Author Archives: Morbid Optimist

About Morbid Optimist

My name is Katryna Mary Brooke Ormiston. I am 35 years old and after living in Vancouver for a decade, I am returning home to my 81 year old father’s hobby farm on Vancouver Island to care for him in the final stages of his life. This blog is to document my journey, process my experiences along the way and hopefully share and feel connected to a community beyond the three and a half acres I find myself on. A message in a bottle in the cyber-sea.

The Great Surrender

“I’m afraid I’ll have to call you back,” I say into the office line, “I have an emergency call.” “There’s been a down turn,” says Dad’s nurse on the phone with Mum. “It’s time to come back,” says Mum. Thirty … Continue reading

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Work is the Curse of the Drinking Class

“You’re still here?” says Dad waking up from a drugged doze. “You’re going to lose your bloody job,” he says, “You got to get out of here.” I arrived at the hospital 4 days ago. In need of a break, … Continue reading

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Hello In There

Ya know that old trees just grow stronger And old rivers grow wider every day Old people just grow lonesome Waiting for someone to say, “Hello in there, hello” – John Prine “What are you whispering about?” asks Dad as … Continue reading

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Respite for an Open Heart

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Dad as I let go of his hand, “I’m going for lunch.” “While I starve to death,” he says. I take a quick break from death and walk down Mt Newton Cross Road to … Continue reading

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Sibling Rivalry

“I have 4 daughters and 2 sons,” says Dad to the nurse, “I lost my sons.” Dad has two families. One with my mother, the woman that left him. And another with Jessica’s mother, the woman that got away. Though … Continue reading

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41

“You’re pretty fast on your feet, kid,” says Dad when I get back from calling the nurse. “Almost as fast as your father on the way to the beer parlour for 10 cents a glass,” he says. It’s our second … Continue reading

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Holy Shut-Ins

“And you’re a man of the cloth!?” says Dad needling the visiting St Stephen’s minister. Poking Dad back, he mentions old rumours he’s heard of Dad drinking whiskey with another man of the clergy. “That was the priest’s fault,” says … Continue reading

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