Losing both parents in just three days is a kind of heartbreak that settles deep in your spirit. It’s a sorrow that changes you, and it reminds you how important it is to cherish every moment with the people you love.
In March 2009, one of my sisters and I flew to Vancouver for our dad’s heart surgery at St. Paul’s Hospital. The night before his operation, another sister called with news that shook us to the core — our mom, who was in a hospital in another province, was very unwell and didn’t have much time left. The weight of those two realities at once was almost too much to take in.
We immediately called our eight siblings so they would have the opportunity to visit Mom while she was still with us. When I phoned our youngest sister, she told me not to call so late — it was just after 11 PM her time — and then she hung up. In her mental state at the time, I don’t think she understood what she was saying. When I told my sister beside me, we both burst out laughing. It was such an unexpected reaction from someone so close to Mom, and that small moment of laughter was exactly what we needed to break the tension.
The next morning, Dad’s surgery went well. The doctors told us their biggest concern wasn’t the operation itself but his nearing congestive heart failure. Once he was stable, we booked the earliest flight back to Alberta to be with our Mom.
I will never forget how Dad cried when he realized we had to leave. Even though my parents had divorced nearly forty years earlier, he still had feelings for her. They had eleven children together — a lifetime of shared history. Seeing his emotion was strangely comforting.
My sister slept most of the way home — on the plane to Edmonton and again for three hours while I drove toward Valleyview Hospital. I was exhausted, and eventually I had to wake her to drive the last hour.
We reached Mom’s bedside around 5 AM. Later that morning, around 9:30, I called Dad to update him. Shortly after that call, Mom passed away.
The next day, two of my sisters phoned Dad to see how he was doing. His voice was already slurred, and he was beginning to retain fluid in his lungs.
While we were planning Mom’s funeral, Dad’s nurse called from Vancouver. She told us that if we wanted to see him, we needed to get there as soon as possible.
I arranged flights and a different sister, and I drove to Edmonton and flew back to Vancouver. We reached the hospital at 9:30 PM. Dad was unconscious, but we stayed with him until 1 AM. Exhausted from two sleepless nights, we found a room across the street from the hospital and rested for a few hours.
About four hours later, Dad’s nurse called us, and we rushed back to the hospital. We were able to talk to him briefly — and then he was gone.
It was one of the hardest weeks of my life. A week that taught me how fragile life is, how quickly everything can shift, and how important it is to hold close the people we love while we still can.
