ROSIE C2012 JoJo

Rosie wasn’t only my sister-in-law, she was also my best friend. She never got married or even had a boyfriend – she lived with her mother, a selfish harridan, possessive woman who drove any prospective suitors away.

Rosie phoned me one day to tell me that tests had indicated she had bowel cancer, with a secondary to the liver. Following extensive surgery, I was in her room when the surgeon came in to tell her the results of the biopsy on the parts that had been removed.

“Tests showed a proliferation of cancer cells throughout,” he told her. I knew this was a death sentence, but she didn’t, nor did she ask any questions.

For the longest time, Rosie was in denial about being terminal. None of us disabused her of her notion that the cancer had been caught in time.

Three months before she died, she was in terrible pain and I insisted on driving her to the hospital. When we got there, I put Rosie in a wheelchair and wheeled her into the emergency department. Leaving her a distance away, I approached the admitting nurse.

“My sister-in-law has terminal cancer, and is in urgent need of pain management,” I told her.

Her face expressed no interest or sympathy. “I’m sorry but we’re not here for people who are dying, but for people who are going to live.”

“She’s suffering terribly, and needs pain management,” I said, starting to feel rage bubbling inside me.

“Sorry, we can’t help you.” She shrugged indifferently.

I confess I got in her face. “Listen to me – either you admit her or I’m going to throw a very ugly scene right here and now. And you’d be surprised just how ugly a scene I can throw when I put my mind to it.”

She paled, and her attitude changed. I managed to get Rosie admitted. I left her room when a doctor came to examine her. He took me aside afterwards very upset.

“She grabbed my hand and said ‘I’m going to die, aren’t I? I’m doing to die?'” He wrung his hands, distraught. “I had to tell her the truth. I am so sorry, I really had no choice.”

I took his hand. “That’s alright, you did the right thing. She had to face it sooner or later, and obviously she is ready now to accept the truth.”

I went into Rosie’s room. She started sobbing and both a nurse and I rushed over to console her. “Go away!” she cried. I started to pull back, “No, not you Joanna.” The nurse took the hint and pushed off. I hugged Rosie, trying hard not to cry because that would’ve just upset her even more. I had to be strong for her.

“Do you know what I dread most about the next few months?”

“No, what?” I asked.

“Being stuck indoors with Mum 24 hours a day.”

“Sweetheart, you won’t be. I promise you I’ll see to it that you aren’t.”

I quit my job, and from then on, every day I drove up to the house Rosie shared with her mother, and collected her. We drove all over the Ottawa countryside, stopping off at points of interest. She always came armed with plastic bags, because she’d frequently vomit. I’d pull the car over to the edge of the road, and put my arm around her heaving shoulders while it went on, then she’d seal the bag, and off we’d go again. She never once complained, bless her.

One day we stopped off at my church whose doors are always open. We walked in and sat at the back pew together. I was praying hard for her. When we walked out, she saw the cemetery behind the church. “You can bury me here,” she said. We did.

Rosie always hated Saturdays. She had no logical explanation for it, but there was in fact, an illogical reason – she died on a Saturday.

Contrary to what movies would have us believe, it’s impossible to determine when someone is going to die. We knew she was critical, but she hung on day after agonizing day. I had for the longest time prayed for a miracle and that she’d live, but seeing her suffering like that was more than I could bear – I prayed for her to be taken.

On Saturday, November 27, 1987, my husband and I went to a shopping mall to do some bits of shopping. We had no sooner arrived there, before I turned to him and said “We must go to Rosie’s house immediately.” He didn’t argue – we turned around and headed back.

When we arrived, the V.O.N. nurse met us at the door and said “We’ve been trying to contact you. I am about to give Rosie a morphine injection and it will probably bring her life to an end (morphine slows down the breathing). I thought you’d all like to say your ‘goodbyes’ before I gave it to her.”

My mother-in-law said “Joanna, you go in first, then you D and I will go in last.” She wanted her voice to be the last Rosie heard.

I went into her room. She was lying there unconscious, breathing very erratically, with long pauses in between each breath. I took her hand.

“I’m here Rosie, it’s okay to go. I love you and will miss you for the rest of my life.”

She gave a little sigh, almost as if she’d been waiting for me and here I was at at last, and didn’t breathe again. I sat watching her, for a few minutes, not sure if she had really gone. I bent over and kissed her cheek, then went to fetch the V.O.N. nurse, who came in followed by my mother-in-law and husband. She leaned over, applied it to Rosie’s chest and said “Yes, she’s gone.”

My mother in law was furious that I was with Rosie when she died, instead of her.

I grieved bitterly for my best friend. Three days after she’d died, I was sitting thinking of her, and mentally said “So Rosie, how’s Heaven?” Clear as a bell I heard her reply.

“Erm, it’ll do!”

I burst out laughing – that was Rosie’s humour, dry, and unexpected.

I chose the wording on the lovely red marble headstone we put up over her grave.

HER INDOMITABLE STRENGTH AND COURAGE WERE AN INSPIRATION TO ALL THOSE WHO LOVED HER.

And it was – I was awestruck by it.

Every year, I buy shocking pink Geraniums (her favourite flowers) and plant them in a small plot in front of her grave. I will continue to do so and will miss her for the rest of my life.