The Bloody Doors Off

Yet another consequence of Covid is not seeing my family in person.

Maybe twice this year I’ve seen my brother Kevin mask-to-mask, where we’d socially distance-drink Tim’s coffee and play Scrabble.

And we got to visit my mother-in-law Renee last month. Again, socially distant, all protocols taken.

But for the most part, it’s been phone calls and DUO (because I adamantly don’t want an iPhone, we can’t Facetime).

My want of an Android phone is ridiculous.

Even Kevin switched over to iPhone. And he’s the less tech-savvy one of the three brothers.

I digress.

But I haven’t been in the same room with my father or step-father in over 400 days.

Wayne and Donna are living in Alberta, to be with their kids and grandkids.

He and I just talked.

Wayne says they are coming to visit in either late September or late October, provided Covid keeps waning.

That’ll be an emotional homecoming.

Ever see the show Hello/Goodbye? There’s multiple versions of it around the world. The premise is the host walks through Pearson International Airport and talks with people who are either waiting for a loved one to arrive, or sending one away. It never failed to tug at my heartstrings. Shame it wasn’t renewed.

I never got to say goodbye to my mom.

She passed on October 5th, 2016 from a heart attack. When we got to the hospital, the doctor told us there was nothing they could do, and to fortify ourselves and say good-bye.

But as we prepared to the leave the waiting room, a nurse entered and told us she’d had another heart attack and they couldn’t revive her.

We still went in to see her.

I remember mum’s face, contorted in pain. Her eyes open, as if staring into the great beyond.

But it wasn’t her any more.

I still miss her.

I always will.