One year ago, my life changed forever. On February 8, 2021, my beautiful, wise, always positive mom was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer. It was her 73rd birthday.
The night before, I sent her a text: “Hi Bubby. How are you feeling? We have a special Zoom planned for your birthday.”
The year was already off to a rocky start. On January 1, 2021, my mom tested positive for Covid. She had been feeling on and off for the days leading up to that. On one of her “on” days, December 27, 2020, my family and I went for a walk with her around her neighbourhood at Bathurst and Lawrence. We walked to Prince Charles park and circled it a couple of times before walking my mom back to her apartment on Covington. She spoke to my daughter, her firstborn grandchild, about books, and she enjoyed watching her handsome grandsons play in the snow. On December 31, she was feeling off again so I booked her a Covid test at Sunnybrook hospital. We wore masks, she sat in the back seat, and I kept the windows open. The next day, I checked my mom’s results on the Ontario Covid website and I saw the word POSITIVE staring back at me. I ran downstairs with my laptop to show Asher to make sure my eyes were not deceiving me. They weren’t. Remember, this was before vaccines. This was scary.
I don’t remember the details, but I must have called her to tell her and my dad. And then my sister, Elissa. My dad moved to their second bedroom and they isolated from each other as much as possible. If my dad got it, we never knew. He didn’t have any symptoms and no one wanted to get in a car with him to take him to get tested. We just hoped for the best.
For the next month, I felt helpless. I couldn’t help my mom physically as she was in isolation. She was never a complainer (about anything) but she did say she felt weak and had several symptoms. After a few weeks, she still wasn’t feeling better. On February 3, she went for a scan ordered by her doctor, unrelated to Covid. Dov, my sister’s husband, took her. I had a packed day at work and some important meetings. I still have guilt about not being available to take her.
On the morning of February 8, 2021, I missed a call from my dad sometime around 9:30 am. I was probably on a work call and planned to call my mom to say happy birthday right after. When I called back, I don’t remember if I spoke to him or my mom directly. But in words I can’t remember exactly, it was revealed to me that they had just finished a phone call with my mom’s doctor and he advised my mom to go to the Emergency department of Sunnybrook Hospital right away. She had pancreatic cancer. “Stage 4” wasn’t mentioned right away, but it was later that day or the next day, by one of the kind doctors at Sunnybrook. I called Asher into my home office and shared the shocking news. I then checked my voicemail – my dad, panicked, said my mom needed to go to Sunnybrook to “cut the cancer out of her.” He clearly didn’t understand and wasn’t prepared for what was to come.
Not being well-versed in the world of medicine (I am terrified of most thing medical), I didn’t quite understand what was happening and why she was being told to go to the Emergency department, and had to wait several hours to see someone given she was so sick. Elissa took my mom to the hospital and I relieved her a few hours later. I remember so clearly, even though it was her birthday and this horrible thing was happening, I didn’t hug her. Walking together towards her condo later that day to check on my dad, I asked Elissa if she hugged her and she said she did. Since March 2020, we had been told not to hug or touch anyone outside our household. Besides the brief respite in the summer when cases were low, we pretty much stuck to those rules. I wish I had broken the rules that day.
I held her hand and we waited for a few hours until she was finally called in. I didn’t know what to expect. But I suspect she did. Pancreatic cancer took her mom’s life, my Bubby’s life, when my Bubby was just 60 years old. My mom was 38 and had lost her dad only six months earlier.
Because it was Covid times, no one could go in with her. Thank goodness she had her phone and my sister and I later brought a charger for the staff to deliver to her. She was allowed one visitor that week and we decided Elissa would be the one. Our worry during this time was exacerbated by the fact that she had early onset Alzheimer’s and we wanted to ensure we understood what was happening and we could advocate for her.
On February 9, I sat down on the floor of my bedroom with tears streaming down my cheeks as I wrote the following words. I clicked send at 11:08 pm.
Dear friends and family,
By now you have likely heard the heartbreaking news related to Cheryle’s health.
She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer yesterday, on her 73rd birthday. As you may know, this is the disease that cut her own mother’s life short, at the age of 60.
She has not been feeling well since late December and tested positive for Covid on Jan. 1. The cancer diagnosis came after an ultrasound and CT Scan – steps that were taken when we suspected her pain and symptoms were not lingering from Covid. Since we know you will ask, we feel it’s important to share that her cancer is in stage 4 and is not contained to the pancreas.
She is currently at Sunnybrook and in fact just moved to a room tonight after being in Emergency for 2 days, where her family doctor sent her yesterday morning. She has seen a number of specialists, including the team focused on pain management (she’ll never pass up some good pain killers!) We are taking it one day at a time – and doing our best to advocate for her and ensure she is comfortable. As usual, she is in good spirits and has not complained for a moment. She is a true rock and we look forward to bringing her home when we can.
We are grateful for all your messages, love, support, and prayers – we have passed them all along to her and we know some of you have been in touch with her directly.
Henry is hanging in – in shock and processing this heartbreaking news about his cherished Chersie.
As you know, she is the most incredible wife, mother, mother-in-law, Bubby, sister, cousin, and friend and we are all trying our best to be strong for her. The kids made some cards for her which we brought down to the hospital tonight along with some essential items. We could not see her due to Covid restrictions but we hope we will be able to in the coming days.
Keep our beautiful Chersie in your thoughts and prayers and we’ll continue to share updates as they come. Her Hebrew name is Susha bat Hyah.
Xo
Henry, Elissa, Dov, Jori, and Asher
Feb. 8 was a Monday and she was discharged on Friday. She was relieved to be back home, in her own bed in her own sheets. That’s all she wanted – her fresh, clean sheets.
The next day, her five treasured grandkids (and grand-dog) came over and performed “The Wizard of Oz” for her – her favourite movie. The performance was originally planned for her birthday Zoom…but life had other plans. She was so tired but she managed to stay awake to watch the show. Absolutely nothing gave my mom more joy than her grandkids.
For the next week or so, she slept most of the day as a result of all the new medications she was on. After about 10 days, her body became more accustomed to the meds and she was awake for longer stretches. Some friends and family visited and loved ones sent food and flowers. We had Shabbat dinner together on Friday, February 19 and 26. My family, Elissa’s family, and my mom and dad. I have a video of us singing the blessings and a few photos. She is smiling and looks beautiful – being surrounded by all her “dividends” is all she ever wanted or needed.
She never liked the cold but agreed some fresh air would feel good. This is her on the balcony of her condo on February 20, 2021. She had put on some makeup and looks so beautiful – you would never know she was sick. Her sister, Karen, visited that day and I took a picture of them on the balcony together. It’s probably their last picture together.
For the next month, Elissa and I continued working during the day and visiting at night, managing caregivers and everything else that needed to be coordinated.
I recall friends would call me and Asher would talk to them. I would just shake my head no – I just couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I was trembling and crying a lot. The kids were naturally worried too. They were incredibly close with their Bubby and it was very hard to see their mom so broken. I had so many emotions: angry, sad, guilty…rinse and repeat day after day.
Amidst my storm of emotions, I tried to savour each moment with her. We watched her favourite, Jeopardy, and clips on YouTube of her beloved comedies – including I Love Lucy which she adored. I so wanted to know what was going on in her head but I just couldn’t bring myself to ask her. I didn’t want to add salt to this horrible, ugly wound. I remember snuggling in bed with her one day and the tears started flowing. Mine, not hers. She put her arm around me and simply said: “Oh Jori…why are you crying? Please don’t cry.” I said I just loved her so much and I’m so sorry. If you can imagine, she was comforting me.
My mom’s first chemo appointment was scheduled for the morning of March 8. I arrived at their condo early to make sure we had enough time. When I stepped into their bedroom, my mom was sitting on the edge of the bed and her face was bloody and her nose was bruised. Immediately, my legs became weak and I had to crouch down because I was feeling lightheaded. As it turns out, she fell in the middle of the night. There was still blood on the bathroom floor. I asked why she / they didn’t warn me, knowing I have such a weak stomach for these things! She agreed – she said to my dad: “We should have warned her.” I lay on the living room floor for about ten minutes before I could stand up. Water and some deep breaths helped. She was the one with cancer and a broken and bloody nose and I was the one who was losing it…go figure.
Seeing my reaction (which came as no surprise to her frankly), she said quietly “Maybe Elissa should take me today. She’s better with these things than you are.” That was / is definitely true but I was able to gain my composure and continue with the task at hand: take my mom to her first chemo appointment. When we arrived, the nurse took one look at her nose and said the doctor may postpone chemo because of it. While we waited for the doctor, we watched clips of Curb Your Enthusiasm and I Love Lucy on my laptop. I was determined to make her laugh as much as possible in the time we had together. And laugh she did. In fact, she was howling in that waiting room. Curb and Lucy were two of mom’s favourite shows – plus her beloved Seinfeld. I remember years ago she told me one of the reasons she loved Seinfeld is because he was able to make people laugh without being vulgar or swearing all the time. How so very true.
I wrote this email to our close family and friends on March 16:
Dear loved ones,
While many of you have been in touch with us via email, texts, and phone calls, and have had a chance to connect with Mom directly, it’s been a while since we sent out a note.
Mom received her first chemo treatment yesterday (she slept most of today as a result). Elissa took her – the day started very early with a port insertion followed by waiting and then finally chemo. As usual she was a rock star. Amazingly, in each of her visits to the hospital, we’ve received sure signs that her family is watching over her. A few weeks ago, at one of her first appointments at the Odette Cancer Centre, there was a nurse named Helen (sharing the same name as her mom). Last Monday, the day she was supposed to have her first chemo treatment but instead ended up at Emergency due to a fall which caused a broken nose…oy vey!) there was a nurse named Karen (sharing the same name as her sister). And yesterday, she met a fellow chemo patient named Anna (sharing her mom Helen’s middle name). Seriously…what are the chances!?!
Back to the nose for a minute…when she heard she may need a nose job as a result of the break, she got pretty excited. When we finally picked her up from the hospital at 8 pm that night (oy! What a day/night!) Elissa said it was just like a Seinfeld episode. We could imagine Elaine having to choose between a nose job and chemo – and needing the doctors to convince her chemo needed to be prioritized. Needless to say, after an ENT visit this past Friday, no repair to the nose is needed (sorry mom!) and Chemo went ahead as scheduled yesterday.
We continue to do our best to ensure our beautiful Mom and Bubby is comfortable and safe…and entertained! Of course, she adores calls and visits with the grandkids. And she howls with laughter watching YouTube clips of her favourites: I Love Lucy, Seinfeld, and Curb Your Enthusiasm. She also loves having her own blogs with her precious childhood memories read back to her and watching clips of her favourite singers and bands. A few nights ago, she enjoyed front row tickets to her own personal “iPad concert” featuring The Jersey Boys, Carole King, Buddy Holly, and the Beatles. And looking at old photos is a favourite pastime these days too.
Please continue to pray for her. As a reminder, her Hebrew name is Susha bat Hyah. Xo
With love and gratitude,
Henry, Elissa, Dov, Jori, & Asher
A week after her one and only chemo treatment, on Sunday, March 21, my mom was admitted to the hospital with an infection. She was weak and could barely move or communicate. Only one visitor was allowed and only two times a week. During one visit, I asked her to recite letters to her grandkids and I brought my laptop to document her words.
To my special grandchildren,
As you grow, I wish you to always remember to be honest, be true to yourself, and always recall your morals – always think…is this the right thing to do? Keep your moral boundaries straight – never forget them because that’s what your life will always be based on. Because if you’re not honest with yourself, you’re living a lie. Remember what your parents have taught you.
It’s always been an honour to be a bubby to my special grandchildren. You boost me up when I’m feeling low. You make me laugh…always. I love that I hear from you so frequently and please know that adore all of you – you are each special in your own way.
Elie,
You are one of the funniest kids I know. You make us laugh, you sing, you dance, and you are constantly entertaining us with song and dance. You’re like an old soul – you could have been a vaudeville entertainer. You always participate no matter how tired you seem to be and we love you for it.
Gavey,
You’re very special because you’re quiet, thoughtful, and very introspective. You think of others all the time and you’re quite sensitive to how others feel and try to never hurt anyone’s feelings. I think that’s quite rare for your age. But of course that’s part of your maturity.
Lielle,
You are extremely aware of pretty much everything around you and are very sociable. I believe that’s your favourite thing – to be sociable. You love to be with other people, hang out and make new friends all the time and you are pretty adept at it! You have a slew of friends and they obviously love you – that says a lot about you Lielle.
Shayne,
You have evolved into a very mature young lady. You seem to have come out of your shy shell and you seem to try things that you likely weren’t comfortable with maybe just a few years ago. Coming out of your shy shell was a good thing because it has allowed you to explore different friendships and interests.
Rylan,
You’re sporty, pretty much enjoying most sports especially hockey. You are kind of made for it because are you so tall. I miss seeing you on the ice but hopefully it shall return.
She was in the hospital over Passover and the nurses helped her Zoom from her iPad. She was still somewhat “with it” but very, very weak. Over this same time, I was frantically trying to finish reviewing and adding photos to her memoir which she wrote through a company called Storyworth. At a friend’s suggestion, my sister and I purchased a subscription for her 72nd birthday. For a year, she received a question each Monday and would draft and submit her answers. I read most of them as she composed them throughout the year but now I needed to do a final review / edit. Questions ranged from “What books did you read as a child?” to “How did you spend your summers growing up?” and everything in between. Karen told me my mom would call her every Monday to talk about what she was writing and Karen would help her remember dates, moments, and milestones.
The last piece she wrote was on January 4, 2021, shortly after she tested positive for Covid. The question prompt was: Tell me about an adventure you’ve been on. Not surprisingly, some of the last words she wrote were about being grateful and staying positive.
So I really do have a lot to be thankful for…and I look forward to the future, when this virus is behind us, and we can return to a normalized lifestyle. Stay safe and healthy in the meantime. And about those adventures…keep ‘em!!!
One night, Elissa, Dov, Asher, and I planted ourselves in my bedroom and sifted through dozens of old albums. I then selected the final photos to add to the book and finished the editing process on the Storyworth website. I was desperate for her to see the book before she passed. I asked the company to rush it – and they came through. On March 31, she was discharged from the hospital. The book arrived the day before and I brought it with me when I picked her. I was so relieved she could see her beautiful book – completed, printed, and perfect. I also posted each chapter on her WordPress site, TheBloggingBubby, which I set up for her many years ago when I first encouraged her to write. Needless to say, her book is a priceless treasure.
In the month following her diagnosis, when she was still walking, eating, and watching TV, I asked her to recite one more blog about being a mom and how we were as kids. I have few memories of my early childhood so I really, really wanted that blog. Unfortunately, each time I asked her, she responded: “I’m too tired now, we’ll get to it later sweetie.” But we never did. While I’m sad she never penned that piece, the most important aspect of my childhood is that I was deeply and unconditionally loved by her.
Before she was discharged on March 31, we had a meeting with all the doctors and specialists. She walked with a walker to the visitor’s room down the hall where the meeting was taking place. It was the last time she walked. Elissa and my dad joined via Zoom. My mom was too weak for anymore chemo. One was all her body could tolerate. She was going home and our goal was to make her as comfortable as possible. She understood and seemed at peace. Everyone understood except for my dad. He thought there would be more chemo, more something. He couldn’t accept that it was the beginning of the end. Eventually he did but he didn’t in that moment.
During the ten days my mom spent in the hospital, she aged twenty years. I knew time was quickly running out and I promptly made the decision to take a short term leave from work. Elissa did too. For both of us, our last day was April 9. The next month was like a blur. I know I spent as much time as possible with my mom, while also caring for my own family, and myself. I set aside time to walk on the treadmill regularly to give my body the care it needed. I had trouble (and still do) sleeping. I can’t sleep without taking something to nudge the process.
My mom was sleeping most of the time. She was so weak. My stomach was in knots and my body was tense and tight all the time. My heart was heavy and constantly pounding. Her palliative care doctor visited every couple of days. His presence was comforting. But the waiting was excruciating. Waiting for her to pass. I honestly don’t know how I survived that time. I was emotionally and physically exhausted.
During one of the last times she was in a wheelchair with the help of caregivers, she was sitting at her kitchen table and I played Carol King’s “You’ve Got a Friend” on my phone. Shortly before, I had tidied up her kitchen table which had been strewn with my dad’s vitamins and papers. I put a clean tablecloth down and placed a vase of flowers in the centre of the table. She deserves to look at something fresh and pretty, I thought.
I wrote a letter and read it to her – twice. The first time she was barely awake so I read it a second time, praying she would leave this world having heard these important words. I was also comforted by the fact that I had expressed my love to her many times over the years, including in these two blogs: A Tribute to My Amazing Mom, written in 2016; and Curious Questions, Priceless Answers: My Remarkable Mom at 71, written in 2019. When she was first diagnosed, I told her I was sorry for being so difficult when I was 16. She said she didn’t remember! I suppose mothers forget these things and hang onto the love much more tightly. Elissa read a letter to her too. She was surrounded by love in her last days – that I can say for sure.
Our Rabbi, Tzvi Sytner from the Village Shul, visited her bedside a couple of times. One time, about a week before she passed, he visited around 10 pm at night. She had barely opened her eyes over the last couple of days but when she heard his voice, she perked up a bit. It was an extraordinary moment. In the years she had known him, she had affectionately referred to him as “such a doll” and always enjoyed his presence so I’m not totally surprised this happened. He sang some beautiful prayers which seemed to comfort her. He came again the day before she passed. We sang and prayed again. It was beautiful, devastating, and comforting all at once.
During one visit, after weeks of barely speaking, she opened her eyes and looked at Elissa standing at the foot of her bed. She said casually and matter-of-factly: “Elissa, it looks like you lost weight.” We smiled and chuckled – it was such a normal thing for her to say and these were not normal times.
On the morning of Monday, May 10, the day after Mother’s day, I went to her apartment to meet my dad, sister, and the doctor. We had talked over the weeks about the dying process and the idea of removing her oxygen when the doctor could know confidently she was sedated and would not suffer. That day had come.
I went home and took something for my anxiety which made me very drowsy. I never nap but I did that afternoon. At around 5:00 pm, I was startled awake by my phone ringing beside me. It was my dad. He said I needed to come back. He could sense her breathing changing. He felt the end was coming.
Elissa and I returned to her bedside. I played “Over the Rainbow” on my phone and we all held her hand and held each other. At around 6:30 pm she took her last breath. Ironically, that’s when I could finally breathe. The agonizing wait was over. The unbearable anticipation had come to an end. As a wise friend described it, I had been bracing for impact for such a long time (but such a short time all at once). And when it happened, my body finally started to relax.
There were so many tears. I still have days when I wonder if it’s all been a terrible dream.
In her last moments, I envisioned her being welcomed to heaven by her mom and dad who she hadn’t seen for 35 years. It’s all I could think of to make the moment hurt just a little less. Their reunion would surely be bittersweet. They would wonder why she was there so soon but embrace her joyously at the same time. While she didn’t talk about them often, I know she missed them terribly all these years. To mark 30 years since they passed, she wrote beautiful pieces about her loving mom and devoted dad. Now they would be reunited and that brought me some peace.
My mom’s funeral was May 12. Because of Covid rules, only nine people were permitted to attend, plus the Rabbi. My oldest, Lielle, and Elissa’s oldest, Rylan, represented the grandkids. Me, my dad, Asher, Lielle, Elissa, Dov, Rylan, and my mom’s sister, Karen, and her husband Bryant, made nine. My dad’s sister, my wonderful aunt Marlene, stayed with the rest of the grandkids and joined via livestream along with extended family and treasured friends.
My mom was always my editor in chief and now I had to write (and read) something that she did not proof. I did my best. Below are the words I spoke that day.
Friends, thank you for taking the time to read my story. Asher, thank you for encouraging me to write it. Although the process of writing this brought many, many tears, I really did need to get it out. I suppose this is part of my grieving process. I do think it’s worth sharing that on any given day, while I think of my mom many times throughout the day and I miss her terribly, I also sing (loudly!) lots of happy Disney songs (often much to my kids’ horror). Life is funny that way: we can feel many different feels all at once. xo
My mom was born Cheryle Dalene Gurevitch in Kirkland Lake, Ontario, on February 8, 1948. Her parents, her younger sister Karen, and my mom moved to Toronto when my mom was about 7 years old. If I could only use a few words to describe her childhood, they would be: happy, magical, and innocent. In her book, she describes her parents, my grandparents, Dave and Helen, as nurturing, generous, and incredibly devoted. Her dad was sweet, gentle, and pure – he loved nature and his guitar. Her mom was independent, fashion-forward, creative – and her generosity had no bounds.
Mom, I will forever cherish your published memoir. Your touching anecdotes leave no doubt in my mind that your childhood was simply precious.
It’s no wonder you were who you were – a mom and bubby who, in your own words, was “obsessed” with your grandkids. You wrote: When I watch them, listen to them, embrace them, I can never get enough of them. Perhaps I am obsessed, but in a good way. I suppose I come by my own obsession over my kids naturally.
From a young age, you knew you wanted to be a teacher and proudly fulfilled your calling for over 46 years. But your teaching did not stop in your classroom…
I called you (often!) from Montreal to read my Concordia assignments over the phone. You were probably so tired from a full day of teaching – but you always listened! Your editing continued when I started blogging years later. Not a blog was published without your eyes on it first.
Thank you for passing on your love of the written word and your talent. I’m honoured that it lives on in me…and in your first grandchild Lielle – smart and thoughtful, Gave – sweet and wise, and Elie – sensitive and spunky.
Over the years, you and Zayda literally dropped everything to be with your precious “dividends”. You never missed a ceremony, recital, play, birthday…and even a few hockey games (close arenas only…I don’t blame you!) You loved watching them bloom individually and observing the relationships bloom among the 5 of them. Their tight cousin bond gave you incredible joy. Less than 3 years ago, you were beaming and beautiful at Lielle’s Bat Mitzvah. And a month ago, your heart was bursting with pride as Gave, sitting next to you in your living room, recited what he has learned of his Bar Mitzvah portion so far – a Simcha we’ll celebrate in October, with you smiling down on us.
One of my favourite recent memories is playing Telestrations as a family – all cousins included of course! It was always a hoot when you and Elie sat close together – you had to guess his drawings or he had to guess yours. What ensued was priceless!
On March 8 we went to the hospital for what was supposed to be your first chemo treatment and we even had fun there! While we waited for the doctor to assess you following your fall which we found out hours later resulted in a broken nose, we watched clips of Seinfeld, I Love Lucy, and Curb Your Enthusiasm and you were howling. You ALWAYS looked on the bright side, counted your blessings, and focused on laughter – except when you were focused on knowledge, every day at 7:30 pm with your beloved Alex Trebek and Jeopardy. The only time you wouldn’t answer the phone and I had to call back. And your beloved books of course.
Elissa, Dov, Asher, I, and the kids all loved having you in Mexico for your 70th bday. I know you loved that trip and soaked up the sun – and, more importantly, every minute with your precious grandkids.
Everyone loved and adored you and you live on in all of our hearts. You made everyone feel special and engaged with those around you in such a genuine way – with your warm smile and sparking hazel eyes. You always made room for good friends in your life – I believe this was especially because you lost both your parents at such a young age. You friends were you family.
Not surprisingly, my friends adored you too! You always took a genuine interest in their lives and loved catching up. My friends were your friends – more in fact. You treated them like your own. And as kids and teenagers, our home (and pool! And basement! And basement bar!) were always open.
I believe you used the word Lucky about 20 times in your book. Well, I am the luckiest daughter and my kids are the luckiest grandkids to have had such a loving, generous, and wise mom and bubby. I already miss asking you for advice about kid stuff or work stuff and they miss their Bubby dearly. I remind them that you are watching over them always, with a Kit Kat bar in hand, and that you live within each of them.
On behalf of our families, my aunt Karen, and my dad, I want to express our sincere gratitude for the love and support our friends and family have shown us over the past few months. The calls, texts, meals, flowers, and prayers have all helped us get through this devastating time. Finally, my mom was cared for by devoted and gentle caregivers at home and for that we are extremely grateful.
Mom…you wrote the following 5 years ago about your own mom:
When you succumbed to pancreatic cancer on December 5th, 1986, I lost a piece of my heart. It has been and continues to be a privilege to be your daughter.
Today, with a broken heart, I say:
When you succumbed to pancreatic cancer on May 10, 2021, I lost a piece of my heart. It has been and continues to be a privilege to be your daughter.
I pray you are at peace…somewhere over the rainbow.
myclaritymylight 