Early this evening Dion was finally moved out of the Emergency Department into a regular room.This is good for a number of reasons: he feels less disconnected because his phone has a signal, he will have access to physio and occupational therapy, and he has a window. As anyone who has been in hospital knows, time seems to stand still, so having a view helps you remember that the world continues to move.

Important to note is that Dion remains in isolation because he entered the hospital with a respiratory infection. Anyone who enters his room has to wear a mask, gloves and gown. Until infection control is convinced the risk has been eliminated, this will continue. We hope of course this will change soon.

Dion is in better spirits overall, though still fatigued. His appetite is low. He was able to stand in order to be transferred to a chair, but we don’t know what walking will look like yet. The medical team seems hopeful that he will get back to his “baseline” with time. They also plan to have a respiratory therapist investigate the elevated diaphragm.

The outpouring of prayer, sending of good thoughts and care has been overwhelming. Thank you. We will continue to rely on the strength of all of you as we navigate this set-back, as well as the uncertainty of the terrible disease that is MS. The Biblical story of the paralytic man who must count on his friends and their faith to be lowered through the roof to meet Jesus and receive healing is not lost on me. I don’t know if that man had a partner/caregiver, but if he did I imagine that they too would have needed to be touched by Jesus. I know I do, as does Cate.

In gratitude and much peace, Erinn

For those of you who haven’t heard yet, my husband Dion was admitted to hospital yesterday. At around 6:30 am it became apparent that I needed to call an ambulance. Dion had a significant fever and couldn’t move or stand on his own. I tried to help him up, but couldn’t.

The update is this: a viral infection seems to have exacerbated Dion’s Multiple Sclerosis related symptoms. We’ve long known that even a simple cold could wreak havoc on Dion’s system, so he has worked hard to avoid getting one for close to five years. Unfortunately during that time Dion transitioned from relapsing/remitting to secondary progressive MS. This is our first chance at seeing what a cold can do to his current scenario and it hasn’t been pretty. Having said all of this, the medical team is still discerning exactly what is going on.

Dion’s fever is under control, though at times erratic. He was able to transfer to a chair today, but has not fully regained use of his legs. He is tired. Added to the mix is that Dion’s breathing has been laboured due to an elevated diaphragm which is constricting his right lung. We are still waiting to hear a variety of test results. He is understandably frustrated, tired and wanting to get home.

As for me, I am working to be present to Dion’s needs, which includes being his advocate in the hospital. I am admittedly weary and sad, anxious about what this all means more long-term. While my body does not struggle with MS, it carries a portion of its weight. I am able to feel simultaneously strong and weak at times like this. I am not exaggerating when I say that Cate is being a trooper. Pray though that she find space to share what is so easily internalized.

I know many people are eager to know what is going on, so this felt like an appropriate way to spread the news efficiently. Thank you to all who are praying and sending good thoughts. We are aware of this huge cloud of people who surround us with love, longing and hoping for Dion’s healing. Pray that we might have what we need to face each moment, as it comes, with grace and the knowledge of a peace that passes all understanding.

I have always loved Easter. I remember being really little and mostly excited about wearing a new dress and white sandals (because it was warm enough) on a sunny Easter Sunday. I still have a soft spot for ham and scalloped potatoes, our traditional meal at this time of year. Our street has done a big egg hunt for the last nine years that I always look forward to. I’m a sucker for chocolate and there is always a lot of it around now. The essence of Easter though is something that doesn’t fit in a pastel coloured basket and is increasingly something that is making me impatient.

I believe that Jesus died and then defied that death by returning to life. I believe in the hope Jesus established. The Easter season reminds me that light has broken through the darkness and one day all will be made whole. What I don’t get is why it is all taking so long.

This has been a brutal week in the news, both international and local. I know a person who was just given notice of eviction and will be without a home at the end of March. I knew the man who was working for the TTC, became wanted and was recently found dead near Peterborough. A beloved friend came in to the Monday drop-in last week feeling entirely at the end of her rope. Dion’s MS has not been healed. These are a mere handful of stories. Just imagine if we all contributed.

Recognizing that I was getting agitated as we drew closer to Holy Week, I have tried to slow down my thoughts, sit quietly and look beyond the despair I see in the news or my own life.  I think a pivotal moment was having the opportunity to wash the feet of some community members on Maundy Thursday. As I poured the water over one person’s feet I could hear an audible sigh. We talked briefly afterwards and he explained how powerful it was to feel clean- not his feet (though he was grateful for that), but his heart. While he remains painfully aware of his own struggles and sin, he sees that God is slowly making him whole, clean and hopeful.

Easter reminds me that hope is real. I continue to want things to be made right: for estranged relationships to be reconciled, for illnesses to be cured, for homelessness to be eradicated, for justice to prevail. Though I am impatient, I want to love in the midst of pain, confident that the future is in the hands of the one who defeated death not for himself, but for all of us.

Tomorrow we are having a funeral for our friend Will.

I can’t really believe he is gone. In fact, I keep “seeing” him- on the corner by the library or walking down Queen Street. For a split second I think the last two weeks have been a dream, but of course they are not.

Will had been sick and knew things were getting worse. He asked me and Joanna to hold Power of Attorney for him last fall. At the time we didn’t have any idea he would be gone so soon. Or maybe I wanted to believe that Will, like so many of my friends in Parkdale, would surely keep beating the odds. Sometimes there is an invincibility to people who have already survived so much.

Will wasn’t connected to a single blood relative. Instead, he had a chosen family, many of whom he first met as Nurses and Community Workers. This little network, which I am humbled to say included me and Joanna, were home for Will. A small group of us shared the difficult privilege of being at Will’s side as he took his last breath. As wrong as it felt to be saying goodbye, it was exactly right that we could be there.

I am preparing to co-lead a workshop at a conference this Friday about partnership. I think that for me, one of Will’s legacies is that he was able to bring together people from a variety of places to work together on his behalf. His service will be held at Epiphany and St Mark Anglican and led by The Dale along with Elder Vern Harper (Will was Ojibwa). Friends from the Parkdale and South Riverdale Community Health Centres are doing the refreshments. A woman from Liebenzell Mission will manage the food and drink throughout the visitation. Many will serve as pallbearers. Partnership is a beautiful thing.

Will- you are missed, you are loved and I pray that now you are fully at home. I will be looking for you around the neighbourhood. I might not see you, but I will see your mark.

Sometimes something happens at The Dale that I immediately want to share here, but realize a little time needs to pass before I can. I endeavour to be careful in my storytelling, for the things I write about are non-fiction. I seek permission before I write and quite often, though not always (depending on the situation) change or leave out names and other identifying features. The following happened last year.

A friend came into the Monday Drop-In skittish and looking for me. This person’s long time partner had died nearly a month before and I’d been concerned that we hadn’t seen much of one another since that day. I immediately knew something was very wrong.

I learned that morning how my friend hadn’t been able to cope with the death. None of the necessary arrangements had been made and the deceased remained unclaimed at the hospital. My heart broke for both my friends: the one enveloped by grief and the one needing a dignified end. I promised that I would help take care of things.

Over the next number of days I had countless conversations with the hospital, a funeral home and the city. I sat on my couch one night overwhelmed with sadness that had The Dale not gotten involved, the deceased would have been buried in an unmarked grave. No one believed (including the partner) that next of kin would be located, but I shockingly managed to find them. In six days everything was sorted out and I finally exhaled the breath that I think I’d been holding since the Drop-In.

As I recount this story I think about the gravity of the situation and how precious it was to be invited in. This kind of thing happens all too often. Did you know the city has a burial place for people who in death are left nameless? For a variety of reasons I can’t share my friend’s name here, but that is not because it is forgotten, not by The Dale and certainly not God. It is a name that will forever be etched on my heart.