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| So many people enjoying the view! |
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| Cherry trees in bloom at High Park, Toronto |
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| The kids enjoying a cold treat under the blooming sakura trees |
I'll be returning back to the practical nursing program in Mohawk College on May 8. I'm looking forward to attending classes, because I'm starting to get bored with staying at home. I'm thankful that I had this time off from school to spend time with Shane, before he died, and to pick up the pieces to start a new chapter in our lives, without Shane. In January and February, all I could feel was a sense of relief that Shane wasn't suffering anymore and it was a time to decompress from the past 2 years of Shane's cancer journey. It was sad that Shane's cancer experience had to culminate to his death, but he bore it with such dignity, patience and compassion. If you saw Shane in his last month of life, it was hard to see such a gentle person be slowly withered and ravaged away by the effects of cancer. So I was sad to see Shane die, but I was glad to see the end of his pain and his anxiety of having to bear more agonizing trauma.
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| Shane's last picture with Tao - Father and son brushing their teeth together January 8, 2012 |
But the month of March was the hardest month to bear, because the kids and I started to remember Shane, before the cancer diagnosis; when he was young, strong and healthy, with his whole life ahead of him.
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| Shane, during his black belt training days, 2006 |
I promised to post more of the speeches from various speakers at Shane's funeral. Here is my brother's speech. My brother, Dalson Chen, is a respected journalist at the Windsor Star.
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In the staircase that leads to Shane's basement, there's a poster of Bruce Lee.
It's an image from the movie, Enter the Dragon. It's Bruce Lee, muscles rippling, holding up a pair of nunchaku, with this look on his face that says: "Try me. Test me. Fight me, and I'll show you how strong I am."
It's a really cool poster.
But, honestly, that wasn't Shane. That wasn't the way how Shane lived his life.
He had different ways of showing you how strong he was.
Shane Boyce was among the most soft-spoken, thoughtful, peaceful, patient, reserved, and reasonable persons that my family has ever known.
The Shane that we knew, never sought confrontation. He abhorred real conflict and violence. He didn't even like raising his voice in anger.
And even when he was genuinely irritated, or needed to be stern, I never heard any trace of rage or rancour in him.
Being the bigger man, taking the high road, acting honourably -- these things seemed to take very little effort for Shane. They were just his nature.
The strength to be gentle. The strength to be considerate. Shane was hugely strong like that.
It's like he didn't have to try to be a good guy. He just was.
Which is not to say that he was a pushover. On the contrary, he could be very, very stubborn. If he believed something were true, or felt that something was right, there was little point in arguing with him.
He would never force the issue, but when you talked to him, you could sense his decision had been made -- and he was holding fast.
It wasn't until his disease that I really appreciated how strong he was in that respect.
You know, for many people, being diagnosed with a terminal illness would be an occasion for despair. Existential angst. Emotional outpouring.
But not Shane. He decided that cancer was a fact he had to deal with. There was nothing metaphysical or even philosophical about it. When he talked about it, when he blogged about it, it was always about the facts.
On one occasion, I asked him on the phone if he wanted to discuss spiritual matters. He quickly changed the subject.
Because, for Shane, whatever the disease was going to do to him, it was a matter of facts, not feelings.
Zoe, Nia, and Tao -- You need to know that your Dad did that for you. He loved you more than anything. He hated the thought of leaving you. So he clutched every strand of life that he could right until the end.
In his last week, my sister tells me there was a moment when Shane sat up, fully aware, and said: "This isn't happening. Nothing changes with this family."
That was the strength in Shane.
The night before he died, he was barely lucid. In and out of consciousness. And my sister brought Tao to him. She said: "Shane, Tao is here."
And I watched Shane grit his teeth, and with supreme effort, he pulled himself out of that semi-comatose state to look at Tao with open eyes, and to purse his lips together to give his son one more kiss.
That was the strength in Shane. The strength to love like that.
At the time that Shane took his his last breaths, my sister and I were in the kitchen, discussing our past relationships.
And we talked about about what a positive impact Shane had had on Kaye's life. How good he'd been for her. Like no other man before.
Knowing and loving Shane has changed Kaye irrevocably.
I can personally attest to how stubborn my sister can be. I know first-hand how hard it is to argue with her. So let me tell you, a man who can change my sister forever -- That's a man with vast reserves of strength.
That was Shane.
About 24 hours after he passed, we were sitting in his bedroom, looking at the empty spot where his medical bed had been. And Kaye said she couldn't believe it. I don't think a lot of us can. It's hard to process that he's gone. I don't really know how to act about it to be honest.
But, I think that if Shane were with us, now, he would ask us to keep calm, carry on, and be strong.
To treat each other with the same respect that he treated us.
And to remember him in his best moments. Moments when he was strong.
When it comes to Shane, there were plenty of those.
