Anne Hears “River Flows In You” March 8, 2026 Anne, in her wheelchair by the sterile off-white walls, Wheels whispering across linoleum, the world narrowing, She passes the hospital chapel, quiet inside, golden light spilling. A young nurse, nimble fingers on keys, Softly pouring notes into air heavy with waiting. “River Flows In You,”..
Anne says goodbye to the bird life that she loves Along the winding path not far from our abode, Ottawa’s breath lingering in dew, the blue jays’ chatter fractures the fragile morning. Ah, my dearest Anne, you cannot hear them now, your eyes drifting to the city life beneath your hospital window, ears perked,..
Anne Awakens In the midst of the hospital’s beeping machines, Anne lay wrapped in linen dreams. Three days drifting, submerged in enduring night, Her breath as fragile as candlelight. Caregivers hovering, hope nearly spent, Eyes searching for any gentle movement. Then softly, a miracle unfolds, She blinks once, then twice, then thrice, behold. Her..
On the Thinnest of Ice Anne lies in her silent hospital bed, Breath rising, falling, then barely stirring, A hush, thick as our winter snows, fills the room. The clock ticks, yet time itself seems to pause. Sixty hours, and the world grows dimmer. Her hand in mine, warmer once, now soft as river..
Anne’s Aphasia: At a Total Loss for Words Anne, whose tongue once danced in six bright streams, German, Slovak, Czech, English, French, and Spanish, Each language a doorway, each word alive, Now, cancer’s shadow closes her mouth, yet leaves her mind awake. Inside her, thought still sings, quiet as dawn mist, Ideas unfurl, unseen,..
“Intake”* or the perils of maintaining a vigorous appetite when ravaged by brain cancer I hand feed Anne all her meals now, since she’s nearly totally paralyzed, due to the ravages wreaked by her brain cancer (glioblastoma). Being a caregiver in this moment brings a mix of heartbreak and tenderness. There’s a sharp ache..
The slings of outrageous fortune: * Anne is lifted gingerly from her hospital bed by cold machinery and kind hands The nurses arrive, silent shadows, hands sure, voices soft as cotton, preparing the sling: straps unfurled, pulleys waiting, a cradle of blue and white, hope woven in webbing. Anne lies still, her body slight..
For Anne in her palliative care bed, every day is “Sweet Dessert Day” Rewind to the early 1980s: Like so many first-time parents, Anne and I were brimming with righteous resolve to shield our offspring from the evils of junk food. “Sweet Dessert Day” was our grand idea, a weekly treat so exclusive it..
Easter Sunday Morning, April 5, 2026: Anne’s Resurrection Through Suffering Easter Sunday morning, pale light catches the edge of Anne’s brow; the world opens quietly, as she lies in the hush of suffering. The slow erosion of memory, cells dividing and retreating, becomes a kind of crucifixion, days measured in pills and prayers. She..
What you don’t see: The invisible realities of living with and caring for a person with a brain tumour Believe it or not, we’re approaching May, which is Brain Tumour Awareness Month, and the Brain Tumour Foundation of Canada is launching a national campaign called “What You Don’t See.” Brain tumours impact every part of life in ways..