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.   

Under the Dirt Sky

Wreck On The Highway - Bruce Springsteen

Remembering: 

Dante Sdraulig (my dad)

Livia Sdraulig (my Mom)

Sandra Sdraulig (my sister)

Ron Sdraulig (my brother)

Linda Sdraulig (my sister)

Recently the concept of justice and deservedness (is that even a word) seems to come up an awful lot in the course of casual conversation. If I wanted to fight for justice or what I deserved I would have to look back some 40 odd years or even more to bitch and complain about an injustice that is unparallelled and can never be corrected. The day my life as I knew it changed forever - the day my mother and sisters died. Today is the anniversary of that event, March 21st, 1974.


My dad dying was equally life-changing but not in a way that I can comprehend. I was way too young and although I understand that life would have been different with two parents in the house, I don't know what that means. It was even more so different for us because of the circumstances of my Dad's death. Trying to get justice and avenge his death meant that my Mother was embroiled in a lengthy and costly lawsuit that consumed much of her time and a lot of her mentally. As my Dad was laid to rest in Peace so too did my Mom want peace. But it was elusive and came at what ultimately was too high a cost. For years she fought the system. She fought and clawed her way to the Supreme Court of Canada. But she fought for nothing. She put her faith in the support system she had behind her. Her parents and worst of all the professionals. The lawyer - Alfred PETRONE and his antics worthy of a place in the Cartoon Hall of Fame (as opposed to the Halls of Justice) lost the law suit for my mother. In punishing the unprofessionalism of the lawyer, the judge in fact punished my family. A lifetime of struggles ensued, including financial hardships. I get it, the quest for justice consumes your life. I get it, I am there. I can't calculate the cost I have paid in physical property, and mental stability. And I have my mothers legacy to draw strength from. She didn't have that luxury. 


So, what if Dad was around - most assuredly, he would have been an emotional support to Mom and a financial one as well. I raised children as a single parent without financial or emotional support also and I know it isn't easy. But, Mom had a career that by all accounts should have afforded her a lifestyle of some comfort. She was an educated professional and graduate of North Bay Teachers College. To be fair, I don't know all the details of her employment. Was she working full time or part time? With the Catholic Board or the public Board? But I know they screwed her. This much I understand to be true. Mom was working and at some point requested a leave to return to university and obtain the now necessary Bachelors Degree to maintain her credentials. Many teachers at the time, continued working while taking a course or two during the school year and doing some upgrading during the summer. Whatever their reasoning, my Mom was denied this option. It is actually kind of scary thinking about that now since it is eerily one more parallel between my life and my Mothers. I once said in jest that I was living my Mothers' life. Then the validity of that statement hit me like a ton of bricks. But I digress, if Dad was with us, would we all have been in the car for that fateful trip? Would the appointment have been kept via a quick plane ride? How many different scenarios would have kept us off that highway that fateful night. 

But, it is what it is and an accident did happen and my life was turned upside down. Perhaps there was some justice in the courts in this instance. The driver of the truck was found responsible - or so I understand (I have never read the verdict from the courts). But I still don't know why. Was he drunk? High? Asleep? What is the justification for his actions? He left behind a young family and a wife - do they have a sense of guilt for his actions? They were victims of his actions as well. I was 12 years old and to be honest I didn't care at the time and put it out of my mind. Like a fact of history that you can't do anything about and eventually you simply let it go. I can sympathise with his family as much as I can sympathise with the families of those left behind in the aftermath of 9-11.  I could allow hatred or anger towards him consume by life but to what purpose? Would it change anything now? If we can time travel - I'm in, if only to stop whatever action he took that caused the accident. Until then, he is nothing to me. It's survival really. Put your energy into the fight you can win, the fight you have a hope of affecting some change. Otherwise, anger consumes you and you lose. 

I lost a lot of years of my life being consumed by anger. But it wasn't so much anger about the accident - which I couldn't control but the circumstances of my life because of the accident. Suddenly I was being molded to be someone I wasn't and overnight I became a person who wasn't good enough. That perception came from my grandmother. I felt loved and valued just as I was when my Mom walked this earth with me. It felt like everyone who thought I was okay, everyone who loved me for who and what I was walked out of my life and went to live under the dirt sky. And that sucked. It took me approximately 8 years to re-claim my life and learn that I was indeed okay. I didn't forgive my grandparents their discretions, so much as, with the wisdom of age I began to understand their motivations. All of which were twisted, selfish or simply them feeling superior to everyone else and therefore above reproach and unnecessary for them to heed the knowledge of others. That is an unforgivable offence. From them, all I can honestly say I learned is that people are not as they seem. That all sounds very harsh, but it is not random. My grandmother (like many of her Italian culture and age) favoured the male species. I was a girl who had a brother. A brother made more special in her eyes because he was sick. Double whammy for both he and I. My grandmother disliked my father and his side of the family long before my parents got married. I was a product of that union - so not as worthy from the start. I was scarred and therefore difficult to marry off to a suitable mate. Fortunately I had some very good role models who helped me to see that her thinking was warped and I was okay (or would be, once I was released from her clutches). I left a house I half owned and went on to make mistakes trying to find myself, the me that I could like.

It wasn't easy, because while I jumped over some potholes, I fell into others. A little worse for wear, I did become a little gun-shy. Meanwhile, I was gratefully re-establishing a relationship with my brother. Growing up under the rule of Nonna (Italian for grandmother), our sibling rivalry bordered on disgust. My brother received everything his heart desired before he even knew he wanted it. I fought for everything, including believe it or not, the basic necessity for a young girl - sanitary protection. I resorted to lying and stealing. I had as much disgust for myself as my brother had for me. That changed when I moved out and maturity let him see the reality and reasons for my struggles and the battles I caused. I am forever grateful for those short 4 years that allowed us to learn to love each other again. I forget the words that were spoken, the sound of his voice - but I will never forget the feeling. Because my heart holds the memories. Bottom line - after facing a lifetime of adversity and the death of my brother - I at the age of 22 re-invented myself. I left behind everyone and everything that I felt was toxic and holding me back. I stopped letting the anger consume me and decided to make the best of whatever time I had on this planet. I knew all too well that the rug could be pulled from under you without a moments notice. I ended a bad relationship, tried to remedy some bad financial decisions - new place to live, new job, new life. It worked and became a pattern I would follow several more times since then. The next time was to let go of a bad relationship that left me destitute and running off halfway across the country to start anew.
 

10 years have passed and I am at it again. I will never under the motivations of the Dufferin-Peel Catholic District School Board and their employees which drove me to the point of preferring death over survival under their terms. I will never forgive them their transgressions. I hope that with time I will let it go and forget them. Put them out of my mind - for most assuredly I know that they don't deserve my time or consideration. I could stay and fight for justice but it is not an easy thing to do on your own. You don't know what you have when you have family that you can count on for emotional support in times of joy and sadness. Treasure them. 


But have I deserved the hand I have been dealt? Is Karma sitting at my back door waiting to bite me in the ass again for some wrong I did? What did I do at the age of two to piss Karma off so badly that I have been punished my entire life by having those I love the most leave me? It is said that the good die young - at my age I am continuing to live on - despite the repeated attempts to change this scenario. So I deserve the pain that is forcing me to leave and re-invent myself once again? Or am I left here to walk this earth for a purpose that I don't fully understand yet. It has also been said that God never gives you more than you can handle - apparently God thinks I am a linebacker with enormous shoulders to carry this weight. Deep in the heart and soul that I have dissected and scrutinised repeatedly, I know that I am not a person deserving of pain and heartache but someone who learns from the experience and helps others with the knowledge gained. That is what I will continue to do from whatever location I shall find myself in. Justice can be meted out by a court that is much higher and powerful than myself. I have peace in my heart and knowledge that I am okay.