10th June 2019

Last week we found out that the Nick Greeson Memorial scholarship had reached the $3000 mark.  On Friday, I spoke with two Humber representatives who told me that they were overwhelmed that we were able to raise that much money in such a short time.  "A remarkable achievement," Marlene announced. "We have enough money now to keep the scholarship going for another three years."  In November of this year, Matthew, myself and other family members will be attending the Humber Awards Ceremony where we will be honoured with the privilege of bestowing this award to another student who is/was struggling with medical issues while still demonstrating resilience and fortitude in the face of adversity -someone just like our Nick.  Thanks to all who contributed.  Please feel free to continue donating to this fund if you are so inclined.  We want to keep it going as long as possible.

(LINK TO NICK'S MEMORIAL SCHOLARSHIP)

I just received an email from a young man named Eric who works for the city in Parks and Recreation.  Based on my experience,  unlike many municipal employees, Eric is wonderful, articulate, caring, hardworking and makes things happen.  He informed me that the plaque at the skate park will be installed by the end of June.  I would like to have a little ceremony when this happens and, hopefully, some of you can come out for it.  I will keep you posted.  Thank you Eric!

Here also is some footage from the Forest City Music Awards where Matthew played with the award winning band of the night, Delta Stone and the Wardogs, and where an homage was quietly paid  to Nick who, during his brief time on this Earth, contributed immensely to the London music scene.

I was at the LCBO a short time ago, a place that I visit infrequently (Yeah, right!)  when I ran across one of Nicholas' and Vincent's teachers from Byron Northview.  He asked me how I was doing.  I gave my usual, blunt, unfiltered but honest response, "Shit."  But, much to my surprise,  rather than running away or laughing nervously because I didn't reply in the socially conventional manner, "I'm great.  Life is wonderful.  Yes, my son died at only 23 after a brutal 6 year battle, but, hell, life is for the living right?", he responded, "I'm not surprised.  How could you feel otherwise?" signalling that I could actually have a real conversation with this individual rather than filling up another awkward meeting with some bullshit small talk just so I could spare HIM/HER from feeling uncomfortable in my presence, something a lot of people in this society seem to expect from me.  God knows, no one wants to deal with the mother of a dead child, as it could disturb their qi.       

Anyway, he told me that, unbeknownst to myself, there had been a big tribute in Nick's honour at the end of September last year, during Nick's final week of life.  Even though Nick had only attended the school for a brief three years and had not actually been back there for over 8 years, they remembered him, not as a stellar student (because he wasn't), but as a man whose story demonstrated remarkable courage, strength and dignity, a story to inspire others in their lives.  There had been speeches, sidewalk drawings, music and here is what was posted on the school sign:

I wept when I saw this.




I would like to thank that teacher for not making me feel as if I'm a freak just because I'm still sad. I know I'm a freak, but for different reasons.  When at Goodlife two weeks ago, I was going through the motions of my life on the treadmill.  Our old Cub leader jumped on the machine next to me and asked how I was doing?  Again, I said, "Shit."  "Why? he obliviously asked.  "Gerry, you do know that Nick died, right? " "Yes, but wasn't that months ago?"  You don't want to know the expletives that came out of my mouth after that or, maybe you do.  Either way I will leave it to your imagination.   Unfortunately, he is fairly typical of the people I have come across lately.

It is so rare to talk with people who can handle the depth of our horrific loss.  So few people who don't run from my anger, my honesty, my tragedy, so few who are willing to stand with me in it and bear witness to our suffering.  No one will ever have the right words to comfort someone through a loss like this and the bereaved person is not looking for someone who has the right words.  They are looking for people who have the courage to stand with them in the muck, hold their hand while they cry, maybe cry with them and agree that, yes, this is shit and the weight of this shit will last a life time, so don't ever expect me to get over it, move on, achieve closure or even move forward because even when I seem to be moving and doing (walking the dog, working out, sitting with friends at restaurants, going to parties or travelling etc. etc. ) my head is always in the same place, with Nick.  A bereaved mother, who I usually walk with once a week, told me that it will take 10 years before I might experience some joy again.  I have actually heard similar things said before.  So,  at best, I have 10 more years of this anguish to go which, added with the six years of utterly atrocious torment we've already gone through, that makes 16 years of life totally shot to hell.     

The following is a passage from a book I read entitled It's O.k. You're Not O.k.  It perfectly encapsulates the experience of such a heart wrenching loss. 

There are few people who have stood by me these past seven years, not just for the Celebration of life (I went to the funeral so I guess I did my duty right?), but for all of the crap, whether it was the six years of Nick going through chemo, radiation or surgery or whether it was  sitting with Nick in the hospital while he was dying, or whether it was for all the emptiness and hell that came after Nick's death and is ongoing.  One of the few people who was willing to do this was and is my sister-in-law, Clare.  Just yesterday,  we attended a beautiful ceremony at Clare's church where she was baptized and spoke of how her fear and love for our son Nick had brought her to God as she sought strength and hope in a time of great sorrow and despair.  Here is a video of her speech in which she talks of her journey to God, publicly declaring her faith before the congregation of men and women who prayed and hoped for Nick during his entire cancer experience.  Matthew and I want to sincerely thank them for all of their support and I know that they continue to pray for us.  Thank you so much. 

For now we move from distraction to distraction in a mere semblance of living.  If you see Matthew or myself and we look happy, believe me, we're not.  You can't live on memories and you can't fix dead.  I can hear the platitude now, "Nick wouldn't want you to be like this."  I'm sure he wouldn't; but easier said than done.  Even though I'm grateful for many things that others don't have:  a house, a good job, good benefits, travel, another great son etc. etc. Nick's absence negates any gratitude I have for these things.  Whatever gave those things meaning is rendered non-existent.  Vinnie feels it too.  He needs to go back to school this fall in order to retain his huge scholarship (another thing we can add to our gratitude list, I guess), but he says his head is too full of Nick to concentrate on anything else.

A few more words,  ladies and gentleman. There is a hierarchy of suffering.  Don't compare the death of your dog, your grandfather, your grandmother,  father or mother or even your wife or husband to this.  There is nothing that is worse than the loss of your child and no amount of food, clothing, money, travel will fill the void marked by their absence.