November, December

This story actually begins at the start of October. One Saturday evening I was walking in Wilket Creek Park taking in the fall colours when I get a call. It's my friend "Martin". I knew him from church many moons ago. We actually went to the same high school if I remember correctly. He was a few years ahead.

He's calling to ask if I can help him move. I don't really want to, but I ask, when? He says, right now. I tell him I'm out right now and that I can't help at the moment. He says he can try to get another friend to help. I say if he still needs help I should be available the following week.

The following Saturday I'm taking more fall photos. This time at the Humber Arboretum with my friend, Justin. We're just getting started when I get the call. It's Martin. He still needs help with the move.

The next day I borrow the work truck and we move the belongings from his rented room in Scarborough to his parents' home in North York. He's unable to pay his rent so his landlady has requested he leave. Martin doesn't have a lot of things, so the truck is barely half full. Still it takes nearly 2-1/2 hours because he hasn't gotten anything ready to go by the time I get there. His OCD isn't helping either. It takes him a super long time to pack. Most of the time I'm just standing there waiting. I'm getting really irritated.

At his parents place I unload the truck and move the stuff inside where he arranges it in the basement. It takes only around half an hour. That's how long it should have take to load if he were ready. I even spend a little bit of time chatting with his parents. His mom is somewhat incapacitated with a leg infection. It limits her mobility.

After unloading I say, good-bye. End of story, right? Not quite.

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Monday, November 5th 12:30 a.m. - I get the call. It's Martin. He says he's downstair and needs a place to stay.

Under normal circumstances I would have accommodated him. Especially since it had gotten quite cold outside. But things had changed. My once free second bedroom was now occupied. I had rented it out to a lady from work, Saba. She had moved in days earlier. All the stuff I had stored in her room was now back in mine. Like the time before, he had given me absolutely no warning, no time to prepare. I tell him I can't take him in right now, but if he still needs a place the next day to come back.

When I return from work Monday evening he's there.

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The first thing I noticed about Martin was that he could barely walk. When I get him up to my room and he removes his shoes and socks I see both ankles are grotesquely swollen. Especially the right one. He tells me he injured them. But without a place to stay, he hasn't had a chance to get off his feet. They've just gotten worse and worse. It turns out that his father kicked him out two weeks prior. Right after we dropped off his stuff.

Another thing about Martin, if you don't know him, is that he's super skinny to the point of near-anorexia (I believe) and he has mental health issues. I don't think they're super serious. But that's what I believe has hindered him from gaining steady employment thus contributing to his ongoing problem with housing over the years.

Anyway, the next morning I drop him off at his doctor's before I go to work.

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In the evening he's back in front of my building. I let him up.

His doctor has given him a prescription to help with his infection. Martin had actually gone to Sunnybrook Hospital a few days earlier. All they did were run some blood tests and gave him an X-ray. Then they sent him on his merry way with a couple of Tylenol when he could barely walk. Not very helpful.

In August I had hurt my left ankle and had trouble even standing. So I had an idea of what he was going through. My plan was to let him heal for 2 or 3 weeks while trying to figure things out. Also, I figured I had better tell Saba. I told Martin he would have to stay in my room, so she would have the space in the rest of the condo she paid rent for.

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Now, even though I had done Sandwich Runs, volunteered at the Knox Youth Dinner and visited the Boarding Home on Tyndall, I had no idea of the services available to the homeless. Online I found the City had some shelters and 24-hour respite centres available. I let Martin know.

And, even though he didn't want me to tell anyone about his situation, I still did. I needed help. The best advice I got was from a lady at church, Carolyn. She told me about Ontario Works. It's a service run by the Ontario Government. They can help with the basics like Financial assistance, including: income support to help with the costs of basic needs, like food, clothing and shelter; and Employment assistance to help clients find, prepare for and keep a job. It seemed perfect.

When I told Martin about it he shut down. I don't remember what we were doing, but we were in my room when I mentioned it and he just went mute and showed no emotion, staring into oblivion. This was at least a month into his stay at my place. I was perplexed. It seemed he was having none of it.

Now I have to say, by this point, he was really wearing thin on me. I had no personal space at all. Whenever I was in my room, he was in my room. And just a few feet away. If I watched Netflix on my computer, he would watch over my shoulder. As well, since he couldn't walk, I had to buy groceries for him. He would always offer to pay me back, but I refused. He had no income. He needed it much more than me. And, at night, he would often snore. It wasn't overly loud or even constant. But I was used to silence and it was broken. I wanted him out, but he was still hobbling around. He needed more time.

A week or two later, probably sometime in mid-December I brought up visiting Ontario Works again. The building is actually very close by, just one block east of my place. Again he shut down. I asked him if he had a plan. Because sleeping on the floor at the end of my bed forever isn't a plan. He said nothing. I was angry. So I told him the coming Friday I was going to go to the Ontario Works office with or without him. If he didn't come this week I'd give him one more Friday to join me. If he didn't come then, I would have to ask him to leave. All I wanted him to do was ask for help. Even if they couldn't provide it right away, I told him he could stay until it was arranged.

The first Friday came and went. I ended up going to the office myself. One of the ladies working there gave me a card and said he could call the number to ask for help. I gave it to him.

Today was the second Friday (Friday, December 28th). It's 11:00 a.m.. I ask him to go to the Ontario Works office with me, but he doesn't say anything (which I take as a refusal). So I ask him to leave which he does. As he's leaving he thanks me for letting him stay to heal his ankles. I didn't know what to say, so I just said good-bye. Half an hour later I go into my ensuite. He had left grocery money on the counter.

It's bewildering to me why someone would choose a life on the streets over asking for social assistance (and possibly gaining some semblance of a normal life). I wish I knew what was going on inside that head of his. All I can do is hope that he eventually comes to his senses. But he's been like this for over 50 years. Sadly I think there's little hope things will change.

Long Island, Day 1 - The End

My visit to Long Island started in the worst way possible with Anna picking me up at the train station and telling me her brother David passed away earlier that morning. It was devastating news. My sole purpose for visiting was to go there and lend my support to my dying cousin. That dream wasn't to be.

My relatives rented a hospital bed for David. They put it in Anna and Donna's room because it was larger than his. On the shelf behind, his medication.

Family photos on the wall and shelf of David's room.

I borrowed this book, David and Goliath, from my sister to read to David. I thought it might help him pass the time. I was also thinking, if we could get a hold of a wheelchair, I could take him for walks around the neighbourhood.

The back patio where I thought we might be able to spend some time together, hanging out and shooting the breeze.

Instead we spent the next day planning his memorial. David would be cremated and there would be a service for him on Saturday at nearby Brueggemann Funeral Home. My mother and sister arrived from Toronto Friday morning for the reunion none of us ever wanted to have.

Good-bye, my dearest David

David and his friend, Pam, at his parents' 55th wedding anniversary in 2013.

Earlier this spring I wrote that my cousin David had been diagnosed with Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer. Well, this past Tuesday, July 10th he lost that battle.

Ever since I found out he had cancer I had been planning on visiting him in San Francisco. I have to admit, I put it off a few times at the beginning. It was always in the back of my mind, but I felt I had some time. The urgency wasn't there.

It became more so when he nixed my planned late July visit. I wanted to fly in for the week of Friday, July 20th to Sunday, July 22nd. He e-mailed me on Monday, July 2nd saying he had taken a turn for the worse and that his sisters, Donna and Zena, were flying to San Francisco to get his affairs in order and take him home to Long Island. Their aim was to get him home by Friday or Saturday.

At that point I knew I had to get to New York as soon as possible. I asked my sister and another friend, Daphne, if either or both would be available to drive down the weekend of the 7th-8th. Daphne said she couldn't get any more time off this year because she used all her vacation time up earlier visiting her dying father in Malaysia in the spring. My sister, Karleen, said it was her year end at work and that she wouldn't be able to go until the following weekend of the 14th.

I knew if it were serious enough for David to return home, I didn't have much time. So I got in touch with his sisters to arrange to come earlier. My main contact was his middle sister, Anna, since she was the only one on WhatsApp. We started chatting about me visiting on Saturday, July 7th.

Even though I wanted to come as early as possible, she told me I should wait a little to let David recuperate from his flight and to give his parents (my aunt and uncle) Betty and Chuck some time with him. Concerned, I waited one more day before saying, I'd like to come down, again. Anna said that she thought that her mom and my mom had already agreed that I should come. Miscommunication I guess. I booked a bus ticket for Monday at 11:59 p.m..

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My bus arrived in New York City an hour late, sometime around 12:30, Tuesday afternoon. The drop off point was 7th Avenue and West 27th Street, a few blocks south of Penn Station. That's where I had to go to get the train to Long Island (LIRR - Long Island Rail Road).

By the time I walked to Penn Station it was a bit before 1:00. The first available train to Huntington Station on Long Island, was the 1:14. It has a few transfers, so I opted for the 1:49 train which was direct. The ride would be about an hour long.

Now, I have to say, my cell phone was useless after I crossed the border. I was hoping to use the smart phone my friend, Peter, set up for me with WhatsApp using Wifi to contact Anna. Even though, Megabus claimed service on their buses, there was none. I didn't find any at Penn Station either. Though I thought that something was wrong with my phone and that it wasn't working, so I didn't really look.

Anna had given me her older sister, Zena's, phone number. My plan was to call her upon arrival at Huntington to get a lift to her parents' place where David was staying. I had $1.00 in quarters for the pay phone. As well, I figured I could ask a stranger to use their phone if needed.

As my train pulled into Hungtington I did ask the fellow beside me if I could use his phone. He kindly agreed. But Zena didn't pick up. I left her a message and went into the small train station to wait a bit.

While there I asked the ticket seller where the pay phones were. He directed me to the taxi station nearby. I walked over and called Zena again. Still no answer. This was about 15 minutes later at least. I checked my cell phone. The only other Long Island number I had was my aunt and uncle's. I put my last 50¢ in the phone and dialed.

Again there was no answer. Worried, I started to leave a message and then my aunt picked up. I was so relieved. I told her I was at Huntington Station and she said, she would come and get me. 20-30 minutes later Anna showed up.

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We made small talk a few minutes into the drive. I can't remember exactly about what. Perhaps my ride down or how everyone was doing, it doesn't really matter. It was then she placed her hand on mine and broke the news... Early that morning, surrounded by family, David passed away.

So Worried

 David in Thailand in 2012 (from his Facebook page).

The past few days have been a blur... an emotional roller coaster. I feel helpless. I feel spent. I feel a terrible sadness.

On Monday my mother told me she had been speaking with her sister (my aunt Betty) from Long Island. She said that Betty told her that my cousin David (in San Francisco) had cancer and had his pancreas removed. I e-mailed him that day and he told me that indeed he had cancer, but that they hadn't removed his pancreas.

The next day my mother told me she had spoken with her younger sister, Angela, who lives in France. She told my mom that David had stage 4 pancreatic cancer. Unbeknownst to my mother I knew that was ultra serious.

I did a little research online and found that pancreatic cancer is hard to diagnose. Sometimes it isn't discovered until it's too late after the cancer has spread to other organs. Jaundice (yellowing of the skin) can be an outward sign as well as weight loss, loss of appetite and pain in the upper abdomen and back.

Here are some facts I found about stage 4 pancreatic cancer:

Pancreatic cancer is often diagnosed at a late stage because it tends not to show symptoms early on. Stage 4 pancreatic cancer means the cancer has spread to other organs, typically the liver or the lungs. You can’t cure the cancer at this point, but you still have treatment options.

In stage 4, the most advanced stage, cancer has spread beyond the pancreas and into distant locations in the body. Advanced-stage cancers spread beyond the primary tumor location to nearby tissues, blood vessels, nerves, and other organs. This process is known as metastasis.

Pancreatic cancer is the fourth most common cause of cancer death. The median survival rate for stage 4 pancreatic cancer is between two and six months. Though the disease cannot be cured at this stage, treatment may improve your quality of life.

David said he would be starting chemotherapy soon. As well, he's looking into alternative treatment options.

I'm so worried. How could this happen?