Chapter 10 - Grief and Blood Gifts

October 6, 2025

My mother died today.

Mom received the exit she wanted.

It was peaceful. She was surrounded by family and friends, with jokes and stories continuing to the end. Her body was frail, but her spirit rallied.

I was grateful she could leave in the way she hoped, even as I began processing the complicated pieces of our relationship.

Grief with Mom was not simple.

I loved her.

Our relationship also carried history, expectation, disappointment, humour, tenderness, and more than a few knots.

Her final day was beautiful.

That did not erase the complicated parts.

It gave me a place of mercy on which to stand.

I took my guitar and sang for her. My children and grandchildren held her as she slipped away.

Then came the practical work of death:

Executor duties.

Conversations with my sisters.

Paperwork.

Cleaning out her apartment.

Cancer treatment did not pause while grief began.

Grief did not wait for my blood counts to recover.

October 10, 2025

I finished another hospital session and received platelets to reduce the risk of excessive bleeding.

After leaving the hospital, I joined Leslie and our children as we packed years of memories from Mom’s suite at the retirement home.

My treatment and family responsibility existed side by side.

Grief and gratitude occupied the same day.

October 15, 2025

I received transfusions of red blood cells and platelets to manage the effects of chemotherapy.

Each month followed a rhythm:

One week of chemotherapy.

Three weeks of recovery.

Chemotherapy went in.

Counts fell.

Transfusions arrived.

Numbers were watched.

Recovery began.

Then the next round appeared on the calendar.

It was not a dance step I would recommend.

Anonymous, but Personal

The blood donors did not know I would receive platelets while grieving my mother.

They did not know I would leave the hospital and help pack her belongings.

They gave anyway.

Anonymous did not mean impersonal.

Their generosity entered my body and gave me the ability to move between treatment and family responsibility.

Their ordinary decision became part of my survival.