I had thought it might be OK coming here from New Zealand, but things were more different, and different in ways I couldn’t explain, than I’d expected. I turned nine the day we landed in Vancouver. It seemed like just a few days later – after a train ride through the Rockies and across the prairies to Winnipeg, that my mum had the three of us walk with her two blocks up the street to Queenston School.
Had mum called the school ahead or just turned up with the three of us in tow?
The rest of the kids were already in their classrooms. We walked up the steps and then along a hall with classrooms evenly distributed along each side to come to the principal’s office.
Mum had brought some of our workbooks from our New Zealand schools. We all sat together in the inner office across from the principal’s desk. He found out our ages, looked at our work and assigned us to grades 6, 4 and 2. Ann, me and Alison, respectively.
I felt surprised when we each had to go our separate ways right from the principal’s office. Had mum meant for us to start school right then? Everything was happening faster than I could be with.
Inside my classroom were metal and wood desks with chairs attached. Each desk-chair sat in one of four or five straight lines from the front to the back of the class. I was introduced and told where to sit. The class went on.
Sometime later I began weeping and couldn’t stop. After the teacher saw or heard me, I was moved to sit next to my sister in her grade 6 classroom for the rest of the day. I do not know if I managed to stop crying. I was glad my sister’s seat was in a side row next to the windows. In my memory, my eyes kept leaking and my face felt hot and wet. After a while I calmed down enough to realize I wouldn’t be expected to follow what this other teacher was saying. I could vacate to the safer place in my mind.
Somehow, we got home. I can’t remember if Ann told my mum what had happened. I may have tried to be strong and not tell mum. Once again, I had failed at being a big girl. My younger sister Alison didn’t need to be moved to her older sister’s classroom, but I had done the baby thing. Cried.
The next day, a group of girls who seemed to have been recruited to look after me met me at my classroom door. They asked me questions. Then they asked again, so they could hear me answer in my strange accent. Did they really want to help me or were they doing what they were told? They crowded around me at recess and took me outside. I was relieved to have been looked after and felt embarrassed that I needed looking after.
Upon the weeks/months leading up to my grandmother’s death, I began to distance myself from her. She lived with my sister and niece which caused a lot of stress on her on top of the cancer and when I would try to get her out of the situation or help her she would refuse. It caused a strain in our relationship but nonetheless we never really spoke on it. Just accepted the fact that she accepted this life for herself and that in the end it’s her decision. Within time, the cancer got worse and she was going to chemo more and more and would begin to not take care of herself. I’d have to even leave work at times as my sister would call me saying that my grandmother is going back to the hospital again. I was there when I could be but at the same time the feeling I would get being in her presence was overwhelming. It was a mix of many things. Anger, sadness, happiness. I was happy I had her in my life still and I was able to hold her hand but I was angry that she could’ve done something to not get into the bad shape she was in but also deeply saddened because she wouldn’t eat and her bones would show and I could feel them when she hugged me but I was happy I could hug her anyway. I remember our last hug and how after I really stayed to myself as I couldn’t stand by and witness her dying. In a horrible way, it’s as if my mind accepted her death before it happened. I was the last one to see her at the hospice care facility she was in. I went alone and cried as she held my hand and spoke a sentence I couldn’t comprehend but when I said I loved her she said it back looking me in my eyes and the thought of that is comforting. When my grandfather called me the next morning to tell me she passed, I didn’t cry right away. In a way, the tears that eventually fell didn’t seem real until long after she passed. Losing my mother caused me to be comfortable in death in a way which I think that’s why I didn’t get as upset as I thought I would. I also suffer from Bipolar 2 and MDD which definitely affects my reaction to things as well as the things I’ve experienced. I felt guilty knowing that the moment she passed, it wasn’t agony but simply acceptance. Unfortunately, it’s more painful now than it ever was. A few days before she passed, I felt checked out. I knew the thought of her death affected me but it made me numb more than anything. Everyone was upset and telling me how sad they were but I couldn’t do the same. I was disconnected from reality. To sum it up, since then, I still feel the disconnect. The tears come and the pain feels real but yet there is nothing at the same time. A hollow shell. An empty can.
I had thought it might be OK coming here from New Zealand, but things were more different, and different in ways I couldn’t explain, than I’d expected. I turned nine the day we landed in Vancouver. It seemed like just a few days later – after a train ride through the Rockies and across the prairies to Winnipeg, that my mum had the three of us walk with her two blocks up the street to Queenston School.
Had mum called the school ahead or just turned up with the three of us in tow?
The rest of the kids were already in their classrooms. We walked up the steps and then along a hall with classrooms evenly distributed along each side to come to the principal’s office.
Mum had brought some of our workbooks from our New Zealand schools. We all sat together in the inner office across from the principal’s desk. He found out our ages, looked at our work and assigned us to grades 6, 4 and 2. Ann, me and Alison, respectively.
I felt surprised when we each had to go our separate ways right from the principal’s office. Had mum meant for us to start school right then? Everything was happening faster than I could be with.
Inside my classroom were metal and wood desks with chairs attached. Each desk-chair sat in one of four or five straight lines from the front to the back of the class. I was introduced and told where to sit. The class went on.
Sometime later I began weeping and couldn’t stop. After the teacher saw or heard me, I was moved to sit next to my sister in her grade 6 classroom for the rest of the day. I do not know if I managed to stop crying. I was glad my sister’s seat was in a side row next to the windows. In my memory, my eyes kept leaking and my face felt hot and wet. After a while I calmed down enough to realize I wouldn’t be expected to follow what this other teacher was saying. I could vacate to the safer place in my mind.
Somehow, we got home. I can’t remember if Ann told my mum what had happened. I may have tried to be strong and not tell mum. Once again, I had failed at being a big girl. My younger sister Alison didn’t need to be moved to her older sister’s classroom, but I had done the baby thing. Cried.
The next day, a group of girls who seemed to have been recruited to look after me met me at my classroom door. They asked me questions. Then they asked again, so they could hear me answer in my strange accent. Did they really want to help me or were they doing what they were told? They crowded around me at recess and took me outside. I was relieved to have been looked after and felt embarrassed that I needed looking after.
**Trigger Warning/Illness & Death**
Upon the weeks/months leading up to my grandmother’s death, I began to distance myself from her. She lived with my sister and niece which caused a lot of stress on her on top of the cancer and when I would try to get her out of the situation or help her she would refuse. It caused a strain in our relationship but nonetheless we never really spoke on it. Just accepted the fact that she accepted this life for herself and that in the end it’s her decision. Within time, the cancer got worse and she was going to chemo more and more and would begin to not take care of herself. I’d have to even leave work at times as my sister would call me saying that my grandmother is going back to the hospital again. I was there when I could be but at the same time the feeling I would get being in her presence was overwhelming. It was a mix of many things. Anger, sadness, happiness. I was happy I had her in my life still and I was able to hold her hand but I was angry that she could’ve done something to not get into the bad shape she was in but also deeply saddened because she wouldn’t eat and her bones would show and I could feel them when she hugged me but I was happy I could hug her anyway. I remember our last hug and how after I really stayed to myself as I couldn’t stand by and witness her dying. In a horrible way, it’s as if my mind accepted her death before it happened. I was the last one to see her at the hospice care facility she was in. I went alone and cried as she held my hand and spoke a sentence I couldn’t comprehend but when I said I loved her she said it back looking me in my eyes and the thought of that is comforting. When my grandfather called me the next morning to tell me she passed, I didn’t cry right away. In a way, the tears that eventually fell didn’t seem real until long after she passed. Losing my mother caused me to be comfortable in death in a way which I think that’s why I didn’t get as upset as I thought I would. I also suffer from Bipolar 2 and MDD which definitely affects my reaction to things as well as the things I’ve experienced. I felt guilty knowing that the moment she passed, it wasn’t agony but simply acceptance. Unfortunately, it’s more painful now than it ever was. A few days before she passed, I felt checked out. I knew the thought of her death affected me but it made me numb more than anything. Everyone was upset and telling me how sad they were but I couldn’t do the same. I was disconnected from reality. To sum it up, since then, I still feel the disconnect. The tears come and the pain feels real but yet there is nothing at the same time. A hollow shell. An empty can.