You will have heard me make mention of my friend Sylvain, always known as Syl by his friends, in recent blog posts. You will also have heard me talk about his stay in palliative care due to the development of a rare and aggressive cancer that started a few months ago. It was late summer when he started to mention abdominal discomfort that just wouldn’t go away. It took the doctors a while to sort out what was happening, but eventually the diagnosis was given. Terminal cancer, with no available treatment, with the exception of pain management, which would prove effective. Syl passed away about 6:00 AM on December 29, 2024, after about three weeks in palliative care. Both Denise and I visited regularly, but not in the last week, as the family wanted the time that was left for themselves only. We understood how that would be the case, as we could both envision that that is how we would like it, if it was us in that situation.
Syl, and his wife Charlene, were one of the few couples I wrote about in my memoirs, the chapter I called Notable Friends. Denise met Charlene when she first started teaching, so about 43 or 44 years ago. They hit it off right away, and besides enjoying being colleagues, they became good friends outside of work as well. I met Charlene, and her husband Syl, when I first started to date Denise, and started to meet her friends. I hit it off with both Charlene and Syl right away. They welcomed me into their world, and we would stay friends all through life. Over the years we spent quite a bit of time together, almost always as couples. We would visit as a group, the four of us, or occasionally Denise and Charlene having one conversation, while Syl and I another.
Syl worked as a computer programmer for the University of Saskatchewan, right from his summer job placements during summer breaks from university classes, all the way through to his retirement a few decades later. Syl and I talked lots about computers, his work and other experiences, and quite often about TV shows that we watched. Although Syl was always quite quiet and reserved, I could always get him talking on a deeper level about family, growing up, and feelings about this and that when I moved things toward the personal level.
Syl was an avid golfer and spent many hours on the courses here and in the USA when he and Charlene went south for the winter after both had retired. In the later years, Syl volunteered as a golf-course rater in Saskatchewan. Syl even developed a device for measuring the distance and altitude for holes, for documentation and the like. I helped Syl with this by designing and 3D printing a plastic case to house the device. It’s funny but while doing this project, I can state that it is the only time we spent together, just the boys. He was interested in 3D printing, so I had him over for a full deep dive and look at 3D printing. Syl also developed an app just recently to manage passwords. It was so cool to see how he liked doing this type of thing and how he shared it with me. Although subdued, as I said, I could always see that he was happy about his hobbies and liked it when I showed interest.
While visiting Syl in palliative care I told him that I thought he was leaving a wonderful legacy. That he was always kind and unassuming. He always took care of his family and never gave them cause for concern. Well, except for his honey-do lists, which he would do in Syl-time. There was always a running joke about that all the years we had known him. No, I didn’t mention the honey-do list at this time, but I thought of it while writing this blog post and thought that it was prudent to do so here, as you will see in the next paragraph.
While in palliative care, I asked Syl if he was afraid to die. He said that he wasn’t afraid, but he was feeling bad about some of the things that he had left undone, like not getting the basement or garage cleaned out, lightening the load as it were. Poor Syl, these were undoubtedly things on his honey-do list that he put off too long and was now leaving for Charlene to deal with.
I should mention that Syl and Charlene have one son, who I am sure will miss his father dearly. Syl did not have any grandchildren. Syl was also the youngest of about eight siblings, with all but one already passed on.
I have so many good memories of times spent with Syl and Charlene, and their son in earlier years, before he moved on into his own world, as that saying goes, with his own friends and interests.
Most years, Syl and Charlene would invite us up to their cabin at Shell Lake for the day, or occasionally a weekend. Syl had a boat for many of those years, seen behind the dock in the image below, and he would take us for rides and tubing, which the kids loved as the look on Emma’s face indicates. Syl and Charlene would always provide a great supper after the day’s activities, Syl barbequing, and Charlene whipping up the rest.
Emma by Boat Dock – Photo by Don Cheke
One vivid memory of the lake, one that I always reminded Syl of, was when he was building the cabin itself, a project he took on himself and did all the work. The memory is from a time when he asked if I and another friend of his would come and help him put up the main walls and the roof trusses, something he couldn’t do on his own. It sounds like a simple thing, but the floor was already a good distance off the ground (on the lake side) as it was built into a hill on stilts and the design was a large A-frame, so almost two stories high at the peak, three stories off the ground. It is something like the one below that I had ChatGPT create, only without the dormer window and the living space below the main floor. Syl’s was open to the ground below the main floor and had a lot more stilts. It also had many more trees all around it, as you can imagine the northern lakes of Saskatchewan have.
A-Frame Cabin – AI Generated – DALL·E 2024-12-30 19.50.01
We got the walls up, with only the front lakeside wall crashing back down during the lift. Good thing it fell back on the floor and not off the far deep end. Putting up the roof trusses was a huge effort but we got them up and Syl strung them together as needed, all on his own while up at the top of them. He wouldn’t let me and the other friend up there due to the danger of the task. For years I always brought up Syl’s bravery, or craziness, for taking on this part of the project. This is also the trip that Charlene asked if I would eat chili, if she sent some up for our lunch. I said, “as long as it doesn’t have beans.” She said, “Huh!?” but we had chili without beans when all was said and done. That was a long time ago, but it set the stage for me offering suggestions or inquiring about what we would have for our annual Christmas dinner at their place with them, and our other notable friends, Ben and Lynda. I would start with questions and suggestions in and around July, just to be a pest. So much fun!
Speaking about the lake and tubing, wouldn’t you know it, it was the summer after Denise had had her cardiac arrest and we had nearly lost her that we were at Syl and Charlene’s cabin and Syl asked if anyone wanted to go tubing. Denise said that she did, and much to Emma and my shock and horror, he took her while we were in the boat watching. Well, the look on Dee’s face was priceless! I had never seen her so happy and free; it was like she was alive for the very first time and in the throes of joy. Denise reminded Sly that this is one of her best memories when she was visiting him in palliative care and they both had a cry, tears of joy for sure. A beautiful thing, I must say.
I took the picture below in the spring of this year. I call it Little Bird Lost. In its horror, it reminds me that when life ceases, the being’s essence is gone, you can see it clearly, there is no doubt about it. It is the look of death. The further along Syl moved towards death, the more he looked like the little bird lost, as his organs failed and he turned several shades of yellow and purple. Why must he linger and suffer so long, I asked the wind….
Little Bird Lost – Photo by Don Cheke
The older I get, the more I realize that everyone will pass away at some point in time. It is quite disturbing when those that die are among one’s notable friends. A few years ago, we lost Lynda to cancer. Lynda died at home in a hospital bed that Ben had rented for her. As such, I didn’t spend much time there during her move towards the end, I guess it was because I felt it was her home, her sacred space, and I didn’t want to disturb or intrude on that. Denise visited a few times, I remember that.
Sometimes when Denise and I have talked about death and dying, I talk about how distressing it is that everyone that comes along, that makes an impression, perhaps as a musician in a rock band, or a writer of wonderful books, just simply dies. I think, what’s the point, but come around quickly to the realization that we do leave a legacy behind us, and that counts for something. It means that we mattered, and that we did leave something that will have a lasting effect, or at least that’s the hope.
Speaking of leaving a legacy, I have noted that more and more people seem to be coming to the realization that there is no afterlife, as one might consider heaven, or other such place, where we meet up with those that went before us, or where all our questions we have while living will be answered. I was reading a book called Dealing Justice by J.D. Trafford when I came across the lines below. They resonated with me enough that I wanted to include them here. They are about a character’s visit to the morgue (I think that was it), and their father’s funeral.
There is no hierarchy in the morgue. Rich and poor, good and bad are treated the same, and everyone eventually ends up in the same place, either in the ground or in a jar filled with ash. That, I think, is the most disturbing, and perhaps why the belief in some form of after-life, heaven, or reincarnation is so pervasive, crossing cultures over millennia. It’s just too horrible to imagine the life that we were given is the only life we will ever get.
These were the frightening thoughts I have when haunted in my dreams.
As the priest talked about my father and heaven, he seemed so sure of himself. I looked down and realized my arms were folded across my chest, skeptical. I have no idea whether heaven exists. In many ways, I hope there is a heaven. It’d be nice to talk to my father again. We’ve still got lots of things to discuss.
But I’m doubtful, very doubtful.
The more I thought about it as I sat on the cold, hard, wooden pew, the only eternal life that I think exists was not found in the clouds, but in the people left behind. The effect of our daily interactions was the long tail through the generations, following the dead long after they’re gone. Thus, instead of talking about eternal life, I wished the priest would be talking about our eternal legacy.
Trafford, J.D. – Dealing Justice: A Thriller (Dark River Series Book 2) (pp. 72-73). Temple Bar Press. Kindle Edition.
Isn’t that wonderful, “our eternal legacy.”
We spend a great many years heading towards death. Out of curiosity I asked ChatGPT at what point do people stop growing and start towards aging and eventually death, what is the turning point? It stated that we hit the plateau and maintenance phase in the early to mid-30’s and hit the onset of aging in the mid-30’s to 40s. As I said, that is a long time to be dying. I was reminded of this in the book I was reading at the time of writing this blog post. It was a very bizarre book, but very well written. I suggested it to Denise and she is having a hard time putting it down, it is that kind of book. At any rate, there was some talk about dying in the book by one of the characters, and it seemed timely for this blog post, and for my thoughts about the journey to the end. Here is the short quote.
“I’m not afraid of dying,” I told him. I had been born dead, after all, but was still here. “If you live long enough, you’ve already perished a little. Maybe life is a bit-by-bit death.”
Baggott, Julianna. Harriet Wolf’s Seventh Book of Wonders: A Novel (p. 173). Little, Brown and Company. Kindle Edition.
So it would seem….
Whenever death comes calling, I have a renewed sense of fear about losing Denise. I know that she is as healthy as can be, given her various conditions, but it is hard not to be scared when I hear her cough, the ugly wet heart sounding cough that lets those in earshot know that her small partially dead heart could fail at any time. Depending on what is currently on Denise’s health plate, I will often check in on her after she has gone to sleep and, in the morning, to see if she has died in the night. Sometimes I don’t check until I have had my shower and dressed so that if she happens to be dead, I will be ready when I call the ambulance and my family. Quite often, when I am in this state of worry, I plan it all out in my head, my shower thought for that day. What to do, what the funeral will look like, how long will I be able to wait to pull my own plug because I don’t want to live without her, those types of things. I know that Emma worries about that too. That trauma she and I went through when we almost lost Denise resonates deep with us. It doesn’t keep us from living, but it sure is embedded in our psyches and influences how we think and feel, and how we act on occasion. Don’t die, I often say to Denise.
How do you end a blog post on a positive note when the subject is death? Well, I guess you remember that death is a part of living. It is something that we will all reach at some point. It is something we will all experience with others too, so it can be looked at as something that binds us, a common experience that allows us to feel for each other as we experience this bitter pill, this business of death.
Farewell Sylvain, my dear friend.
Donald B. Cheke – January 6, 2025
Beautifully written Don!
Thanks MIke!