Today Is A Sombre Day

Today is a sombre day for me. As incredible as it may seem, it was 25 years ago today - August 31, 1984 - that my mother, then 64, finally succumbed to the ravages of cancer.

In 1974, ten years before that fateful day, my mother had her first encounter with cancer. That year she had a mastectomy. For the layperson, that means one of her breasts had to be removed. At that time, we thought that her cancer had been conquered.

Now fast forward to 1983, nine years later. The cancer not only returned, but it returned with a terrible vengeance and in a different form. Over the course of that year and into the next, it started taking its toll. But like my mother, she was strong and fought bravely.

In early August 1984, my father drove down to our summer place in Prince Edward Island, where we had vacationed since 1973. Because my mom wasn't feeling well, she and I stayed home in Toronto. A couple of weeks after my father had left and not knowing how long my mother had, I suggested to my mother that we venture to Prince Edward Island to join him. So we booked a flight and flew down.

A few days after arriving, my mother's health turned for the worse. My father and I packed up the car and began the 3-day journey home back to Toronto. While en route, my mom slipped into a coma and we were forced to stop at the hospital in Moncton, New Brunswick to admit her.

Shortly after 9 pm on August 31, as I walked toward my mother's hospital room to check on her, I felt an icy chill sweep through me. When I finally got to the room a few moments later, I discovered that she had just died.