No regrets

 My husband Daniel passed away last September 2021. We were together for 24 years. He battled leukaemia for five of those.

Daniel was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukaemia (AML) at age 73. The doctors told us he was too old to undergo chemotherapy and bone marrow transplant. They suggested a new type of medication that would be injected under the skin in his lower abdomen.

Before agreeing to that, I sought second and third opinions from other specialists but they came up with the same diagnosis.

We went to the hospital for his weekly injections. His prognosis was good and his haematologist marvelled at how well his body was responding to the medication. The doctors warned him, however, to stop travelling abroad to avoid catching foreign infections.

For four years, I watched my husband handle his disease like a boss. Nothing slowed him down. He continued working as a freelance writer. He made short trips around British Columbia and wrote about people, places, and social issues that were regularly neglected by mainstream media. I joined him on many of these forays and got to observe how he did interviews and interacted with people, how he noted tiny details material to his story.

Daniel was organized, disciplined, and focused, both professionally and personally. He was fearless. He was creative. These qualities made him one of the most awarded magazine writers in Canada.

To my husband’s credit, he had faith in my writing ability. He believed that if I worked a little harder and procrastinated less, I could achieve so much more. He tried very hard to encourage me, but failed miserably. Unlike him, I mostly rely on inspiration. I was just too lazy.

Daniel spoiled me every day. He planned and cooked all our meals. He vacuumed and dusted while I sat around and read. He kept me supplied with my favourite treats. He bought me nice things.

Mostly though, he loved winning arguments. It helped that he had a strong personality and a loud voice. I compared him to a Zamboni. He could run me over and flatten me like a pancake, if I allowed him. Whenever I was right, I stood my ground firmly during a disagreement until he realized that being taller and louder didn’t ensure victory all the time.

Our loud discussions tapered about 11 years ago, after one of my visits to the Philippines. During that trip, my fourth big brother was stabbed and killed by a drug addict. He was my favourite big brother and my best friend. There were so many things I still wanted to do to help make his life better, but I missed my chance.

In my work as a writer, community volunteer and advocate for foreign domestics in Canada, I have seen and written about suicide, separations and failure. I’ve listened to grieving family members reminding others to do their best for loved ones before it got too late. Somehow, those words never touched me until I lost my big brother, until I felt like I was drowning under relentless waves of guilt and regret because I failed my big brother.

That event changed my attitude towards relationships. I promised myself that from that day on, I would try to live a life without guilt or regret. To be kind to everybody, to love my people the best way I can, every day, without becoming a push-over. To pick my battles. To express my side during arguments without enmity. To listen without judgement. To forgive myself when I fail.

Two years ago on March 2020, Covid-19 was declared a pandemic. Canada went into lockdown. People lost their jobs. Businesses closed. I happily stayed at home with Daniel. He was a sociable person who thrived on company. I prayed very hard that I would stay healthy and not leave my husband behind. I didn’t want him to end up sick and alone.

Six months ago during a writing trip, Daniel contracted pneumonia, which in turn worsened his leukaemia. He ended up in the hospital twice. I stayed there with him 24 hours a day and read the news to him. I fed him his favourite ice cream. I sang to him. He thanked me repeatedly for looking after him so well. When he decided to die at home, we hired a nurse to help me out. I sat beside him most of the time and held his hand until it was time for him to go.

Today I feel so very bereft. I miss Daniel so much, but I have no regrets. I am guilt-free.

(Previously published on the Mill Woods Mosaic, January 15th, 2022)