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This weekend, a branch was cut from my family tree.

It wasn’t a surprise, but my reaction to it was.

My family isn’t a big one, compared to many here in Quebec. Mom has a brother and two sisters, and Dad has three sisters. Or should I say ”had”. Most of them in their seventies, and having different health issues.

M was Dad’s youngest big sister. Ironically, while their Mom (my grand’ma) had Alzheimer’s disease, M was diagnosed with sclerodermia. As you might know, Alzheimer’s basically destroys your brain though your body is fine. Sclerodermia does the oposite… It is an auto-immune disease that makes the body over produce collagen, and provokes over-scarring of the skin and other organs’ tissues. In shorts, your perfectly councious mind gets trapped in a paralized degradating body.

My earliest memory of M’s condition dates back to 2001, when I used to work as an ambulance dispatcher. I remember that she was then put on the waiting list for lung transplant. I had made plans to help her get transportation to the hospital, whenever she would get THE call.

She never got it.

Her condition worstened over the years, but M kept attending family parties, whenever her health allowed it. Then the pandemic happened. And I didn’t see her for three years.

Fast forward to last Wednesday.

Mom contacted me to say that M would be transfered to a palliative center the next morning. I was tempted to take Friday off and rush to Trois-Rivières. But I wanted to wait to see what would happen during the transfer.

Thursday night, Little Bro (who was already in town for other reasons) texted me a picture on which M looked years younger. And I was foolish enough to think that she was doing so well (given the circumstances) that Friday or Saturday, I would get to see her before the disease took away the best of her.

So I did work as planned on Friday, and hopped on a bus Saturday hoping to make it in time to deliver a few heartfelt words to my dear aunt.

Unfortunately, the palliative center put her on strong morphine doses on Friday, and when I finally showed up, it was too little too late (I might get into the details later… Because I was more angry than sad, but we’ll see how that goes).

Saturday, around 9h30 PM, we got the call.

M was gone.

This morning, we all gathered to walk her out of the palliative home. After mourning her one after the other. I know we all think it was about time she stopped hurting. But the hurt is down on us now.

I’m sorry if my blogging is depressing. Unfortunately, I don’t choose how life goes.

Rest in peace, M!