On January 3rd, 2018, I went to visit a friend, Simon, at North York General Hospital. We met in high school at De La Salle College (‘Del’), where he was a year behind me.
Simon had beaten cancer once, before coming to Del. I spoke to him over the summer, when his osteosarcoma, a type of bone cancer, was back. This time, he said it was terminal.
I started law school in September. I planned on visiting him once I got settled in–but kept pushing it back. Since starting at Osgoode in September 2017, I had sloughed off hobbies, narrowly focused on classes, and neglected friendships. I thought that was the right approach to law school, albeit uncomfortable. In a few weeks, I thought, my first term grades would reward that linear approach.
What finally prompted me to visit Simon was an Instagram post he shared on Boxing Day, 2017:
Two days ago I temporarily lost the ability to breathe. My oncologist thinks it was the sticky mucous in my lungs that caused me to turn blue. Either way, I need to be under constant supervision, lest I drop dead earlier than expected.
I’m going to be here, and then flopped over to a hospice, where I will be kept until my death. I’ve lived a lot longer than I thought I would a year ago, but euthanasia is not far off into the distance. Maybe sometime in January or February.
It’s OK though. Going through this made me the man I am today and I wouldn’t give that up for anything.
To be clear, this is not the story where I discover that cancer exists. Like you, I know that bad things happen – occasionally even to people we know. This story is about the content of my visit with Simon.
He was in good spirits and relatively good shape when I saw him. One jarring part of our conversation was Simon’s willingness to talk about death in the present tense. Sure, we all die. Still, even when my philosophy professors would speak about death candidly, they covered it with a heavy theoretical blanket called ‘someday.’
Midway through our conversation, another visitor arrived. That prompted Simon to say it had been a while since two of his friends were there at once. He asked if we would do him a favour – one that required both of us there. With that, he pulled out forms for Medical Assistance in Dying.
Simon explained that is how he wanted to go. Cancer is a terrible way to die, and this would give him comfort. Simon needed two independent witnesses to his declaration, and here we were. “Do you have a pen?” he asked.
I signed the forms. A week later, Simon died. January 3rd was the last time I saw him.
The pen I had on me was oddly significant: my Copic Multiliner SP 0.2 – the pen I use for editorial cartoons, and the same one I have used since Grade 11.
For me, that pen has become a memento mori. I have a tangible reminder that bad things happen – occasionally even to people we know. I cannot draw an editorial cartoon without thinking of Simon. That may explain why the visit changed how I approached many things – law school included. When I went to see Simon, I had to snap out of my 1L myopia. It is hard to picture how we could otherwise have found enough common ground to talk.
I felt hollow afterwards, realizing how, at Osgoode, I had narrowly focussed on short-term career ambitions, to the exclusion of everything else. Instead of doing things because I valued them, I was merely building a resume.
When I joined Obiter, it was to round out my extra-curricular profile for recruitment purposes. Drawing cartoons was an acceptable way to keep up with art at Osgoode.
In the Winter term, I made more time for Obiter, for different and better reasons. For me, the paper became a source of community at Osgoode, thanks to Ian Mason and the Wednesday pizza lunches in the office.
To the great annoyance of my family and then-girlfriend, I also relaxed the amount of time spent on schoolwork. If friends reached out, I said yes to their plans. I rediscovered bread-making and returned to painting. Rather than treating law school as a three-year endurance test, I newly approached it as another project to be balanced with my other interests.
A week after Simon’s funeral, Osgoode released first term grades. That was the lowest average I ever received. Hard work does not always guarantee good marks. I used those results to justify my new approach to law school, which I have continued with, through two more years of school, and through two summers at law firms.
“How do you have time for this?” is a common question I hear. Even in the busiest seasons, I make time for friends, and I refuse to drop my hobbies – this paper included.
During undergraduate lectures on stoicism, Professor Doug Hutchinson liked to remind us that there is no time management – just activity management. On a basic level, we do not know or control how much time we have. Instead, we manage what we do with it.
However phrased, I know I struggle with deadlines, and that is a fault. But along the way, I give time to the people and projects that matter to me. Going forward, that much will not change.
This reflection comes at the start of a new year, and a new term. January can be difficult at Osgoode, but your grades matter less than you think. I am starting this year by being grateful for another term at Osgoode, and a few more months as Editor of Obiter.
When I am drawing cartoons this term, I will try to remember a few words by Simon. “Let’s take some time to live in the moment and appreciate how fucking beautiful it is to exist.” That is a New Year’s Resolution I’ll try to keep, if you’ll try to make.