Hanna's Home

Hangin' out

Heh dad,

It's your birthday today! I want to wish a very special day. I'm not sure how old you are but I know you are older than me.

How about we hang out in the park tomorrow?  I love the swings if you didn't know...

Love you,
Hanna

10 Lessons

Dear Hanna,

Your dido, my father, Dr. Zenovey Danylchuk, was a kind and gentle man, who devoted much of his life to caring for others. Watching him, I learned a lot about love and loss, sickness and healing, life and death.

As I went through his personal belongs following his passing, I found so many cards from people saying, “Thank you for all the advice.” I became inspired to pay tribute to him by sharing with you 10 Lessons My Father Taught Me. I gave this speech at his funeral, while you were peacefully napping. I'm glad you got to meet him. I promise I'll teach you a lot about both Baba and Dido as you grow older.

With love,
Mama

10 Lessons My Father Taught Me

1. Be passionate and hone your craft

My father believed that if something was worth doing, it was worth doing well. He became passionate about medicine and spent years honing his craft. He had a good teacher, his own father. He took pride in his skills – making the perfect incision for surgery, sewing tidy sutures that would minimize scarring, finding the best blood vessel for an IV – all things that would make the patient’s life more pleasant and recovery more speedy.

Medicine was the personal cause my father dedicated his life to. He would phone in to local talk radio shows under a pseudo name to voice his concerns about cuts to medical funding in rural Saskatchewan. He believed it was important for smaller communities to have access to high-quality medical services, versus centralizing everything into bigger centres. Wherever he could effectively do so, he’d voice his concerns with passion.

In watching him, I learned to follow my own passions.

2. Listen with all you have

In a “words of wisdom speech” he gave at our wedding, he advised, “Never go to bed angry. Talk things out, even if that means watching the sun rise. And listen to the other person. Not just to what they say, but also to what they don’t say.”

My father would tell me there is a reason we have two ears and only one mouth. We need to listen more than we speak. And that is why so many people came to him over his lifetime for advice. I remember Dr. Louise, a South African locum that worked for my father, commenting, “Paula, your dad is a wise man. I can talk to him about life. Just when I think he’s not listening, he speaks brilliant words that are exactly what I needed to hear.”

I nodded. Yes, that is my father. Quietly brilliant.

3. Respect elders and youth alike

My father taught us about respect. Growing up, it was all about respecting elders. But, over time, this definition expanded. This spring, I phoned to tell him of an amazing speech I gave in Quebec City at a national conference. As we shared a celebratory moment on the phone, he expressed how proud he was of me. “Paula, I’m glad I got to know you girls as adults. I didn’t when you were growing up – I was too busy. Now I see that you are successful, competent women and mothers whom I have great respect for.”

You see, my father leaned on his daughters, particularly after our mother passed away. Our relationship with him shifted from father-daughter to one of mutual respect. There is something so rewarding for a daughter to know that your father considers you his equal. Dad did.

This week, I found his journal in which he wrote about his expanded beliefs on respect. “You cannot command respect. You can only command obedience."

Ah, yes, father.  It is amazing how relationships grow rich when grounded in respect.

4. Use your mind

My father believed in keeping the mind sharp. He used to say, “What you don’t use, you’ll lose.”

Despite his decision to stop practicing medicine ten years ago, he never stopped being a doctor. At the care home he lived at for the last five years, he continued to offer his services – everything from helping a fellow resident find the tongue she thought she’d swallowed to assisting another blind resident locate the food on her plate. In exchange, he found friendship.

All the while, his mind remained sharp. You could ask him about any medical condition, and he’d rattle off a complete description of symptoms, cause and cure. He could remember detailed medical history of patients he hadn’t seen in 20 years.

When it came to having our own children, he was our walking, talking, medical text book, with the added benefit of years of practical experience. He was a wealth of knowledge, always just a phone call away – with creative solutions on feeding, sleeping and various baby ailments.

What a gift that has been to have access to such a sharp and brilliant mind.

5. Laugh often

Dad loved humour. Even on days that he wasn’t feeling well, it always felt good to laugh – that big belly laugh. He knew that laughter truly is the world’s best medicine. His humour was like a fine bottle of wine – on the dryer side, but full of body – an acquired taste most came to love. This cartoon hung in my father’s home, with words he lived by.

6. Give More. Expect Less.

My father described life like a bank account. “You get out of it, what you put in. So make sure you deposit a lot of happiness into the bank of memories.”

All his life, he gave, without expecting anything in return. It was in his blood to give, and give generously. Because he believed in quality, we were afforded amazing experiences as children – the best music lessons, memorable family trips, post secondary educations and great exposure to the arts and Ukrainian culture. Whether he was buying a kitchen knife or a luxury car, he’d always go for the best. He was a salesman’s dream, and loved the latest gadget.

Unfortunately for our husbands, many of us adopted his fine and expensive tastes in life. My father is laughing right now, saying, “Good luck boys, keeping up with my women…”

Dad’s giving extended to his practice as well. Each patient was important to him. Each received the best care he could offer. I remember years ago, a lady asking me, “When is your father coming back to work?” I told her I wasn’t sure. And she replied, “Well, he’d better! Because I’m not having another child until he does. He has the best bedside manners.”

Karma – the belief that what goes around, comes around - is a wonderful thing, because in the last few days of his life, he received the most amazing care. We can’t thank enough the staff at the Saskatoon City Hospital for making his final moments so comfortable and for guiding us through a difficult process.

7. Love richly

More than anything, dad believed in loving richly, even if that meant losing that loved one. As life became more precious to him with mom’s passing, he began to express love more freely. In the last five years, I don’t remember ever getting off the phone without hearing him say, “I love you.”

Watching his life, I think we’ve all learned to live and love more in the moment. We’ve also learned the importance of family – that great source of strength. As sisters we’ve grown much closer, strengthening our ties with commonality versus differences. We make an effort to get together however we can – in person, through email, and through family conference calls. This past week has also been filled with rich opportunities to connect as family – not only among his daughters, but also, his siblings.

Truly, his life and death have become our blessings.

8. Trust your gut

My father always told me to trust my gut. He’d say, “If it doesn’t feel like the right decision, or you can’t decide, sleep on it and wait for more information. But, if it feels right, do it.”

Many times in his medical practice, he had to make decisions about treatment, before he had the evidence to prove what he instinctively knew to be true. His actions meant the difference between life and death.

He told me of a time when he was delivering twins. Delivery of the first twin went smoothly and they were waiting for the second. And then a voice inside him said, “Don’t wait. Something isn’t right here.” So he scrambled to rescue the other twin only to find out the baby had gone into cardiac arrest and had to be resuscitated. “Paula, if I’d have waited, I’d have lost that baby. So, always, ALWAYS trust your gut.”

This week, we had the opportunity to put his words into practice. We couldn’t find his living will and yet needed to make decisions regarding his life. We all had to dig deep and rely on all the advice he’d ever given us to arrive at the conclusion of compassionate care as we removed him off life support. Ironically, the day after he died, we found his living will. And girls, we did ‘good’. We did everything he wanted. We were his voice when he could not speak.

9. Know that cars can be fixed, people can't

I’ve been in a few fender benders in my lifetime. Once, I phoned him to say, “Dad, I got into an accident with your caddy.” On the other end of the phone, I heard this pause, then a deep breath, and then his response. “Paula, cars can be fixed, people can’t. Are you okay?”

My father understood the value of human life. He brought many into this world, watched many leave, and devoted his life to caring for so many in between.

One of his greatest struggles was that despite all his knowledge, years of medical training and his brilliant mind, he could not heal everyone. And that brought him pain, particularly in caring for those he most loved. He shared with me that he feared death – not surprising to me for a man who was devoted to sustaining life. But I assured him, “When you realize that life beyond death is equally or more beautiful than this life, you will no longer be afraid. When you accept that in every life situation, you did the very best you could with the resources you had at the time, you will no longer fear.”

I can’t tell you how I know this, but I know he got there. He died a peaceful and fearless man.

10. Return home

My father shared these words at each of our weddings…

“Whatever you do in this lifetime, wherever your travels take you, know that you will always have a place with us to call home.”

Canora is home for my father. He grew up there, built his practice there and raised his family there. Now, he is laid to rest there.

My sisters and I quietly sang at the cemetery as our father’s casket was lowered. The song, “Bring Him Home” from the musical Les Miserables, seemed so fitting.

Well, father, we have listened. We have brought you home. Thank you for all the advice.

With love,
The Darling Four

Dr. Zenovey Danylchuk
May 30, 1944 – August 16, 2006

He gave, expecting little in return.

Fly Dido, fly

In the wee hours of the morning on August 16, 2006, our father (Hanna's Dido), drifted off into a peaceful eternal sleep with all his daughters and son-in-laws at his bedside.  Watching him pass, I saw his innocence. I acknowledged all his acts of kindness, his years of brilliant medical services, and his untiring devotion to his family.

He was an amazing man with a witty mind. He made me laugh...

And cry...

As difficult as it is to now be burying a second parent, I know that he is finally at peace. No more sickness or suffering.

Don't worry Hanna, Dido is learning how to fly. Baba is teaching him. And, they are so happy to see each other. Again.

So look to the sky, my dear, and say, "Fly Dido, fly!"

Yo-gi-dee

Yo-gi-dee... yo-gi-dee... yo-gi-oh...

That's Hanna's new language. Sit with her first thing in the morning and she'll share with you all the words, sounds and stories she's been saving up all night long while she slept.  It's quite amazing to see what the next morning brings. It's like she visits a foreign land in her sleep and then tells us all about it in the morning.

She's very articulate, to say the least.

When you're older

This picture tells you a little about Hanna. Her doll Lilianna got tossed out of the stroller and replaced with her dog. She loves animals, but particularly anything that says "Woof, Woof". Dad thinks her affinity for dogs will convince me we should get a real one.

Not so fast...

When you're older Hanna, we'll talk.

Little hide-away

Have you ever found that perfect spot somewhere out in nature where you can hide from the world? You sit so still that you start to blend in.

And you see the world for the first time.

You run.

You play.

And you admire the beauty of every living thing around you.

Thank you for the memories Hanna.

It's a barrel of fun.

   

Beauty is undeniable

There are some things you cannot deny. Beauty is one of them.  As you stare into the face of another woman, notice her beauty. It is a reflection of your own.

Reach out to greet loved ones wherever they are at. There is no greater gift than connecting with others in love and laughter.