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.   

Ron Sdraulig: Another Time Another Place - Part 1

And Now the Waltz (C'est La Vie) - Slade

This is a story I wrote a very long time ago and I am ready to share it now to coincide with the 30th anniversary of my brother's passing, June 4th, 1984. 

Ron Sdraulig: Another Time, Another Place

Ron Sdraulig March 1984

By: Gigi Sdraulig

“Another time, another place.  We’ll be together again.”

from: And Now the Waltz (C’est La Vie) by Slade 1984

This is about a young man who had the courage to save the life of someone else but could not save his own. This is about the bravest person I have ever known. This is about my brother, Ron Sdraulig.

Thursday, March 21st, 1974.  It was the middle of the school March Break and in Thunder Bay, Ontario there was snow on the ground still.  The roads were clear and the weather was warming.  We were taking a family trip-Mom (Livia, 32), Sandra (13), myself (Gigi, 12), Ron (11) and Linda (10).  Although I am not sure why, on this occasion we had an extra passenger: Mom's friend Jenny.  I am not sure how this came about because Jenny was not one of my Mom’s closest friends. In fact, I still know very little about her. Maybe just the adult company, for Jenny never took the wheel to drive.

Linda, Sandra and I holding onto Ron

Mom had planned to get away early in the morning for the eight-hour drive to Minneapolis and then on to Rochester, Minnesota, but it was almost noon before we left the house. My Mom was notoriously late, she had the best of intentions but I think there was just too much on her mind and she often forget. She forgot appointments, things she had to do, where she put her car keys. We were late for everything – that’s just the way it was. Mom would have benefited greatly from writing herself reminders – if she could remember where she left her lists. She was also very fastidious and the house had to be neat and tidy before we left, so that when we returned we would enjoy it rather than worry about having to clean. After a long trip we could come home and relax.                 
        So even though we left late from the house, Mom still had a few errands to run and we had to make a quick stop to switch cars with Nonno (our grandfather). We took his 1966 Pontiac and left him the loaner we had. Mom had hit a deer on a previous trip stateside and our old Meteor was being repaired. Then we were off on what I considered to be an adventure despite the fact that we had made this very trip on a fairly regular basis. Mom's brother and his family lived in a Minneapolis suburb, so we got to visit our cousins, but the primary reason for the trips was cancer treatment and check ups for Ron, who had Hodgkins Disease.

It was Boxing Day 1972, just before his 9th birthday, when Mom first noticed the large egg shaped lump on his neck.  As children, we knew he was sick but cancer wasn’t so commonplace back then, and we did not associate death with his having to go to the hospital all the time.  We did not experience his hospital stays or his pain, because all his treatment occurred at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester. We stayed home with various caregivers.  We went as a family only for check-ups that fell on school breaks, as it was on this March day.

Dante and Livia Sdraulig Jan. 8, 1960

Mom was a great mother, who amidst chaos and uncertainty, made us feel as though we were a normal family.  But we weren't.  We had no Dad, Mom was widowed.  When forms came home from school asking for Dads' occupation and we matter-of-factly wrote - Deceased - almost as if that was his occupation.  We didn't know him to miss him.  Dad (Dante) died, along with Mom’s brother, Feruccio (Frank) Babudro, in a car-train collision on February 17, 1964. Mom was a strong woman who coped in the face of adversity far better than anyone I know could. At the time of his death, Dad had been building the family home with the help of Feruccio, and they were going to the lumberyard for supplies. They were broadsided by a train at a dangerous crossing in the middle of the day. They didn’t have a chance. Mom was left heart-broken and grieving with four young children and a partially built homestead. Sandra was the oldest at 3 ½ years of age; Linda, the youngest, was just 5 weeks old. There was an ensuing lawsuit that went all the way to the Supreme Court and did not provide much for the effort. So without a breadwinner, Mom struggled financially. The local school board eventually ousted mom, a teacher by profession, when she was unable to return to university for her Bachelors Degree-required since her graduation from North Bay Teachers College. After that she took a variety of jobs to support her family and at one point, I believe, social assistance.

My mom’s parents were a very big part of our lives – my paternal grandparents were still in Italy. What I didn’t realize then, was that her parents were both a source of comfort and anxiety and stress at the same time. We often heard Mom and Nonna (grandmother) arguing, and once I asked why they fought so much. “Because we love each other” is the answer I got. Love, it seems now had very little to do with it. Nonna didn’t approve of my dad’s side of the family and the marriage…and us children? She also blamed my father for the accident that killed both him and her son. As a matter of fact, it seems that Nonna approved of very little that my Mom did. There certainly was a one-sidedness when it came to the parents supporting the remaining son and daughter. The son, his wife and family wanted for nothing. It is just another testament to the strength and courage of my Mother that she obviously passed on to her children. Strong, honourable character.

With the last of the errands completed, we crossed the set of railroad tracks where I mistakenly believed my dad was killed. Perhaps because of the pain it caused her, perhaps because we never asked, but Mom never really talked about Dad. I knew nothing of his personality, his height, his character, his likes, dislikes, habits, hobbies. One framed picture was on the bookshelf. The same picture that adorned his mausoleum.  I knew how he died and that my parents were in love. That’s about it. We visited his final resting place often but never went to the scene of his death. So the tracks that intersected Thunder Bay between the twinned cities of Port Arthur and Fort William were not were my Dad breathed his last breath. Instead, the crossing was nearer the Port Arthur waterfront on Clavet Street.

All together!
Linda, Mom, me, Ron, Sandra

Spirits were high and excitement building with chatter of fun to come when the song “Photograph” by Ringo Starr came on the radio. It was one of Sandra’s favourites and a lively discussion ensued about everyone else’s favourites. Mom’s was “I Am Woman” by Helen Reddy; Linda’s was “Time in a Bottle” by Jim Croce. I, like Ron, could not pinpoint any one favourite. I liked too many.  To this day hearing those songs evokes a rush of emotions. Both sad and comforting but mostly hurt. Music was always important in all our lives. The stereo was a more prized possession than the TV. Of course, that was in part due to the fact that my dad built the stereo cabinet and put together (possibly with help from my Uncle who died with him) the interior components complete with the old tubes. No electronics back then. Many nights we would sit by the stereo as a family, listening to the Top 10 hits of the day on CKPR radio and then trying to be the first to call the radio station with the names of all ten in hopes of winning. I don’t remember the prize, or even winning. But I do remember the excitement of playing the game. Rewards and treats came in the form of new albums or 45’s. I still own the first 45 I ever earned. It cost $.33 in 1971 and was Day After Day by Badfinger. We all learned to play the piano and had aspirations to expand our musical abilities with other instruments. Singing as a family was another activity we enjoyed together, there was a host of traditional Italian songs that we learned (and I still remember), but there was one that came to impact my life in later years for reasons I have never really understood. The song was “Farewell to Nova Scotia” and I did not know what if any importance there was in that song for her. Perhaps it was because Nova Scotia and Halifax were the first things she saw in Canada when she came through the gates at Pier 21 as a pre-teen girl leaving her homeland. Perhaps she had hopes of one day returning for a visit. I’ll never know.

It was getting dark when we stopped at a Perkins Restaurant in Duluth, Minnesota for supper. With four hungry bellies whining, it probably wasn’t that late at night but the daylight hours are significantly shorter in the winter months. Perkins was a real treat because we liked the food, Mom liked the prices and we could only go when we were in the States. Downstairs, near the washrooms, we found a telephone and called Nonna to tell her all was well. Nonna was concerned with the darkness of the hour and the journey ahead. Mom assured her we would be fine, she was not at all tired. We only had another four hours or so to go, mostly on divided highway and with good road conditions. Mom was also very accustomed to this journey, having done it so often before.

            We didn’t make the rest of the trip. 

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. 

Ron Sdraulig - the Beginning of The End

I'm Still Remembering - The Cranberries

They say the cream will always rise to the top.

They say that good people are always first to drop.

I am going to commemorate my brother Ron on the occasion of his birthday - January 9th, 1963. Today he would have been 50. He died when he was 21. He had Hodgkins Lymphoma and battled the cancer since he was 9 years old. He also battled society's negative perceptions of sick children and young adults. He didn't get extra concessions to complete school work that he missed because he was hospitalized or sick from treatment - instead, he was called upon to explain his extended absences and why he should be given a passing grade when he missed so much of the curriculum. He was beyond happy when he could do typical teenage things like getting a part time job to earn the money for his future car. He worked at MacDonalds, when the chain was still a relatively new phenomenon in our northern hometown of Thunder Bay, Ontario. Interestingly, it was shortly thereafter that he stopped eating there - officially, he told me it was because he ate the Big Mac on his breaks and simply got sick of them. Maybe it was too much of an eye opener seeing how they were actually "produced". The MacDonalds story isn't about the food however, it is about his value as an employee. For that, he won a portable radio in the shape of a large French Fry, and a wall clock that looked like a big pocket watch with Ronald MacDonalds sitting on an invisible bench waving - a replica of his form found outside many restaurants. Then the cancer came back and he needed time off to get treatment/surgery at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester. And MacDonalds fired him. It was different times and I have no doubt that similar treatment would not occur today. But it did happen to him and it changed him. 

Recurrences of cancer were common for him. I don't know all the details but despite periods of remission, he was never deemed cured. After MacDonalds actions, you saw a change in Ron. School became less important. He didn't see a future for himself. If MacDonalds could fire him from a part-time job, who would hire him for a full-time career or job - the likelihood of the cancer returning was greater than a free and clear diagnosis. It was the beginning of the end. And it was a terrible waste because he was an intelligent young man who could have had so much to offer. That was the only job I remember him ever having. 

Ron did graduate from Hammarskjold High School in Thunder Bay and went on to attend Lakehead University. Marks aside, Ron was admitted to the university and into residence because it was inadvisable for him to attend school to far away from his medical team. Graduation was not the goal as much as living the life. I think he was taking some business courses but I don't recall what, he didn't graduate and didn't have the opportunity to embark on a career. But he did have the time of his life during University. The party life style and student culture. He was adamant that no one knew his cancer story because he did not want special treatment. He just wanted to fit in and try to have a normal life like everyone else. He was really happy during that time. He met a lot of really great people. 

Living life was a priority. He jumped in with both feet knowing that his time was limited. He traveled to Hawaii and stayed in penthouse suites. He bought cars he didn't need and while my grandmother stood in the corner clutching her heart, he got a motorcycle license and then a motorcycle. But eventually the wind was sucked out of his sails and he became resigned to his fate. My life was in transition at the time and I was ending a relationship. Ron spent his last months worried about my fate and sanity once he was gone. For with his passing I would officially be all alone in the world with every part of my family having gone on. I told him I would be okay and I couldn't let him down. It wasn't my choice but there wasn't a lot of choices. I had to learn how to live my life suddenly alone and feeling abandoned. I think I did okay when I look back over the years. But more than a quarter of a century later the thought of him hurts so bad and I miss him so much that the tears flow like the water of Kakabecca Falls. 

It was supposed to get easier god-damn it! 

There You'll Be - Faith Hill

"In my dreams I'll always see you soar above the sky 

In my heart there will always be a place for you in my life

I'll keep a part of you with me

And everywhere I am there you'll be"

"When I think back on these times 

And the dreams we left behind

I'll be glad 'cause I was blessed to get to have you in my life"

"Well you showed me how it feels

To feel the sky within my reach

And I always will remember all the strength you gave to me"

"'Cause I always saw in you my light, my strength

And I want to thank you now for all the ways

You were right there for me"

"In my dreams I'll always see you soar above the sky

In my heart there will always be a place for you for all my life

And everywhere I am there you'll be"

I cried when you passed. I still cry today. The depth of my love and admiration for you couldn't make you stay. Your heart stopped beating. God broke my heart to prove that he only takes the best. Even if it's only in my dreams and the depth of my soul and being, you'll be there forever.  

A link to last years post:
http://pinkpantherfancanada.blogspot.ca/2012/01/forever-in-my-heart-forever-in-my.html

credit where credit is due
Pictures are the sole property of me - Liz Gigi Sdraulig
Kizoa.com assisted with the creation of the collages

I Must Stay and You Must Go

Leave It Alone - Moist

Fate has the ability to take something away from you and leave you absolutely powerless to do anything about it. Fate can be cruel, fate can be beautiful. Fate can put you in that spot at that perfect moment in time when you will meet and connect with your soul mate. Fate can also take your world and shake it up like an ant in a jar and leave you dizzy with fear and alone to pick up the pieces. You want to put the tattered shreds of your life back together again but it's unrecognizable. Fate and I are not exactly on speaking terms. Fate has scattered the parts of me all over the highway and left me alone to die. In many ways I made decisions on my life before fate had a chance to intervene, I stopped the hurt before it could catch me. Sometimes I was successful but I will never know if I ran before the sun could shine down on me. Admittedly I was a little gun shy.


A lifetime ago - 28 years - my brother Ron passed away in a hospital in Thunder Bay Ontario. He was 21 years old and had been battling Hodgkins Lymphoma since he was 9 years old. With Ron's passing, I was officially the last surviving member of my family of 6 and I was 22 years old. It was not a title I wanted hoisted onto my shoulders. Fate had other plans. In a very bizarre way, however, Ron's death was easier to deal with because I knew it was coming and I had plenty of prior experience dealing with having the heart and soul being ripped from me. But on the other hand it was and is a lot harder because I had the tiniest glimpse of the kind of man that he could have become. I had time to get used to him being a part of my life. I had the opportunity to get to know him as more than just an annoying kid brother. 

Ron is a person who I have elevated to stand proud atop a pedestal while I gaze in awe from below. He didn't make it well known and downplayed it when the subject came up, my brother was a true hero. By definition a man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds - Ron was not a man but a child of 11 years, nor was he recognized for his courage. But he should have been! In the seconds following the horrific and deadly accident that befell the family on March 21st, Ron was able to find his way out of the burning wreckage that had been flipped onto it's rooftop. Ignoring danger to himself, he returned to the blazing hot metal shell to offer his help. Trying to comprehend what had happened and what to do, I felt a tugging on my sock and it was pulled off. The tugging continued until I was able to squirm my way out. In the darkness of the night fueled only by the brilliant orange flames, my brother showed me the way out and pulled me to safety. And he wasn't done, he was on his way back having gotten me a safe distance when emergency personnel arrived and stopped him. Even they recognized the danger in his heroism but it was quickly forgotten in the enormity of the tragedy that the light of day showed. 

I have no right to be called strong because compared to my brother I am but a wet piece of spaghetti

Again in the months before he died, Ron let go of the burden he carried on his shoulders and focused his attention on the well-being of me. Of course, hindsight having 20-20 vision, I realized that he knew his end was near. After more than 10 years of battling the cancer demon that would rear its ugly head with no warning and suck a little more life out of him, he was tired. I bore the scars of the tragedy our family had endured for the world to see and question - Ron, was like you - on the outside but hurting on the inside. No one knew how much it hurt to be a young boy sick and without his mother. No one knew that he had given up the fight to live - except his doctors. No one knew he had quit treatments that might have prolonged his life. No one knew the futility he felt trying to hold down a part-time job at McDonalds only to be let go because of his frequent absences for treatments. No one knew the hassles he had at school because he was away so much because he was sick. He carried so much weight upon his shoulders. He never told me how scared he was that he could never hold down a job because staying healthy required so much of his time. It was a different time then. In the 1970's and 1980's a child growing up with cancer was more of an anomaly, today you would be given every consideration to pursue treatments at your workplace or school. Not then, not for him. And although the guardian grandparents were much more supportive of him than I, they were a sorry substitute for the compassion and loving nature of our mother. With her, we may have both seen a brighter future. 


But it is what it is. Fate. And I can't change that but I can mourn my loss and wonder what it might have been to have a hero and friend like my brother in my life today. For no matter how much time passes, thoughts of Ron will always bring tears to my eyes and my heart aches like it was yesterday that I said Goodbye. The world was a richer place for having him in it and a lot emptier and sadder without his grace. I have memories that will never dim with thoughts of Ron - I wish you all had the same opportunity to know him.

Snows of New York - Chris De Burgh

One more note on the subject of my brother. In the last days of his life, he became very moved by the poem Footprints in the Sand. He found a lot of comfort in the words. I feel a similar tug at my heartstrings in the word penned and sung by Chris De Burgh.

"In my dreams we walked, you and I to the shore,

Leaving footprints by the sea,

And when there was just one set of prints in the sand, 

That was when you carried me;

You have always been such a good friend to me,

Though the thunder and the rain,

And when you're feeling lost in the snows of New York,

Lift your heart and think of me;"

Thank you to my brother, Ron who always walks by my side and shines a light to guide me when I feel lost...

Forever in my heart, forever in my thoughts...forever 21 years old. My brother Ron Sdraulig

Wouldn't It Be Good - Nik Kershaw 

January 9, is my brother Ron's birthday. Ron and I were cut from the same cloth we lived in the same house and couldn't have been any more different. We each had heavy crosses to bear growing up - much more than any child should have to endure. Ron's got too heavy and he left the physical world to join the rest of our family at the age of 21. 


In happier times, Ron was a bit of a privileged soul. With Dad having died when we were babies, Ron was the only source of testosterone in the gaggle of 4 female in the house. He was revered by my grandparents - who tended to favour the male species. There were no hand me downs for him, no girly toys to share and he had his own "boys" bike for his use only. Mom fought to have us all treated fairly but with financial struggles, she didn't look the gift horse in the mouth. At the time, except for the bike which I was envious about, it was all good by me. Life was grand! We thought we were living the dream!


Then came Christmas Eve 1972, Ron was just shy of his 10th birthday. We were all in the kitchen with my grandparents and Mom had just finished making her traditional Crostoli. There was laughter and Mom was gong to embrace Ron when she suddenly stopped mid-sentence and with a fear in her voice that silenced the room, she gently touched the goose-egg sized lump on the side of Ron's neck and asked how long it had been there. 


That was the moment that changed the rest of my life from a dream to a never ending nightmare. 


By the next day, Mom and Ron were on the way to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester Minnesota and the diagnosis was Hodgkins Disease! Cancer of the lymph nodes.  We didn't understand, we were just children. I was 11, Sandra was 12 and Linda was not quite 9. Cancer was not as commonplace as it is today. We didn't know anyone who had it, we didn't understand what it meant. Ron was sick and we had to put up with a succession of care-givers who came into the house to care for us while Mom and Ron were gone for treatments or checkups. I resented those people and even tried to runaway once because I missed my mother and her kindness, compassion and love. I feel bad now that I understand I probably caused her stress that she could have lived without. But children are selfish creatures and I didn't see beyond my own needs. 


Beyond that initial lump that was found I don't know anything about Ron's prognosis or treatment. I now know that Ron and Mom got very close, spending so much time together in travel and in waiting rooms. When she died, it affected him much more than it did me. Ron and I had very different interests, in the family we were on opposing teams. In an argument or in play it was always Sandra and Ron against Linda and myself. In a physical contest, they always won! But I digress, with Mom gone, my grandmother took over the guardian role and accompanied Ron to his appointments. The same grandparents so spoiled Ron before, continued to shower him with his hearts desire. For me, Mom wasn't around to balance the scales any longer. I rebelled. I argued. I fought. Ron didn't understand. He didn't see that we were being treated differently (selfish children remember), he thought we should be grateful. We had horrible fights about it. He didn't see my side and I didn't see his. 


Ron had a lot of medical set-backs throughout his teen years. He contracted Chicken Pox for a second time and with it came Shingles. I am beginning to review diary entries and learn about the on-going cancer treatment that Ron endured, but I don't know about recurrences except for the tumor in his head because the treatment caused hair loss. I felt so bad for him, that small patch at the base of his neck grew back in tight curls completely contrasting his wavy thick hair. Needless to say, because of our tumultuous relationship at home, we didn't discuss sensitive topics like feelings or his medical condition. I once overheard some talk about tumors found in his belly, but I don't know what it meant - today I am annoyed that I didn't care enough to know. 


Thankfully, there came a time where Ron and I were able to get close and be supports to each other. I moved out and he began to understand the restrictions that I was dealing with. All the negativity and anger that was directed at me was now directed at him. Some of my best memories of that time include him. Looking for a hill to teach me how to change gears while on an incline without rolling back. Him laughing at my ineptness and promising that we were going to keep it up until I was ready to trade in an automatic sports car for a standard. When it was time for him to go back home, he took my car and left his standard. I did my share of gear grinding and screeching as the car rolled, but by the end of the summer I was a pro! Ron came from Thunder Bay to the Toronto area to visit, but also for treatment at Princess Margaret. I wasn't allowed to visit, he didn't want me to see him throwing up and so sick. 


All told, we had about 4 years to repair our relationship. Four years that hold a lifetime of memories for me. For a couple of naive, hurting kids, we did pretty good. In his own way, Ron tried to make me a stronger person and prepare me for his death. My dad died in 1964, my mom and sisters in 1974, and we were nearing 1984. Everyone knows that bad things happen in threes and Ron's big concern was my sanity if I should suddenly find myself alone and if something bad happened in 1984 - the prophecy would be true. In his words, he was afraid that I would become "a crazy dog lady. Living alone with a house full of stray and adopted dogs, never leaving the house out of fear." 


Sure enough, Ron died in 1984. He was 21 years old. The doctors said that he shouldn't have died, that with the advances in research and treatment, that he could live to his 30's. By that time, progress would give him another 10 years. His doctor told me that in a sense, Ron committed suicide. He gave up, he refused treatment, he had had enough. Mom was his support and she wasn't there when he needed her, he missed her terribly. Ron didn't have a lot of hope for his future, he was fired from a part time job at MacDonalds because he needed too much time off for medical treatment. That wouldn't happen today but in the early 1970's it did. Ron spent the last few months of his life in the Port Arthur General Hospital. I left my life in Toronto to be with him, not knowing that the end was there but sensing I was needed. I watched as his once muscular legs became thin stalks barely strong enough to support him. Two days before Ron died I had officially closed an unpleasant chapter in my life and was moving on and he saw that and knew that he could move on too. And he did. 


And I still miss him...

"Another time, Another place

We will be together again"

(And Now the Waltz) C'est La Vie by Slade

- In the past 15 years or so I have participated in a sibling study conducted by the Mayo Clinic in Rochester Minnesota. In an effort to understand treatment options and their effects better I have granted access to Ron's medical history and submitted my own DNA and medical records for comparison. They have found that many children of that era suffered heart failure and died prematurely due to the radiation levels they were subjected to being to strong/high for their fragile and immature bodies. Officially, Ron died of heart failure


- In recent years I have learned that my parents celebrated their wedding anniversary on January 9th. With my father's early death, the day must have caused my Mom as much sorrow for the loss as joy celebrating her only son's birth. Never in life did I have a chance so I shall now, with all my heart wish Livia and Dante Sdraulig a Happy Anniversary and I am glad you are together to love each other...We'll be together again some day also!