfortable, uncomplicated friendships - and that is exactly what Mag and Zin offered us, pretty much as soon as we arrived here in Kingsville.  On their divergent journeys, we wish them Godspeed.  To their spouses and families, we wish the proverbial strength of the mighty Oak.

’Til next time, y’all…

Oak 2 English Oak (Quercus robur)