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The end of August saw Sora's fifth birthday party, which we held at Oshawa's Lakeview Park. A lot more kids and parents this time but it mostly went off without a hitch, despite the high wind. It's a nice excuse to see friends, at least. Honestly not much has gone on since I last updated here. I've been using my work holidays, slotting them in here and there to give a respite from the grind of work, and so I've tried a bunch of video games, throwing myself into them. The only one that has stuck so far has been  Kingdom Rush: Frontiers , hitting that sweet spot of ease-of-play and time-per-game. I have been watching a bunch of stuff on Netflix: Blue Eye Samurai (2023): High-tier sword action anime. Highly recommended. 3 Body Problem (2024): Couldn't get past more than a couple episodes as the premise was too difficult to take seriously. Avatar: The Last Airbender (2005): I had missed this when it came out. Really impressed by the characters and story. Finale pays...

And yet life goes on. In June we had a short visit to Montreal, packing in the usual sights and flavours, tempered by the heat and our own waning energy levels. We took great advantage of the hotel's pool, swimming a joy I never tire of, encouraging Sora to get more comfortable in the water. I didn't have much opportunity to pick out my old haunts but I could see that the city has grown since my days there, shimmering halcyon days full of youth and opportunity. Indeed every moment on the streets would bring waves of memories, of friends faded or forgotten, my head lost and spinning and trying to breathe it all in again. Obviously very different now but seeing it anew through Sora's eyes gave some fresh pleasure. We made the trip to the recently updated Biosphere, probably the highlight of the trip, the biomes living up to their names. My heart shatters at the thought of our poor Ontario Science Centre being stripped of its wares, each precious exhibit cast out, the unique, ...

In media people are portrayed as alert and cognizant right up to the moment they pass, able to give a final message to a loved one. Not so with my father, and I feel his death is more typical of the experience — a disinterest in watching or reading anything, increasingly jumbled speech, a loss of any appetite or thirst, just long periods of sleep. Finally a day or more of near-constant sleep, his heart beating slower and slower, until we turned away for a moment and he was gone. Though really he had been dying in varying degrees for weeks, his bodily performance a far cry from even a couple months before. It’s been over a month since the funeral  but the events leading up to it are still fresh in my mind, a history where my dad still lives, still has advice for me, still has smiles for his friends and family. My grief comes and goes, gradually trending to a melancholy, a deep sigh in my day. In truth I have been grieving these past few years as signs of my father’s end would appear...

Hello, my name is Hwan Hong, and I’m Song-ho’s son. I want to thank everyone who came to say goodbye to my father. I know that he would have been very happy to see your faces and pleased to know that there are so many who care about him. I also want to thank my aunt, my sister, my mom, and my wife for helping me write this eulogy. We came to Canada all the way from South Korea 50 years ago, in 1974, just months after my parents were married. Since then, I have come to think of my dad as someone who made time for others, someone who was comfortable working with his hands, and someone who tackled obstacles straight on. My dad valued his friendships a lot and took being a good friend seriously. He would go the extra mile to help a friend; whether it was a golf lesson, a gardening tip, or just cracking a tough Sudoku puzzle, he would find the time. I remember seeing his face light up with that big smile of his whenever he took a call from someone he knew. He loved his friends, and being th...

Back in mid-May my dad was admitted into his local hospital's emergency ward with very low blood pressure, a low sodium level, and a build-up of fluid in his abdomen. We were all pretty concerned, especially my mom, who wanted someone with him around the clock. He was able to get it treated and was released in relatively good spirits a week later; I set myself up at their house to help out. Dad wasted no time to restart his recovery regimen, pushing his way through via spurts of exercise and rest.  We had some home care help, which he very grudgingly accepted. And despite his protests I went ahead and installed some grip bars in the bathrooms and shower. On May 29th, less than a week after his hospital release, we ended up calling for an ambulance. That day my dad had little appetite, complaining of nausea and a sticky, dry mouth, self-medicating himself on a chain of Pepto Bismo's, culminating in his throwing up a dark, oozing mass and in obvious distress. They discovered a b...

I turned fifty last month. We had a small party with old faces, lots of laughs, and, at least for me, a reminder of the life I had before the pandemic, before having a kid, before my colon surgery . That is to say, a good time, and I hope to have many more like it. I do feel older, in practical, daily ways. For one thing my eyes have gotten much worse over the past year, so bad that I find myself looking over my glasses to look at my phone. My skin is just ravaged by this dry winter air, well beyond anything I'd ever experienced. A lifetime of neglect and sun-exposure has finally caught up to me. While I'm not exactly getting heavy I have noticed a softness building up around my torso. So over the past few months I've taken to doing modified burpees as my daily exercise and have been pretty happy with the results. I do them in small bursts, HIIT-style, and that seems about the pace I can afford, both on a time and energy level. I do try to play video games but I definitely ...

My dad has three to six months left to live. My sister and I got the news over the weekend, preceded by a discouraging call from my mom saying she had some "news" about my dad. It turns out that the brachytherapy  he'd started last year (as the laser ablation treatments were proving less and less effective) had greatly damaged his liver and that the cancer was now spreading rapidly. I could immediately tell, as we all sat at the kitchen table, that my parents had some serious things to say. I sensed a slight jump in my heartrate but didn't find tears until later that night, my eyes closed and hearing nothing but death's door hovering closer and closer, now more tangible than ever. My dad was very calm about delivering his sentence -- to him, these past 27 years with liver cancer were all a bonus on top of the life he'd already had: growing up in a Japanese-occupied Korea, escaping the violence of the Korean War by travelling south by train and leaving behind f...