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.   

Another Time, Another Place - Ron Sdraulig

Cancer - My Chemical Romance

And in the blink of an eye another year has passed. And as I mark yet another anniversary of profound loss, I want to focus on what can be done so others may not have to feel the pain. I don't wallow in self-pity. It is what it is. If I could change it I would but I have had a few years to adjust and cope with my loss. I wasn't always alone. It just seems like a lifetime. I came from a large family. There were 6 of us and counting when my Dad passed away unexpectedly, and in the decades that followed everyone else went away also. The last to go was my brother Ron Sdraulig. Ron was 21 years old on June 4 1984 when he muttered my name and gasped his last breath. I was glad to be with him to offer comfort (I hope) and to see for myself that his transition onto the next journey was peaceful. It was, but 29 years later when I think about that night I still hurt a lot. His biggest fear before he died was my mental state - it's a good thing that his physical being wasn't here in the past two years because he would have kicked my ass. Or maybe we would have together kicked some ass before I could be beaten down. Truth be told, less than a month ago I was preparing to join him. And then something happened to renew my hope that it was worth the fight. I may have a halo of angels floating around my head but even they aren't always strong enough to keep me standing on my feet while I am getting sucker punched. Fortunately my stubbornness reminded me that it's "Never Too Late"

When Ron passed, the official cause of death was noted as Heart Failure. I read that as a broken heart - a young man who had lived a decade fighting for his life alone when all he wanted was the support of his mom in his time of sickness. The Mom who had been there by his hospital bedside, holding his hand during painful treatments and their side effects, who listened to the prognosis and made the decisions. Ron battled Hodgkin's Lymphoma from the age of 9 when the first goose-egg sized lump appeared on his neck like an unwanted gift the day after Christmas. And so many recurrences and illnesses that followed after she was taken in a car accident when he was just 11 years old. I was a kid myself and didn't understand but I do remember the recurrence in his groin and the tumour that appeared his head far from the lymph nodes. And in between the cancer operations, radiation and chemotherapy, there were spinal taps and a severe and painful bought of shingles. You really don't know what you have when you have your health. A pain-free day for him was filled with worry of what the next day would bring. I didn't support him emotionally then - I was an angry kid, making unwise decisions about my own life and unmindful of Ron's struggles. I was just a year older than Ron - I can regret my selfishness now but I would rather focus on the positive. Sneaking in to see him when we were told that it was dangerous (for me) and sitting on his bed laughing. About what, I don't remember - but for just a moment he forgot pain and laughed. It's all that mattered then. Just like being there awash with tears to tell him I love you the very last time June 4, 1984.

In 1972, cancer was not very common, especially in the young. Certainly not like it is today. The only thing I know is that while the population of Canada did not double between 1987 and 2012, the chance of a Canuck being diagnosed with cancer has doubled. I want to know why. It seems that everything causes cancer. Back in the day, Ron and I had an interesting discourse about cancer risks. Of course it can't be argued that smoking in any way is good for you, but even then, more additives were put into the commercial cigarette compared to the time when if you wanted to smoke you  got a bag of tobacco and rolled your own. Certainly there were many people that we knew who smoked and never got cancer, what was the difference? To my mind, the nasty brownish-yellow acrid foul-tasting smoke coming from the stakes of the local paper mills and enveloping the surrounding neighbourhoods was far worse to inhale then commercial tobacco. And indeed working in the mills certainly presented health concerns. Somewhere in my files I have two articles that I set aside to prove my point in the next debate. One article stated that caffeine consumption was proven to cause cancer. Not a month later there was an article from the same newspaper that claimed caffeine prevented cancer. And these days you could drive yourself batty trying to keep up with all the do's and don'ts.  

There wasn't a kid who grew up in the 1960's - 1980's that didn't drink from one garden hose or another. We were out playing all day long. To go inside the home for a drink of water meant that we might be caught and forced to stay in and do homework or some other distasteful chore. The hose was the go to - we never thought we were contributing to our own demise by partaking in the sharing of the hose fountain. If anything, being allowed to be kids may have strengthened our immunity and permitted us to be healthier. There was no toxic soup being used on the grass we played leap frog on. Homes were cleaned with chemical baths and disinfected to the point of sterilisation. And perhaps most importantly the food we ingested was not genetically modified and filled with chemicals and antibiotics. It was a healthier time and our bodies reacted to that. We are simply not built to fight off all the toxins that we are exposing ourselves to. And in our paranoia and attempt to cleanse we are killing off the good germs and at the same time creating super bugs that we can't kill to protect ourselves. 

I'm not a scientist and not the first person to tout this vein of thinking but, I believe that the incidence of breast cancer in women has gone up as women entered the business world and working more frequently outside of the home. It's not the work itself that's the problem it is the deodorant that they are using. Our bodies are magnificent machines that left alone can work trouble free for a lifetime. Yes, I see the irony there - but bear with me a moment. We blink without thought and it cleanses and protects our eyes, we sneeze on reflex to rid our respiratory system of an irritant. When we ingest something that is not good for us, for the most part they are expelled one way or the other. My mother used to say that if God put it there, there was a reason for it and unless it was absolutely necessary - it wasn't being removed. Of course this was the era of commonplace tonsillectomies. (Yes, I have my tonsils.) The point is that our bodies are meant to sweat and when we use a product to block the sweat glands where does the sweat (ammonia, urea, sugar and salt) go? Sweat itself does not smell - the reaction of the sweat with the bacteria on the body makes the smell. Yes, for some people it is a medical condition. For most of us, we don't have an issue with excessive sweat - we use it because years of effective marketing has convinced us that we must. So did our middle school hygiene/gym teachers. It is hard to find and more expensive but do yourself a favour (men and women) and buy deodorant instead of anti-perspirant. Unless you know you have the gene that has been identified as causing breast cancer like Angelina Jolie does.

Part of it is smart living. Watching how many chemically engorged processed foods we eat, being aware of genetically modified fruits and vegetables. I'm not an organic eater or a radical hippie, live off the land type. Just trying to be aware and not paranoid. It's a moderation thing when it comes to food. Too much coffee, diet soda, fried foods, beer is not good for you. But like the occasional glass of wine it won't kill you and life is about the enjoyment. Most of my family was killed in car accidents but rarely a day goes by when I don't get into a car. I try to be a safe driver and I'm aware of assholes on the road but I won't stop driving because it can kill you. 

So how did that discourse with my brother so many years ago end. Well, with a few tears and sand bags of sadness weighing on our shoulders we decided that everyone has cancer cells in them. For some the cancer is triggered by saccharine, by others caffeine, for others it will remain forever unknown. There are a lot of people who smoke and haven't contracted lung cancer. George Burns smoke and drank his whole life that ended after he turned 100. My brother never smoke or drank before beginning the fight for life at 9 years of age. And for the critics, it was pre-dominantly a smoke free home.

It is my goal to do what I can so that my brother did not die in vein. I try to keep his memory alive through my writing and spreading the word of his life story. I am also a part of a sibling study being conducted at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester. I was approached many years ago, my part in it is minimal - I provide medical information on myself and my children and submit the occasional saliva sample and I've allowed them access to Ron's medical files. One thing that they have discovered is that many who were treated for childhood cancers where given treatments that their tiny bodies could not handle and they often succumbed from heart failure because of it. Like Ron did. 

Although in his case I suspect their was much more to it. The doctor at the time of his death said that "in a sense, Ron committed suicide because he had given up the will to live and had refused treatments in the recent past". It is true that Hodgkin's Lymphoma is considered to be one of the most curable cancers. Even in 1984 the doctor said to me that with treatment Ron could have lived another 10 years. By then, with the advances in medicine he would have had another 10 years. Be it what it is, he had fought for more than 10 years - mostly alone and he was tired. I get that! Now more than I ever have in my life. I get it! Ron was and will always be my hero. He cared about me more than he cared about his own future. He put himself in harms way to save my life when he returned to a fully-engulfed burning car to pull me to safety. He loved me when I was not lovable. 

Ronald McDonald Clock - Dan Gleeson

Ron's life in picture and song

(if the video doesn't show up - here is a link Ron Sdraulig Clock)

ANOTHER TIME, ANOTHER PLACE WE'LL BE TOGETHER AGAIN

PS
I have a recording of my brothers voice on an answering machine cassette. One day there will be a way to hear it again - on this earthly world or beyond. 

Today Is My Mothers' Day!

Ronald McDonald Clock - Dan Gleeson

If the YouTube link doesn't show up, this link with get you there Ron Sdraulig - McDonald Clock

Side Note: 
I have never met Dan Gleeson but he has through his words and music told a beautiful tale of the life of my brother. I share it in a story about my mother for the obvious familial reasons but also because it was a mothers love for her only son that impelled her to let him go far enough to experience the compassion and kindness of others through the Big Brothers Program. In this way, the piece of music speaks volumes about the kind of mother Livia Sdraulig was. She was a young mother who was widowed at the age of 24 and left with 4 children to raise between the ages of 3 years and 2 months old. And she did not only succeed but she jumped so high over the bar that I couldn't even dream that I could reach it. Who I am today is because of her. My morals and values, my parenting style, my personality, my character, my compassion...all her (and my dad). Genetics too, you know :)

I have to add that I am so deeply moved by the actions of the man that I want to share with everyone. It's too much for me to contain within my own soul. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today is my Mothers Day, it is her birthday. She would be 73 if she had lived. She died at 34 instead. As many milestones as she missed of mine, I missed as many of hers. 

MY MOM - LIVIA SDRAULIG

In the past few weeks, I have been unfortunate to become aware of two deaths in families that were close to me, and they both got me thinking of my mother in two different contexts. In one instance it was the parent of a very good friend. He was likely close to the age of my Mom and initially I thought how great it would be to have them around that long to see them age, grow old and become grandparents. But with advanced age, can also come illness and dementia  Dealing with either of those options in a loved one is beyond my realm of comprehension. In my mind, my Mom is a perfect angel who never aged or had so much as a deep line on her face - except for the worry lines on her forehead she claimed that the four of us kids gave her.  But then again with maturity, I never got the opportunity to know my mom as a person. Her likes and dislikes. Her dreams and hopes. The other instance was the husband of a woman with whom she had spent more than 50 years married too. It made me wonder how it might have been for my Mom having Dad with her all that time in the earthly dimension. What occurred to me - like a slap in the face - was that I have never had anyone remain a part of my life for more than 25 years. These time frames simply boggle my mind. It's incomprehensible to me. Like saying Blue to someone who has never had the gift of vision.

The question that nags at me - is it easier to cope and deal with the death of a loved one early in life or later? Certainly for the majority of us the answer would be never, if we had a choice, but we don't have that option. I don't really think there is an answer, at least not that I can answer. I think you would have to experience both ways to understand, but I have compiled some pros and cons for both scenarios. 

If a parent dies when you are very young, you really don't know what you are missing as time passes. You have no frame of reference to compare what it is supposed to be like. It is your new normal and you deal with it because you have no other choice. That can be a real positive thing. If you never had it, it is harder to miss. Like a child born without the ability to walk. Your reality is sitting on the sidelines watching others run from a distance. All your life, you will feel different from your peers and society's perception of what family is supposed to be. In some respect you will always be mourning and most definitely alone. The holidays like Christmas, your birthday, their birthday will always be hard and you can't escape or hide. And along those lines, is the fact that there are too many anniversaries and days to augment the pain. The date of death, Mothers Day, Fathers Day, Grandparents Day. Looking at photographic memories that they should have been a part of like a school graduations, wedding, birth of a grandchild. The list goes on. But while it can be said that not knowing what you are missing can be a blessing, it can also be a curse because you will always be wondering "What if?"

But if you are one of the "lucky" ones to have your parent(s) around for most of your life time you may not appreciate being considered lucky when they do pass on. While the case may be made that you were fortunate enough to have had a generation or two to get to know them as people, there is certainly that much more to miss. It would be infinitely harder to adjust to a new way of living after having them around to share decades of traditions. The first years have to be particularly difficult trying to break old habits. Picking up the phone to call them, to invite them, to share with them. And there would be so many reminders of them everywhere. So many pictures, so many times for their names to come up in conversation, recalling moments in life with casual conversation. I am sorry but I would be willing to give that pain a spin around the block just to try it out. 

I recognize that it is hard to break a lifelong habit. But I have to say that I would rather have the precious memories to hold onto rather than the blank slate that only my imagination can fill. But that's just me.