~ visit to Mom's grave on Mother's Day ~

They paid about $1000 for an MRI so they could find out, sooner, what is happening inside Mom's body. Then they went to the kidney specialist. That was on May 17th, a Monday. Out here in Saskatchewan, my sister and I waited to hear the results of the test. The call came in the middle of the afternoon, from Dad. He launched straight into it when I picked up the phone.

"It's terminal. There's nothing they can do for her."

"What?" I said, hoping I'd misheard.

Dad choked the words out again.

"You have got to be joking," I said. "Jesus."

"I know," he sighed. He spoke fast, and was trying not to cry.

"What do you need me to do?" I asked.

"Can you and your sister go tell Grandma?" he suggested. "She shouldn't be alone when she hears this news. Mom will phone her later."

"Sure, I'll do that."

"Okay. Can you handle it?"

"Yes. Can you, Dad?"

"I guess I'll have to."

We hung up the phone, and I began to wail from some place deep inside. I fell to my knees on the carpet and wept, then went to the kitchen and laid my head on the table and wept, then went outside and doubled over onto the grass in front of the step, crying. Eleven-year-old Everett followed me, eyes wide, hand held out to touch my arm.

"What's wrong, Mom?"

I told him. Then I phoned my sister Karen, whom Dad had just called.

"Do you need me to come over?" I asked.

"I don't think so," she said. "I have two pastors sitting at my kitchen table. I'm all right."

"Okay. I'm going for a walk then and I'll talk to you later."

Everett did not want to come, so I headed for the field, crying all the while. Scott's dad drove past me in his truck, and I averted my eyes so he would not see. The sun shone and the wind blew and I walked along the fenceline, crying. Six horses came over to see me, and I greeted them and kept walking. It was the saddest walk I've ever taken, and lasted about an hour. When I came in, Everett said "I've decided life sucks."

I took the phone outside to the swing and dialed my sister Joan's home in Kelowna, where Dad had called from. Mom answered. I said "Is there anyone around there calm enough to tell me exactly what the doctor said?"

"That would be me," she said, and went on to repeat the doctor's words about how one kidney is about five times the size of the other and the cancer has spread to her lymph nodes and liver and they cannot operate or do chemo or radiation because it might make the cancer move faster rather than help anything.

"I don't want you hoping for a miracle," she told me bluntly. "I'm going to die, and you might as well face it. It's going to happen to you some day too, you know! So I just want to make the best of the time I have left, and be happy. I feel fine right now."

After I'd cried some more and thought it safe to drive, I went to Grandma's and told her I had bad news and she should sit down. I blubbered as I forced the words out. She clasped her tiny hands together and said "Oh no. I never thought I'd be hearing news like this today. Not your mother! She was always such a happy person, and healthy. It should be me; I'm old."

She did not shed a tear. Instead, she said, "Well, we have to accept what life gives us. That's all. I can't believe it."

Within a couple hours of Dad's phone call, itchy red spots were forming on my right forearm. By nightfall, both arms were covered.

~ little lamb lookalike ~

Dad phoned last night, returning my call. He said about Baby Ben that “He’s pretty goodlooking, and I don’t usually say that about newborn babies.” Obviously he's already got a soft spot for this one. Just looking at the photo Joan sent makes me happy (and sad at the same time, because I know how much Mom would love him), and the one of Jordan holding him makes me happy for her. I’m also glad for Dad, who will enjoy watching this little one grow.

Found out this morning that the little fellow is in the hospital again. Karen called to pass on the news that he wasn't peeing so yesterday Joan took him in right away and they discovered he was dehydrated. They're keeping him in a day or two for observation, but he seems to be all right. I haven't talked to Joan yet, for of course she's spending her time at the hospital. I had a feeling something was up when she wasn't home either yesterday afternoon or later in the evening when I tried to reach her. It wouldn't be unusual for Joan to be out and around a lot, but with a newborn ... less likely.

***

There is an elegant, long-necked, male northern pintail down at the creek, and a couple pairs of what I think (judging by the bird book) are goldeneyes, which I had mistakenly thought were buffleheads; there are many pairs of northern shovellers, and of course mallards and coots and blue-winged teals are ubiquitous. After living on a farm all these years, you'd think I'd have noticed all the wild birds before now. This year it’s as if a whole new avian world has opened up to me. I'm thinking as I stroll down the road with a big smile on my face, feeling utterly grateful, inhaling the scent of something (it has to be the poplar trees because I see no sign of wolf willows yet, though the smell reminds me of them) that hey, life doesn't get duller as you get older, it gets more fascinating. There are always new things to discover, apparently, and sometimes they've been under one's nose all along.

Was not quite as warm yesterday as I’d like, for wearing shorts, but didn’t find that out till I was already walking down the road. I went around past the corner and north to the north end of the creek, and spotted in the water three avocets and, among the usual suspects, a pair of what my Birds of Saskatchewan book identifies as canvasbacks.

Also saw a big muskrat (twice) swimming earnestly past me, a hawk (probably a red-tailed; I wasn't close enough to tell, but we have lots of them on the land just north of the yard) flying back and forth across the road ahead of me, a set of blackbirds (one sat peeping high in a tree along the road, and when on my way back I started singing, it did its bicycle-bell trill several times as I walked past, and put me to shame), and a grey-bodied, white-headed snowgoose that flew away when I tried to get close enough for a photo. Last night we identified a common bird in these parts as a merlin; this is a small hawk we always see north and east of the yard.

The Canada geese have not been at the creek the last few times I’ve walked down there, and I feared they'd nested somewhere else. But on the way back I saw one floating across the water, honking in some irritation, and then realized why: there was Sara, swimming earnestly after it. It must have been leading her away from a nest, otherwise it probably would have flown up and away before it reached the water's edge. Once it did, it flew low across the road and along the ditch on the other side, with Sara in full-out pursuit. I tell her -- "You'll never catch it, and if you do it'll take a round out of you," but she is determined to see for herself.

~ dog swimming after goose ~

Reprinted from "The Greenwater Report" by Jerry and Doreen Crawford in the Wadena News this week, following Mothers' Day:

"I took Doreen to the Beach Café for lunch today; things had slowed down after an early rush so we had no trouble finding a table. We had a great lunch, and a visit with Ted and Birdy Krzak. Connie was giving away a free plant to each mother. Ronnie Hirtle said he thought he should have one too, and Connie told him to go home, shave his legs, and come back with a skirt on, and she would give him a plant."

The Royal Canadian Mounted Police now contribute a list of criminal events in the area. FLFN is the Fishing Lake First Nation reserve just south of the farm here a few miles. This is also from the Wadena News:

"RCMP Report

May 8:
Theft at FLFN. Thieves took new shoes, left old ones behind."

***

The boys and I are off to Saskatoon later this afternoon. They'll spend the weekend with their dad at a hotel with a pool, and I'll be staying with a friend who is moving to Saskatchewan for a couple months to teach at the university.

I picked up a few packs of red nicotiana at the greenhouse the other day and planned to mix the old planter soil with some well-rotted manure before putting them into the pots. Before Scott left for work this morning I asked him to water them in the mornings, as these tiny plastic packs dry out every day if it's warm and sunny. He said, "I'll try." Usually he is on the ball enough to remember things like that, but after he drove off, I thought what the hell, I'll stick 'em in the dirt right now, then they're more likely to survive and he won't have to worry about them.

What a pleasure to do it, and to see it done. Flower Fever hasn't hit me this spring because it's been cool and wet and it looks like all my perennials will have to be moved away from the house so new weeping tile can be put in. Unless the garden is dry enough to be worked, new flower beds back against the trees will have to be dug. That's my plan for Sunday and Monday, with Everett's help. The boys have the day off school so I'll be taking advantage of that.

NP: silent house, but for the gurgle of the water running through the aquarium filter

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