On November 20, 2014, my favourite uncle (aka fav unc, aka Uncle Zaim, aka UZ) was diagnosed with a rare tumour that unfortunately spread to his liver and stomach. 7 weeks later, on January 11, at 11:21 am, he passed away in the hospital, with his family by his side, including me. He was 64 years old.
He was like a father to me, and I am lucky to say that my own father (dad) and stepfather (pops) are still alive and kicking (and I am very close to them). I also have an amazing mother and though she lives far, I talk with her daily, and she is a constant in my life. I am lucky to have such people in my life when I know that there are others who don't get anything.
November 20, 2014. What was I doing at that moment? I knew that the results were coming, so on purpose I did not look at my texts until the end of my work day. Then, I looked. I fell to the floor as I read my mothers text.....its bad call me. I called her....stomach cancer and has spread to the liver.....he has 1 - 3 months to live....she said. I remember crumpling to the floor while talking to my mom. I remember calling my husband to come get me as I couldn't breath. I can't breath...I can't breath.....come get me please.....
1 to 3 months. Wtf? I am sure everyone who is affected by cancer says this, but why him? He was...is....was one of the good guys. He was everyone's hero, everyone's fan, everyone's champion. He was of pure heart and mind. He was strong with his family, his faith and his friends. He never drank. He never smoked. He was good. He was all heart. I think back on my life, and how he was always there for me, even though I lived thousands of miles away. He made the distance not matter ("it's just geography", he would say, quoting a line from Pretty Woman).
When I first learned of his diagnosis, I was dumbfounded. I wasn't sure what to do. Should I go? Do I wait? The best advice was from my dad...who told me to go, as no matter what, I wouldn't regret going and spending time with Uncle Zaim and his family. He was right. I called my uncle and told him I was coming. He told me on the phone..."Sher...don't come...I just saw you in July....you are in my heart..." I went. The week I spent there in November was the last week I would ever spend with him.
The day I arrived, he was still in the hospital, but was going to be released that evening. It was a Sunday when I got there, and we were not going to hear any specific results until the following Friday. Friday. 6 days away. Once he was home, it was...emotional. He was still so weak, looking to me for advice on what to eat all of the time (he was so proud of me becoming a Dietitian). The first day, he was so excited to try food and to see everybody. Too much excitement. He vomited. I watched him, sitting at the table, weak, scared. Immediately I knew what my role this week had to be. Take care of everyone. Be there for my aunt, my cousins, for my mom, for my uncle. Do the cooking, get groceries.....pray with my uncle, talk to him, hold his hand.
I remember every night that November, he would want to pray with us. Even though I was not his daughter, he wanted me to be there with them, holding hands to pray with them together. Often he would need a cold cloth on his head, or on his stomach. One night, I was sitting with him on the bed. We were alone, as everyone was getting ready to sleep, brushing teeth and putting on pajamas. I looked at him and and told him "I don't like that you are suffering. I don't like that you are in pain. I wish I could take this away from you, uncle". He told me "This is Allah's plan." I whispered to him "I don't like His plan, uncle." He looked at me and softly spoke..."We don't have a choice." Even in his most scared moments, he was trying to give us strength to deal with whatever followed.
On another night he asked my aunt to find the song "To Sir with Love" . Such an appropriate choice as my uncle was a teacher, an audiologist, and he dedicated his life to helping those with hearing impairments. My aunt found the song, and my uncle...lay there...in the bed, and signed the song. It was so very touching and beautiful. Yet another memory that is always with me.
He found his own strength in his family, his faith and his friends. One evening the neighbours from across the street dropped by. I think my uncle actually saw them from the living room window and asked my aunt to call them to come over. He was like that...always thinking of others. He called for them, and they came. Before they left, he said to the husband...."Jay, can you pray with me?" And it didn't matter that it was not the same faith. What mattered was praying together. I was always amazed at that. My uncle told me later that week, as he had told me many times during our time together, "Sherene, you must always pray. It centres you." He would then say "God doesn't mind how you pray or where you pray. Just pray."
I remember the week going by so slowly, yet it was too fast. Waiting for the test results....there are no words to describe how it felt to wait. And then, the results....we had tiny ray of hope the moment the results were given...but it was just that....a moment, even less than a moment where we were hopeful, researching this type of tumor, and all the success stories. Neuro-endocrine tumor. For a moment it spelled hope to all of us, even though none of us really knew what it was. He could get treatment. He could live. Perhaps it was good for us to think like this, even if it was only for a minute.
A few days before I left to go back home, he was readmitted to the hospital because of continued weakness and dehydration. I had to say goodbye to him this time in the hospital. But I stayed with him as much as I could for during the day. I slept at my aunts house with my cousins at night, praying, telling stories, sometimes even laughing with them (we do that a lot). The day I said goodbye I promised him that I would see him again in January. January. Seemed like a far away time. But I did make good on my promise.
I left with a heavy heart, but needed to go home to my husband and children. I had been gone for over a week, and it was time for me to go back. He called me a few times from the hospital. One time which I will treasure forever was during his first chemo treatment. He called my cell, and started singing "I feel good" and would imitate the guitar sounds afterwards (he loved pretending he was playing a guitar, and making all the sound effects). He sounded so strong. So ...with it. I still hear that conversation in my head. Then he would text me....and always say "love you everyday that there is....fav unc". This is what we did since I was a baby....we would always say that to each other. It was our thing. He just sounded so strong.
Christmas came and went. My daughter and I went to Florida to be with my mom, while my husband and son stayed home. It was a quiet and sombre time as we were so worried about my uncle. And then it happened. Things were getting worse, and my mom left to go up to Toronto. We were in Florida still, but looking back, it was good and necessary that we were there. My sister, my daughter and I were there with my pops, and it was so wonderful to be with him. It was a relief for my mom to not have to worry about pops while she was with her dying brother.
One week after New Years, things with my uncle had significantly deteriorated. I felt again, a pull that I needed to be there, so I went. I arrived on Saturday January 10th at midnight. Couldn't go to the hospital as it was too late. In the morning, I showered, got ready and went with my other uncles and we arrived shortly after 10 am. I saw him. My uncle Zaim. His breathing seemed laboured, but was so silent. He had nice smelling oils on his skin. I sat with him and held his hand. He could not squeeze my hand, but his face...he knew I was there. I know he did. His face turned towards me as I said... "Hi Uncle, I'm here. I promised I would come back and see you in January". I talked to him. I told him I loved him.
I told him I would love him everyday that there is. On 1-11 at 11:21 am....he took his last breath. I was there. It was so peaceful. I was there. He waited for me to say goodbye. He knew that I would be needed there after he was gone. And I was. I was there for the week. I helped plan the funeral and gathered pictures. I was there with my cousins and my aunt that week and we cried together, comforted each other. We cooked together (always will remember the butternut squash soup and the egg, cheese and tomato with avocado).
I was honored when my cousins and aunt asked me to go with them to crematorium later that week, truly a surreal experience. We were able to say one last goodbye. I wrote him a note and put it with him before the cremation. I kissed him goodbye. I told him one last time...."I love you everyday that there is".
