Wayson Choy: "utterly amazed and happy still"
I came back with Ben this afternoon from a visit to the playground and Riverdale Farm, when Anna, who'd stayed behind with Eli, greeted me at the door. Come into the kitchen with me, Mum, she said, and I knew something was wrong.
It says on Twitter that Wayson died last night, she said, opening her arms as I stood frozen in shock and then began to weep.
Impossible to believe. Not yet. Too soon.
I went over to his place Thursday, and we sat in the kitchen he shared with Karl and Marie. He wanted, as usual, to go out for lunch, but I did not, so we had tea. He was frail and his asthmatic lungs were wheezing, which is why he wasn't supposed to leave the house. But as always, he was full of humour and kindness and wisdom. We hugged, as always, when I left, with promises to see each other soon. He usually came here for dinner on Sundays, but this Sunday, today, my grandkids were coming and I knew they'd be too much for him. He called yesterday, and we made a date for him to come for dinner Thursday.
In hindsight, I think of the call, how insistently he thanked me for everything. I wonder if he felt something coming. Of course, whatever I did for him was a pleasure, he was family; he was ours and we were his. My kids adored him and he them, and my grandsons gave him nearly as much pleasure as they do me. Anna and Sam are devastated too by this loss.
There is much to say about his life and his work, his legacy. My textbook True to Life: 50 steps to help you tell your story is a tribute to him; he is quoted on every page. He was an important mentor to many, none more so than I; he taught me so much both as a writer and as a teacher. And in return, I made sure he had a home cooked meal once a week, if possible. It was a good exchange.
I can't believe he's not there. He won't be coming for dinner, we won't be talking nearly every day. But at the same time, I am glad for him that it was a peaceful end and not protracted. He knew he had Alzheimer's, he discussed it openly, though for now he was coping well. But that would not have lasted, and then it could have been terrible for him. It never was. He had it seems as beautiful a death as such a beautiful man deserves.
This was his last email to me, last week, after we'd exchanged words about what was happening to him.
Thank you again for being so understanding, Beth ... I'm somewhat enjoying the scary bumps on this ride, if it weren't for the mental bruises that are leaving their mark and left me wondering - but I'm not ever feeling alone or abandoned. For example, you're pushing ahead and going on and on ... my hero!
Keep writing - your life is crazy in the right proportions - crazy, yes, but as always crazy-smart and crazy-lucky! Meanwhile, I'm just 'crazy' ... and utterly amazed and happy still.
x0 Wayson.
December 2017 - playing pirate boats with Eli
Dinner here in February - his favourite, steak.
My last shot of my friend, in early April, helping put together a complicated light fixture neither of us could figure out.
Already missed missed missed.
It says on Twitter that Wayson died last night, she said, opening her arms as I stood frozen in shock and then began to weep.
Impossible to believe. Not yet. Too soon.
I went over to his place Thursday, and we sat in the kitchen he shared with Karl and Marie. He wanted, as usual, to go out for lunch, but I did not, so we had tea. He was frail and his asthmatic lungs were wheezing, which is why he wasn't supposed to leave the house. But as always, he was full of humour and kindness and wisdom. We hugged, as always, when I left, with promises to see each other soon. He usually came here for dinner on Sundays, but this Sunday, today, my grandkids were coming and I knew they'd be too much for him. He called yesterday, and we made a date for him to come for dinner Thursday.
In hindsight, I think of the call, how insistently he thanked me for everything. I wonder if he felt something coming. Of course, whatever I did for him was a pleasure, he was family; he was ours and we were his. My kids adored him and he them, and my grandsons gave him nearly as much pleasure as they do me. Anna and Sam are devastated too by this loss.
There is much to say about his life and his work, his legacy. My textbook True to Life: 50 steps to help you tell your story is a tribute to him; he is quoted on every page. He was an important mentor to many, none more so than I; he taught me so much both as a writer and as a teacher. And in return, I made sure he had a home cooked meal once a week, if possible. It was a good exchange.
I can't believe he's not there. He won't be coming for dinner, we won't be talking nearly every day. But at the same time, I am glad for him that it was a peaceful end and not protracted. He knew he had Alzheimer's, he discussed it openly, though for now he was coping well. But that would not have lasted, and then it could have been terrible for him. It never was. He had it seems as beautiful a death as such a beautiful man deserves.
This was his last email to me, last week, after we'd exchanged words about what was happening to him.
Thank you again for being so understanding, Beth ... I'm somewhat enjoying the scary bumps on this ride, if it weren't for the mental bruises that are leaving their mark and left me wondering - but I'm not ever feeling alone or abandoned. For example, you're pushing ahead and going on and on ... my hero!
Keep writing - your life is crazy in the right proportions - crazy, yes, but as always crazy-smart and crazy-lucky! Meanwhile, I'm just 'crazy' ... and utterly amazed and happy still.
x0 Wayson.
December 2017 - playing pirate boats with Eli
Dinner here in February - his favourite, steak.
My last shot of my friend, in early April, helping put together a complicated light fixture neither of us could figure out. Already missed missed missed.
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