It has been a terrible week and a half for me and my sister Victoria. Late yesterday morning, around Noon, we got word from the General Hospital that our dad, Edward (Ted) Blezard, passed away. My dad had recently been diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer after going to the Royal Alex Hospital to get what turned out to be a blood clot treated. We were shocked and saddened to learn that the clot was caused by the cancer, which had spread to his liver and his lungs.

He choose to go into palliative care at the General Hospital to hopefully be comfortable for the end of his life. The timing of the discovery of his condition has been devastating for my sister and I, as well as my aunts and my cousins and their families. I recently posted on Facebook in a closed group for only family members about this news (after calling my aunts and my cousins), and I thank everyone in that group for all their heartfelt condolences. (I’ve also posted elsewhere online for to let my online friends know what my family is going through. I thank them for their support.)

While we knew the end was coming for him, the speed of his passing from first learning about the cancer to him dying on Monday has been tragic beyond anything that I’ve ever gone through. It doesn’t feel real. It hurts more than any physical pain or emotional turmoil I’ve ever felt before. I’m writing this because if I don’t, I’m going to go crazy with grief. My sister and I had limited our contact with him to protect him from COVID-19 but then he dies anyway from cancer — something from which we couldn’t protect him.

Life doesn’t feel fair, right now. But nothing about cancer or the death of a loved one is fair. I know that already. Years ago, my brother Dale, died after having a heart attack while driving. I still remember sitting with him in the hospital across from my dad — the two of us trying to comfort each other. I thought nothing in life could ever be worse than that time in my life. I was wrong. Oh, so very wrong. While I loved my brother dearly, this hurts so badly that I feel like I’m going to lose my mind.

My dad had become a joy to spend time with at the end of his life. My sister and I would have him over during the holidays (or just for supper) and go out for dinner with him at a local restaurant near where he lives. We’d spend time talking about life, Victoria’s work, and sports. My dad loved watching hockey and CFL football. (He and I have always been Oiler fans and we all are diehard Saskatchewan Roughrider fans.)

Then the pandemic hit and we lost that connection to him for most of 2020. We did have him over once in the early Fall, but then COVID-19 raged out of control again across the world, and we tried to limit our contact with him to make sure he was safe. He was being tested weekly in his seniors’ building, but he wasn’t in special care, so it’s not like they came into his apartment to check on him daily. He was buying his own groceries and going to church (when restrictions allowed).

He had to stop playing bridge due to the pandemic, but he had his books to read, TV to watch, and my sister and I to talk to over the phone. We’d ask him how he was and make sure he was protecting himself from the virus. Little did we know that cancer was ravaging his body, and he was never one to complain about pain to us or anyone else. There had been times he’d say he was tired but that he was talking to his doctor about it. But, due to the pandemic, those doctor ‘visits’ were over the phone, so his personal doctor didn’t physically see him. (I’m assuming.)

Maybe if COVID-19 hadn’t happened, his condition could have been discovered early enough to save his life. It has left me angry, bitter, frustrated, and sad. It could be that even without the pandemic, he was already too far gone for any medical treatment to save. The worst part is that we will never know if it could of possible to save him with treatment. Yet, I know if he’d found out sooner and had been given a slim chance to live longer, he would have chosen to die on his own terms because that is what he did in the end.

My family and I are heartbroken that he is gone, but, at least, he didn’t suffer longer. I have to try to take some solace in that fact as I deal with a grief that is tearing me apart inside. For years I too held in my pain whether it be physical, mental, or emotional. Only in the last ten or so years have I learned how unhealthy that is for a person to put themselves through. I will not try to be stoic, although I will do my best to help my sister, my aunts and cousins, and anyone else close to him to deal with this tragedy. In truth, they will help me as much I will help them. That is the way it works.

My dad’s pain is over, thankfully, but our pain is still very real and raw right now. My sister and I have no idea when there will even be a memorial service, and my dad would not have wanted a Zoom funeral. We don’t want that either, so we will have to wait until family members and our family friends have all been vaccinated. That’s going to be horrible, having to wait to say goodbye, but there is nothing we can do about it right now.

I need to stop now before I completely lose control of myself. Writing this has helped, but I must not overdo it.

Thank you all for your condolences,

Robert P. Blezard