About Steph Churchill

By May, on Mother’s day, of all days, I take Gizmo out for a walk, come home with itchy eyes, and wake up looking like I lost a boxing match I didn’t agree to enter.  After getting home from hours at the walk-in clinic with a frozen pound of butter lodged in my eye (that made the nurse behind the desk ROAR with laughter), one of the funniest moments of my dad’s sickness happened right then.  He had fallen again and needed me to lift him off the floor, because clearly my mom, with her broken arm, was basically functioning at “cheerleader on the sidelines” capacity.

 He hadn’t seen my swollen face yet, so when I leaned over him, he took one look, and said, “Geeeeez-us!!!  What the hell happened to you?”  I started laughing, explained everything, and then in his tiny, Parkinson’s whisper he added, “You know, it’s kind of funny to think …. if someone came to the door right now and saw the three of us. Me on the floor … you looking like you just walked out of a scrap, and your mother looking like we beat her.”  We howled.  My dad had an incredible sense of humour. The truth underneath the joke, however, was clear.  His health continued to drop significantly, and in June, after months of deliberation, my “Pops” chose to move forward with the “MAID” program.  We initially agreed that Father’s day would be a nice fit so that we may celebrate him every year on “his” day.  My Pops was in such rough shape, he actually shaved off a week, by choice, and had it set for June 6, 2025.  We, my Mum, 2 sisters + 1 fiance, and 4 nieces, scrambled to try and make sure that everything we ever wanted to say was said … all the pictures possible were taken, etc. etc. before that day, and they were.  It truly was incredibly peaceful, and I’ll never forget the warm, fuzzy feeling I got when my pops (who was lying down) looked at my hand that was over his heart, smiled, and whispered, “Chakra”.  I beamed and said, “Yes Pops!  Your heart chakra.”  Moments later, the injection was given and my dad was finally at peace.  For those who have been caretakers, you well understand that after your person transforms, there is a period of feeling lost and discombobulated. You really don’t know what to do with yourself for a while.  My pops insisted that we celebrate him, and that there be NO sad sob stories posted online (which is not anyone’s style in my family anyway).  This is the first I have written about it … tears flowing and all.