It’s hard to believe my mum, Dawn Frearson, has been gone for three years. There are still days when she feels so closeI forget she’s gone. I sometimes have dreams that she’s sick again, and I wake up relieved that she’s not actually living with cancer before I remember that she’s dead and feel the grief again. I’ve been thinking a lot this year about how unfair it is to have lost my mum.
We were up in Vancouver this week, in Kitsilano where we lived when we moved to Canada. As I was remembering the places my mum took us while we lived there, the small moments, I was filled with sadness that she won’t get to take Rex to those places. She won’t get to see him play soccer, learn to ski, act in his first play, race around a playground. She won’t get to learn along as he homeschools in the amazing community we’ve found. It’s just not fair.
I know my mum would love to see all her grandkids as they grow up. Seeing Merritt buy his own truck and snowmobile. Watching Morgan’s volleyball games and getting videos of her cheerleading. Seeing Roland learning how to read and sharing that with Rex. Watching Sophie grow into her own woman in our family and see how kind she is. I’m so grateful for my mum’s presence throughout my life, and I absolutely hate that she doesn’t get to participate in the lives of her grandkids. It’s just not fair.
As I was looking at pictures of her this week, I remembered a poem she had a book of, Warning by Jenny Joseph. In the poem, the woman says “When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple” and talks about all the things she’ll be able to do as an old woman; the freedom she’ll have when she’s an old woman; how she won’t need to care what people think, because she’ll be an old woman. She ends the poem by saying:
But maybe I ought to practice a little now? So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
I do think my mum was practicing for being an old woman, and I’m glad she did, because she never quite made it there. I’m glad she lived with some whimsy. She didn’t put on airs and act how she ought to. One day, a few months before her cancer was found, we were driving out to Kansas to visit family and stopped for gas in North Bend at the truck stop. We just happened to be texting my mum about something and told her where we were, and before we’d finished filling up, she had driven up to come spend 10 minutes with us at a gas station. I think it’s so unfair that my mum didn’t make it to being an old woman, and I think it’s a good reminder to seize the day and do the things now, while we can.
Today will mark two years since my mum, Dawn Frearson, died. It’s a strange thing to type out. It feels like both not that long and forever at the same time. I was reading back on one of her blog posts recently, and it struck me just how different her writing was right at the end of her life. She had also asked me not to edit the post, so that people could see how her brain was working at the time. Looking back, it felt like her condition had become so normalized, but compared to how she’d been pre-surgery, it was night and day. I think you get used to how someone is in the moment. Even now, a lot of memories of my mum are of how she was while she was living with cancer. I had many tender moments with her in those months, while she was having trouble taking care of herself. Those times, I got to take care of her like she’d taken care of me my whole life. Even though in some ways, she wasn’t the same mum that had raised me and watched me grow up, in the ways that mattered, she still was that same mum. That version of her and all versions of her are still versions of her.
I think about my mum daily, but especially so around the time of her death. I was thinking recently about the week before my son Rex was born and our car was broken into. It was a stormy night, I’d rushed in and forgotten to lock the doors, and that night our power went out and left the house dark all night long. A bunch of stuff was taken from the car. Our hospital bag with Rex’s (planned) first outfit, some of my favorite comfy clothes, and a bunch of brand-new nursing/maternity clothes for Kyla. Also, Kyla’s iPod, a nice knife I’d had in there, along with our feeling of safety. As soon as we texted my mum to say what had happened, she Venmo’d me some money to replace the stolen clothes and bag. That money definitely replaced the clothes and bag, but it also gave us a sense of love, safety, security, and support that money could never buy. Giving support and love is something she always did amazingly well, and something that makes my heart break when I think about Rex missing out on it. One of the times she was in the hospital, she bought him three little trains, an R, E, and X to spell his name. When we started coming down a lot more to visit, she put some kid’s books on the bookshelf in her room so Rex could come read with her in the morning. When he started being interested in letters, she bought a magnetic board and some fun letter magnets so that he could play and read letters while she sat in bed. Even in her last days, when everything was painful and uncomfortable, she still had me help her down to the ground to play with Rex at his level.
Mum cracking Rex up.
When I watch Rex play, when I see him at dance class, or he brings home art, or when he’s learning to swim, ski, or climb; I can’t help but see these experiences through a lens of what she’s missing. I can’t help but miss her and think about how much she’d love to be by my side, watching all of this with me and supporting Kyla and I (and my sisters and their partners) through parenthood. I also mourn what Rex is missing. What he doesn’t even know he’s missing. He doesn’t get to have Granma watch him grown into the person he’s going to become. A person she would have loved, by the way. She doesn’t get to watch him get all dressed up in a tutu and leotard to go to dance class or put on his ice cream dress to go out because he wants to be fancy. Watch him play with his friends, tear up the ski hill, practice yoga in the living room. Most of all, he doesn’t get to feel the love and support that so many people in her life were lucky to have felt while she was here.
Every so often, I think to text my mum about something, then I’ll remember that she’s gone, and want to text her about that too. Today, I’m going to lean into the feelings and let myself feel close to her. On the morning my mum died, she said she could feel herself flying over Mount Si. Sometimes, when Rex and I are outside and it’s particularly windy, I’ll tell him I think the wind is Granma coming to say hi. He always agrees that it probably is. Granma has been many places with us on that wind. I’m not sure what I’ll do today to think about my mum, but I know I’m going to listen to Ewan MacColl sing The Joy of Living, and I’ll know that my mum will be riding the gentle wind that blows through my hair.
We wanted to wait to hold a celebration of life until Spring. Dawn loved being outside, and wanted everyone to be able to celebrate her life in nature, by the river. I thought it would make it emotionally easier to plan too. That didn’t quite end up to be true. Planning a celebration of the person who loved you most in the world and is no longer with you will never be easy. I think all of my siblings, and my dad, probably feel the same way.
No matter how daunting though, I’m looking forward to seeing all the people that loved my mum, and all the people she loved. All the people that she impacted, and the people that impacted her. I will try my darnedest to celebrate her life on April 22, and grieve her loss every other day.
This is a blog update by Thomas Frearson, Dawn’s eldest son. Dawn passed away peacefully in her sleep, Nov 14, 2022, at 10:25 pm pacific time. She was in her bedroom in the view of Mount Si, in the home she loved and was surrounded by the family she loved. We will provide more information on a celebration of life for a future date. If you’ve kept up to date with this blog, you know that she’s faced her horrible diagnosis of glioblastoma head on and with grace and humor. She went out the same way.
My mum really loved being able to write this blog while she was living with cancer. I had the task of setting it up mainly because I work with computers and knew what a domain name was. I am not a great editor and so tried to keep any copy editing short. Because of how much she enjoyed the blog, I really wanted to give a final update here. My goal is to keep the blog running indefinitely so that everyone and anyone can continue to read about my mum’s journey.
This was a really devastating diagnosis. She had arguably the worst possible hand dealt when it comes to brain cancer. She started with a surgery that removed a lot of growth but left her with a deficit on her left arm and leg. After surgery, they were incredibly weak. If you knew my mum, you’d know that she was not weak, and worked very hard to not be weak. Throughout the following radiation therapy, she got outside daily starting with walking down the block and leading up to multiple miles and actually cross country skiing! It was so inspiring to see her get up and get out despite her discomfort.
She had some really good months there with family gatherings, trips in Flo, hanging out with friends, and living life to the fullest. We also had some really sad times when the reality of the situation would set in. Every MRI and update was a gut wrenching few days of anxiety, with many scans revealing improvements, or at least stability, for a while.
In March 2022 my mum started noticing weakness on her left side again. This culminated in a trip to the ER, and eventually finding that the tumors had started growing again. We went through a lot of ups and downs over the next few months. Some hope and some despair. She still got outside and traveled and spent even more valuable time with family. People visited from all over the world this past summer.
Through all the down turns, we were still able to convince ourselves that it wasn’t so bad. Transferring mum from bed to wheelchair to bathroom to couch/dining table/adirondack became a new normal. Wheelchair walks to the cul-de-sac at the end of the road became fun adventures. My mum kept mostly good spirits even though this was the hardest thing she’d ever had to endure.
In recent weeks, my mum became more and more confused. Waking up in the morning was much harder to do, even with her routine tea and toast with marmite from my dad. Naps became more frequent and longer. Food wasn’t tasting good. Mainly though, we noticed her attention was drifting more and more. It was hard for her to answer questions, and responses weren’t quick. Her left side was really abandoned by her brain. I asked her if she had anything to say for this final blog and she told me “It got harder and harder towards the end to form sentences. Thank you to everyone who helped me out and followed my journey along the way. It was just this month when I realized just how many people surrounded me.”. It’s amazing how humble my mum was. I don’t know that she ever truly realized how much of an impact she’s had on this world. No matter how many times I tried to let her know, I think she always just thought she was normal. Given that, I want you all to know what an amazing person she was.
Dawn Golder Frearson was an amazing woman. She found a spectacular partner in David Frearson with whom to share her life and adventures. She was a loving, caring, supportive wife throughout their more than 40 years together. She raised four wonderful children: Thomas, Anna, Daisy, and Jonathan, that she loved with all of her enormous heart. She knew the ways in which to support each of her kids and make them know they are loved. I know she was proud of all of us and the lives we have and continue to build. She has five grandchildren, each unique and special to her. Her grandkids became her world. She told me many times near the end that her grandkids were the reason she was still with us. They meant the world to her.
Dawn was a friend to so many people. Over the last year or so I’ve gotten to know so many of the people in my mum’s life. They all love her so much because she’s this beacon of joy and inspiration. With her friends she paddleboards, does yoga, hikes, runs, skis, talks, eats and drinks. I know every friend in her life has a huge void in their heart today.
As a teacher, Dawn reached hundreds of kids from the Snoqualmie valley that are growing up with little pieces of inspiration from her. Not only was she a science teacher, but she also ran the ski club, outdoor clubs, dance clubs, and more. With no experience, she coached volleyball and track and field. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do to help improve her kids’ lives. There have been many occasions where someone reads my last name and asks if I know Mrs. Frearson the science teacher, even outside the valley.
Maybe my mum never realized the extent of her influence because it was too large to realize. This blog has been a small extension of that influence, and a way that she loved putting her thoughts out into the world. I hope everyone that comes here to read this can find some inspiration or wisdom in her words. Thank you for reading.
If you’d like to do something to show your appreciation of Dawn, she requested donations be made to Waskowitz Outdoor School.
This song, The Joy of Living by Ewan MacColl, is devastatingly sad but beautiful, especially when listened to in this context.
Two Lemons 