Ron Sdraulig: Another Time Another Place - Part 3

Dancing in the Sky - Dani and Lizzy

This year my brother has been dead for 30 years.

My mother and sisters have been gone for 40 years.

And my dad left us 50 years ago.

They were all too young. The oldest was 33, the youngest 10

They are my child angels. 

Ron Sdraulig: Another Time, Another Place

By: Gigi Sdraulig

Part Three - The End

I was getting to know my brother as a young man. We still bucked heads, but I didn’t know why. Ron and I had often discussed the irony of Dad dying in 1964 and Mom dying ten years later in 1974. “Bad things happen in threes,” the old saying goes – what would happen in 1984? I tried not to dwell or worry but yeah, it was a thought that wormed it’s way around my brain and popped into conscious thought periodically. Ron feared for my mental health as 1983 drew to a close. He knew how important is was to me to have him in my life. How important is was to not be totally alone in this world. He knew that the grandparents would never be a source of comfort – as they weren’t for him either. How would I cope if something tragic occurred? I brushed him off. There was nothing left bad to happen. If anything, the grandparents were old.

I was still pretty clued out about Rons’ cancer. He never talked about his remissions, recurrences or treatments. I never asked. I should have! He lost his hair from radiation but he didn’t tell me that the newest tumour was in his skull. In the early part of 1984, my short-lived marriage broke up. Ron’s concern focused not on himself but his fear that I would end up alone with the music blaring and a house full of dogs. I was still young (22) and cocky. In May 1984, I should have seen the obvious. Ron called for me to come back to Thunder Bay to see him. He was in the hospital. I renewed some old friendships, reconnected with Bobbi and Gord and made a friend in Jim. Jim Scali was Ron’s closest friend. Through Jim I learned a lot about my brother. He never referred to the death of my Mom as an accident it was always a tragedy or devastation. I learned that Ron was overly eager in his relationships because he was afraid he would not be around long. He enrolled in university not to get a degree but for the experience with his peers. His doctor arranged for him to be in residence despite being local so that he could keep up with doctor visit and get out from under Nonna’s claw. He didn’t feel he needed the education because he would never use it. His first part-time job at McDonalds did not last long. He was fired because of his frequent absences due to his treatments. He did not think anyone else would hire him for the same reason. Yet despite this new-found knowledge, I never allowed myself to entertain the idea that Ron would not recover and leave the hospital. His spirits were good and we spent a lot of time reminiscing and just visiting. He liked that I visited him in his room even if he wasn’t very good company. I supplied the music and the games that we played. “Wouldn’t It Be Good” by Nik Kershaw, Ron could have authored the chorus to that song! The nurses often invited me to spend the night in an empty hospital bed. Ron always dismissed this idea as unnecessary and confided that he wished Nonna would not spend the night either, she had parked herself in the family room many nights.

After I had been in Thunder Bay for almost a month, I decided to return home to take care of a few things and resume my job search for a week or two. It was Friday, June 1^st when I flew back to Toronto International Airport. That very night, I was at an uncle’s house when I got a call from the hospital saying I should return. I got a flight the following day and brought my cousin for moral support. When we got there, we learned that Ron had passed a critical night and he was joking with me that no one believed him that I had gone home for just one night.

Ron and I hanging around!

 Sunday, I was in his room when a nurse came to straighten the bed. I inadvertently saw my brother’s once thick, muscular leg. There was nothing left of it. It barely looked like it would support him. I was shocked but suddenly scared. Our eyes met, not a word was spoken, he hastily covered up. He didn’t want me to know, he didn’t want me to worry. He just wanted me to be with him. My uncle arrived that day from Toronto to see Ron. Things were not good. That evening, a nurse approached me and told me that the room across the hall was vacant. She offered me the room. Ron said no. But inexplicably this evening I chose to stay. Nonna spent the night in the family’s room, as she had been nightly for the previous week or two.

In the early hours of the morning, Monday June 4^th, a nurse summoned me to Ron’s bedside. As I rushed in, I heard him mumbling. I got as close as I possibly could in an effort to make out what he was saying. He was dying! Was he trying to tell me something? I could only catch a phrase here and there. I heard “broken leg” and I felt his life was flashing before him (he had broken his leg on one of his first skiing outings). I struggled to hear more. I heard my name “Gigi”. My heart was breaking, tears streamed down my face. He was leaving me. I was consoled by the fact that it was peaceful; he did not appear in pain, his expression was not strained. He died of heart failure. When he took his last breathe, the entire room broke out in agonizing sobs and cries of sorrow and anger. Why was this young 22-year-old man gone from this earth? That day was the longest of my life. I didn’t think I would ever recover from the loss. I was truly alone in this world. Picking out my brothers casket! I will never forget that feeling of finality when I walked into the showroom, not to pick out a new car but a finally place for my brother to rest. I felt it was an indignation to go against his wishes. But I had no fight left in my shattered heart. I shouldn’t have been so clueless, Ron was constantly preparing me for this day. True to my style, if it’s unpleasant I push it away and pretend it’s not real. We had discussed his final wishes. Under a cloud of morphine and the approval of a lawyer (Petrone) he wrote a codicil to his will forgiving a loan. Legally that loan is not forgiven and I haven’t forgotten either. Ron and I had discussed organ donation, so he could live on in someone else. Nonna’s Catholic beliefs would not permit this or the cremation and so we buried all of him but not his spirit. His soul is in Heaven with the Mom he missed so desperately.

I spoke to his doctor, trying to get answers. Dr. Leishman had cared for Ron for many years and he told me that the cancer did not kill him. With the advancements in science, Hodgkins patients can easily live to at least their 30’s and by that time, new treatments would likely keep him going even longer. Ron, he said, had gotten tired of the pain and the uncertainty. His heart quit because his will to fight was gone. I couldn’t be angry, who was I to deny him what made him happy? He had fought cancer for more than 10 years, most of it (he felt) alone. He lives on in my memories and heart and when I look at my own son, I often see my brother.

Ron Sdraulig March 1984

He never accepted thanks for pulling me from the burning car. Anybody would have done it, he countered. I regret that he was never acknowledged as the true hero that he was. He, in many ways earned a Medal Of Bravery. Ron was a brave, kind, thoughtful person who put my survival before his own. I coped with his death and was able to go on because he spent so much of his energy making sure that I could deal with it. I couldn’t let him down. Is it a coincidence that he died in 1984? I don’t think so. Back in the recesses of my mind I always thought something bad would happen in 1984, it just never occurred to me that it might be the passing of Ron.

He saved my life, but I could not save his.

“Wouldn’t it be good to be in your shoes, even if it was for just one day?

Wouldn’t it be good if we could wish ourselves away?

Wouldn’t it be good to be on your side, grass is always greener over there?

Wouldn’t it be good if we could live without a care?”

from: Wouldn’t It Be Good by Nik Kershaw 1982

A tribute in song and pictures remembering the life of Ron Sdraulig and his family.

MacDonald Clock - Dan Gleeson 

PS. A brief word about the songs that are always attached to stories about my brother. Wouldn't It Be Good by Nik Kershaw was an older song, but he enjoyed listening to it a lot as he lay in his hospital bed. The irony of the lyrics was lost on no-one who listened. A visitor who knew that we were searching for new tunes to listen to brought over a mixed cassette tape and this song was on it. And remembering his emotionally chocked words as he repeated the lyrics after first hearing it. "Wouldn't it be good"  

The other song has meaning partly for the title C'est La Vie (And Now the Waltz). This is life, dance now before it's over. I get that it's a love song but the repeating chorus line "Another time, another place we'll be together again". It's a simple sentence with words put together in such a powerful away that I found comfort when I needed it the most. Especially on the day that I put my brother in the ground and walked away alone.