When we got the word about Chris' cancer returning and then, after a consultation with the oncologist and surgeon, that the cancer was inoperable and terminal, one of our first thoughts was how to explain it to our granddaughter. Catherine and Chris were extremely close. She and Chris had an amazing, deep connection. We knew his absence would be very sharply felt by her.
Catherine had just turned 8 when we were given the news. Old enough to understand, for sure. And so, we had to relay that information to her as gently as possible. She was so sad to hear the news, but what impressed us both was her second comment. Her little sister had been born just three months before the diagnosis. Catherine, with tears in her eyes, said,"I feel so sorry for Alice. She will never really know Abba." We were touched by her selflessness. (Abba was the name Catherine came up with for Chris. Despite the first thought being the Swedish pop group, Chris discovered that, just by chance, the word means "father" or "wise father" in both Jewish and Muslim culture. He thought that was pretty cool.)
Today, five and a bit years after Chris' death, Alice does know him. Not by experience, but by the stories we share of him. And she knows and regards him as the kind, funny, loving man he was. She sees photographs of him holding her and it makes her happy. I think, in years to come, she will ask more questions about him and will want to get to know him even better. But I am so happy that her sister and mum recount the many stories we have of her Abba.
Catherine was with us when the cancer got to the point that we had to call in reinforcements. She and Callie were staying for the long weekend, and it was on the Monday that Chris made the decision to call in the GP and the district nurses. One moment the house was quiet, the next, it was teeming with folks trying to give him some relief from the pain. Catherine sat, wide eyed, in the living room, moving to my lap and holding me tight. After everyone left and the house was quiet again, Callie and Catherine prepared to leave. Chris would not see Catherine again. As they prepared to leave, she climbed on his lap as she had done so often, and laid her head on his shoulder. I heard him speak to her, gently and sweetly, "You take good care of your Nana for me, okay?" She nodded, he smiled, and she hugged him tighter than ever before. "I love you, Abba," were her last words to him and I could see how deeply he was touched. I knew, in that moment, that they would miss each other in a way that I would not be able to truly comprehend. She still misses him to this day and she tells me that she senses him around her. She feels protected by his spirit. I find a huge amount of comfort in that reality.
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This photograph was taken by Karol Makula after my daughter's wedding in 2016. I am so glad he got this shot. It sums up the relationship Chris and Catherine had and how much she still loves him. Chris was so happy for Callie, he cried. And my granddaughter went to comfort him, not knowing the tears were tears of joy.
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