My dad moved on and started a new family. I wasn’t sure how to approach this situation. Needless to say, we’ve had a hot-cold relationship ever since. He even left the business to my mom and began working at a factory, cutting all ties with her.
I tried helping as much as I could at the deli, but it wasn’t enough, and we needed more help. My mom could not work every day, as her health was in decline. At my high school graduation, no one from my family attended as I received my diploma, and I cannot lie: it hurt.
My mom then hired a gorgeous girl to help us out at the deli on a part-time basis. Beata was a smart, good-looking, brown-eyed girl. I remember her coming to the store with her parents on occasion, but now that she was working here, it made work a lot of fun! Her long, dark hair and tanned, smooth skin was more than eye candy for me! Finally, a curve in the road of life to be thankful for, although being older than me I figured she was way out of my league. I thought I didn’t stand a chance. We talked for hours about anything and everything. She was so down-to-earth and knowledgeable; it was a breath of fresh air. I found myself having fun for the first time in a long time.
There were times when the deli was really prospering, as Beata and I were outgoing and had good rapport with the customers. Our products were from select distributors known to be of high quality, even though we had to drive 250 miles each week for the items. We tried desperately to get rid of the vultures picking away at the business. My mother’s drinking buddies brought her alcohol and then took three times the value in products, free of charge. They were supposed to be friends, and this angered me. We had to deal with many kinds of people. Being 240 pounds helped to get the message across to various people to stay away.
I also started my college education with the Human Services Foundation to learn the art of dealing with people in service fields. I excelled in psychology but did not much care for school. With a distraction like Beata working alongside me, I skipped more than a few classes. After months of working together, we finally started dating.
That period of time was life-changing for me, as I had more fun than I could remember and my confidence began to soar again. We frequently traveled to Toronto and Niagara Falls just to get out of the city. To me, that was more than I needed, to see and experience the world with the prettiest girl in the world. It’s funny that most good things in my life have happened when I wasn’t searching for them—case in point with Beata. She really is my angel from heaven.
My dad was working at a factory making good money, and because I was looking for work after college to start my own life, it was a quick fix. The factory was hiring summer students for $7.00 less per hour than they paid regular workers, which was still a lot. I accepted the job in a heartbeat and got to work. The conditions were terrible. It was hot, smoky, hazy, polluted, and it entailed hard manual labor with some power-tripping supervisors added to the mix.
A month into the job, I was more than acclimated and a productive employee, so much so that they offered me a full-time regular employee position. I could not complain about the job, as it paid well, but the beginning was hard, as with any new beginning. I woke up in the middle of the night to cramping forearms and hands, and every day I blew from my nose black sludge mixed with blood.
Beata and I had a plan: work for about a year, bank the money, and I would become a police officer. For a number of reasons it never happened. It was easy to get sucked into the thought of big money even though I had much bigger plans for myself. I got used to working the three-shift rotation, meaning each week we switched from working mornings (my favorite) to afternoons (my least favorite) and nights. After a year, I started working on the newer automotive line, which was easier and involved less lifting and welding. The months quickly turned into years.
As my relationship with Beata blossomed, my family life was still in the toilet. I was still trying to help as much as I could with my mom and the deli, but things were quickly declining. My mom’s health was getting worse, and even her doctors weren’t doing much to help the root cause: alcoholism. I wish I would have done more, maybe by taking her to Alcoholics Anonymous if she would have agreed, but she likely would not have. I had dozens of heartfelt conversations with my mom where I begged her to stop drinking for her sake, as well as for my sake. It was always the same, we would break down, my true mom would come through, and then a day later she would be reaching for the bottle again. It was becoming the norm for her to be in and out of the hospital at that point.
My dad and I were constantly at each other’s necks, figuratively speaking. He gave me yelling lectures and went on rants that made no sense, offering no real insight or help. I think he was taking out his anxieties and regrets on me, and I was done taking it, as I had for too long. I was my own man now, and I still showed respect, but also stood up for what I thought was right.
It was a windy November day in 2003 when I received a phone call from the hospital while I was getting ready for my afternoon shift at the factory. The nurse on the other end said “I’m not sure how to say this, but I really think you should be here with your mom. She’s not doing so well, and we had to take her to the intensive care unit.” I remember a million thoughts racing through my mind, but I knew my mom was the strongest person I had ever known, so it could not be so bad, could it?
At the hospital, I was told that my mom had lost eight pints of blood and that they continued pumping more into her. She was losing blood at an alarming rate. A medical device was her one last hope. I was a complete mess; it all seemed like the worst nightmare in the world, and it honestly felt unreal.
My dad and aunts, accompanied by cousins from Mississauga, came to the hospital. Of course, Beata was by my side from the beginning. I spoke to my mom on the hospital table for as long as I could, thinking that maybe she could hear me. The doctors asked if they could switch off the machines that were keeping her alive. Nothing had helped, and it was only a matter of time. I would never agree to it and thought that maybe she would still wake up; maybe by a miracle everything would be fine, just maybe. I clung to the hope with every part of my being as I prayed for her. After all we had gone through, the mother who had given me life and taught me all that is good could not leave like this... no way.
No matter how badly we want something, God often has other plans. The electrocardiographic heart monitor showed that she had flatlined; Elizabeth Olech had passed away from this Earth to the next. I lost my mom. I thought I knew sadness, defeat, anguish, and pain before that point, but I quickly learned that what I felt previously was nothing compared to this. As if by calling, it had been raining that day, and I believe that it was a sign of a great human being, a messenger, and soldier of God leaving our human existence. I knew that angels were crying over her departure that day.
The strangest thing about it all was that I felt an emotional boost for some reason. I think it was my mom’s way of giving me strength. I took time to grieve and organize my mom’s townhouse and funeral. I had been calling work to let them know I would be out, but through the grapevine I heard that even though I was a hard worker, they were thinking of letting me go, as I had being calling in for over a week. I was supposed to fill out a bereavement form, but no one had told me that. I was nineteen and not well-versed in labor laws. I was learning that when a person is at their most vulnerable and down, people tend to take free shots and kick them. I filled out the form and proceeded forward through this entire mess that had ravaged my life.
Hundreds of people attended the funeral to pay their respects, and it made me feel good that she had affected so many people. My cousin approached me afterward and told me that my mom was in a better place and that her time on Earth had a bigger meaning, which was me. She also told me that I was destined for something big and that everyone saw it. I thanked her and started thinking differently; maybe there was something good I could do in her name.
Years later, as I write this, I believe that my mom is in a better place, where she cannot feel pain or hurt. I think she watches over me and gives me the strength needed here on Earth. I cherish all the good moments we had together. I try to make her proud of me through my everyday actions, using all of the lessons she taught me.
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