SAYING GOODBYE WITH YELLOW ROSES

 It’s no secret I’m not good at goodbyes. I tend to hold on to those of you who embed themselves in my heart and take up residence.

April and I worked closely together, sharing the same job. Nearly every morning, we would touch base via video (COVID you know) to follow up on palliative patients we worked with and their families, making sure the ball was not dropped as we passed it. 

“Good Morning April! How was your night? Anything you need to tell me before I take over?”

“Morning Cyndi! I’m OK but last night my arm went numb - had to go to emergency to get checked out! Thought I was having a stroke!”

“Oh no! How are you feeling now? Your arm still numb?”

“Yeah, it is. I’m booked for an MRI next week. Could only happen to me!”

That was a turning point, about 6 weeks ago. April went for her MRI late on a Friday night and when I checked in the next morning she told me she was on her way to Kingston. 

Then she was admitted.

Then there was a biopsy.

Then there was the diagnosis. All in about a week’s time. An aggressive and inoperable brain cancer. April was 37 years old. 

Still, she was young and strong and ready to fight with chemo and radiation even though the doctors told her this was a terminal diagnosis. She was given the hopeful news this tumour often reacted well to the chemotherapy. But only 3 treatments in, she seizured and was rushed back to Kingston to be admitted. 

Sweet beautiful April passed away 6 weeks after her diagnosis. Though I’m no stranger to grief,  the shock hit me hard. She was like a daughter to me and I had hoped we would have at least a year to say goodbye. I continued to work the day at the office, trying to stay busy and doing mindless tasks. 

Her incredible family flew in from all over: some from out West, some from Ontario and some from Newfoundland where she was born. There were a lot of them and a couple of days after her death,  I stopped into April’s place to meet them, handing over a box of her personal belongings from the office. One sounds just like her, one has her eyes, all have her Down east warmth. I said goodbye to her voice, to her eyes, to her wit and accent. Tonka, her Husky sat dejectedly on the porch and only perked up when I handed over some fruit and muffins. 

When I got home from work that day after hearing the news of her death, I found my roses had suddenly exploded into blooms, especially the yellow ones. Yellow roses are a symbol of warmth and friendship. 

I’m not good with goodbyes April. I will miss you and never forget you! Thank you for the beautiful roses.