Good bye

 

Last night the unimaginable happened. My dad passed away. I say unimaginable because he was so incredibly strong, vibrant and resilient, bouncing back from every challenge he faced. He convinced us he was invincible. The loving family he created gathered around him, singing his favorite songs - the ultimate famjam.

He accomplished so much and was so many things to many, but mostly I am grateful for the adventurous life he gave us, teaching us to dream and live each day fully. He loved (verb) his family and friends and modelled unconditional love. I'll miss his phone calls, debating world affairs, his sage advice and baked beans - but most of all I will miss the man who made everyone he met feel like they were the best! There are not enough words... ,

Worth Celebrating

Last year he didn't want to celebrate his birthday - being so close after Christmas (or so he said). "I'm turning eighty next year -- we'll have a party then". I pointed out that his January 5th birthday is always right after Christmas, and that would never change. But it seemed like a plan.

"No presents" he insisted. "There's nothing I need; I don't need one single more shirt or sweater. I just want to spend it with the family".

And so my sibs and I rallied our spawn and impressed upon them the importance of them clearing their calendars and making sure they attended. No coaxing required - they were all in.

And so we all planned. We set the date (the Saturday after his actual date), he booked his community clubhouse and then we cut him off from any further details.

We contacted his close friends and colleagues, some former students and family and invited them to contribute to a book we were putting together. Have you ever sat a funeral listening to heart wrenching, moving eulogies in which they express how much the departed meant to them or impacted their life? Eulogies and superlatives are wasted on the dead and funerals. Anything worth saying should be expressed to the ones who truly matter to us. And so we asked people to share...and share they did. We knew the greatest gift we could give him would be the knowledge that he impacted lives; that he made a difference and that he was heard.

The hall filled up with wide smiles; balloons hovered above; Jeff took his seat and the grand piano and the party unfolded. We laid our our potluck smorgasbord of lasagna, baked beans, pulled pork, chicken, roasted potatoes and veggie chili - comfort food prepared with love from loved ones. Harmony and hubby performed "I Understand" and we sang some favourite family songs.

And then the elder addressed our tribe. He told them of his humble beginnings and happy childhood. He reminded them that they came from good, strong, resilient stock that valued family and relationships above things. His kids and grandkids sat wide-eyed while he quietly spoke, hanging on every word. He still has that authoritative air about him...

Every member of our family was there to show him what he means to all of us. We celebrated him and reveled in the warmth and love that was palpable in the room. We all need more reasons to celebrate, and every birthday is worth celebrating.

And so we came together to celebrate our patriarch and in doing so, gave ourselves the gift one another; the collective strength, security and unconditional love that comes with belonging to a tribe like ours.

And for that, I am truly grateful.

Heroes

It's been a day of heroes.

My dad is one of the most important people in my life. And today is his birthday. He didn't want to put anyone out with his "birthday being so close after the holidays" and all. I reminded him that it will always be that way, and that every birthday deserves to be celebrated. He insists that next year, when he turns 80, we will have a party. So this year, my sister and I took him for dinner, and simply, quietly, enjoyed his company.

It's a little tough having a super achiever for a dad. He is the gold standard by which I measure(d) all men. He's tall in stature and his love is even bigger. And on this day, his birthday, I celebrate the first hero I ever had.

And speaking of heroes, today I spoke to James Orbinski - one of a handful of personal heroes who truly inspire me. I was deeply moved by his book, An Imperfect Offering, and was inspired by his story depicted in the documentary Triage. He is a world class humanitarian, and better yet, he is Canadian. When we were looking for a keynote for a conference I am planning for work, I jumped at the opportunity to invite him to address our audience. He asked for someone to call him to discuss, and I won't lie, I could barely dial the number. And for a fleeting second I worried that he wouldn't be all that I envisioned. My worries were in vain. He was kind, humble, and engaging. And I was a babbling idiot. I called him the Forrest Gump of Canada and before he could contain that giggle, I blurted out that I couldn't me more excited if I were talking to Bruce Springsteen. Egads. It was an out of body experience and after hanging up the phone, I had to pinch myself. I should have slapped myself! 

So today I celebrate my heroes and count my lucky stars that I have positive, profoundly inspiring forces in my life. And for that, I am truly grateful.

Stop the Presses

Photo credit: Theresa Brown

He wrote every day, religiously recounting his Arctic adventures, doing his best to recall details; to paint the colour and details in the story. And then he asked me to edit it. That was months ago. I would pick it up, peel through twenty or thirty pages, smoothing out the kinks, preserving the voice, removing random spaces and punctuation - and then weeks would pass. I had a myriad of excuses when he would tentatively ask me "how is the book coming along?". I was busy; work was crazy; I was travelling; I was tired at the end of the day; "I was working on it". But the truth was  - I felt terrible. I could see the sense of urgency he had about getting his book completed, so he could share. And I was holding him up.

So I put this little project of ours at the top of the list, and got it done. It's not perfect. There are some random font changes and a few typos. But the story he put to paper is all his - imperfect and real. And over the past months (maybe even years) that we have spent discussing and collaborating on his project, we have spent precious tine and shared special moments together.

The excited email that I got from him telling me how happy he was with the books, and his note of heartfelt gratitude -- priceless. And for all of that and more, I am truly grateful.

My dad is a prolific blogger. Check out his blog to read more of his adventures and musings: Peering Through a Porthole

If you are lucky

If you are lucky, you will have a father who stands tall, and stands up for what he believes in.

If you are lucky, you will be blessed with a father who is fearless, and not only makes you feel safe; but teaches you how to be safe.

If you are lucky, you will have a father who believes the best way to make the world better, is to make the world better.

If you are lucky you will have a father whose love is so large and unconditional, that it will encompass, shield and empower you.

If you are lucky, you will grow up to be neighbours, and if you are really fortunate, you will find yourselves friends.

Lucky me!

Happy Father's Day to the best Dad I could've ever have wished for.

February to Forget? Not!

Days of bitter cold blustered by on crystallized sheets of snow - mountains of snow. As per my desktop calendar Kidlet slid into adulthood, unexpectedly. Hearts and love exchanged; dinners prepared and shared; many birthdays celebrated; expectant babies warmly anticipated; and an epic anniversary commemorated. February was ripe with occasion.

Nights of haunting winds howled as fingers tapped keyboards, scrutinizing, imagining, reliving the words dancing across the screen. Versions and versions edited, saved and shared. Although the stories are not my own, familiarity with the words and phrases born of hours of intimacy have seeped into my being and I now wear them.

A month slipped by without a single post to my blog. Was there nothing - no reflection nor retelling - worthy of documenting? February slipped by. It was rich. It was full. And I was busy.

I am putting the finishing touches on my dad's book about his educational career - Restless and Inattentive and we are so close. I joked with him that the book I write will be about an aging over-achiever father who is desperate to leave footprints in the snow. He already has.

And somehow I suspect that after his projects are wrapped and bound, I will look back the many years of this  journey of writing that I have shared with my dad, and be ever-grateful for this very privilege and the time together. I am already.

And so I bid February a fond farewell and welcome March with open arms. I will not miss blustery cold and howling winds as we move on. I'm ready.

On Track

My entry card at the Y still worked but my body had to be convinced to participate. But after a few minutes of exercise, it got easier and I felt so much better. Not sure if it was an optical illusion, but my abs looked tighter -- even though I didn't do any ab work. definitely an optical illusion. Miles to go before I sleep...

I am so close to finishing my Dad's book for him, I can almost smell it. It's been a project half a year in the making and I am anxious to see it through to him holding its soft cover in his hands. He attacks each of his numerous projects with a zeal unmatched by anyone I know. I have catch-up to do in that department. He's a growing concern and tough to keep up with.

Harmony called last night and we talked for almost an hour catching up. While I was on the phone with her, Kidlet called, and a few minutes later, my dad. True to my word, I didn't bump Harmony for the others - I hate when people do it me. Got caught up with Kidlet on my way home from work today (yes, hands free), and then tonight as I spoke to my dad explaining that I had to cut our call short if he wanted me to work on his book, I received two more incoming calls. I can't resist the urge to talk to my family no matter how much stuff is piled up (point to dining room table still stacked with Christmas ornaments). Connecting is important and my lifeline to my loved ones. It's all about priorities, but for the next little bit, I think the book has to be king or (close your eyes Dad)  it will be the never-ending project. No worries; I won't let that happen. But for now, I am off to bed! Priorities people!

Reasons to Celebrate

You sat back in your chair quietly observing your grandchildren and their spices (not-quite-a-spouse) sitting in a circle, engaged in noisy, animated conversation. I wondered what thoughts were running through your head on this special day; your birthday.

Were you amazed at the fruit of your union - that 38 years of marriage and four children could evolve into a family of almost twenty - each and every member, happy and well adjusted. Were you remembering birthdays that had come before? Friends and family that were; and those who are no more? Was your heart full with gratitude for the life you have created, and the life you have lived - and are living? Did you feel the warmth and love that filled the space when we gathered together - love for one another, and love for the cherished patriarch of our family?

I am not sure what lies beneath those blue eyes of yours, but I hope you realize how important you are to all of us. You are the very core of our family; our trusted advisor; our mentor and leader. You have carved an adventurous path and continue to inspire. And with your recent commitment to writing and blogging, you have left us footprints in the snow; that is for certain. And for that, and you, I am so very grateful.

Happy birthday dad.

Cottage Life

It seems as though we barely get the cottage opened and beds made up and the summer is half over. It's like a good dessert that - even though you try to eat slowly, in small bites so you can savour every ounce of goodness - disappears all too quickly.

With the construction of our new deck, we got off to a little later start this season, but we've tried our best to make up for lost time. Weekends are the pot of gold at the end of the workweek rainbow and I cherish each and every moment I get to spend at our place of peace.

The best part of cottage life - for me - is watching a carload of loved ones come rolling down our lane way, and sharing our piece of paradise with them. I want them to see the beauty for themselves; to inhale the clean, fresh air; to awaken to the songs of birds; and to feel the tranquility that seeps into your very being.

After two years of anticipation, my sisters and I snagged a few days at the lake. Devoid of any roles, responsibilities and background noise, we found the family dynamic that we grew up with and revert back to the girls that we once were. We swam; we laughed uncontrollably; reminisced; put the fire bug to work and relaxed around a blazing fire that threatened to take the cottage with it!

After a few good meals and glasses of wine, and countless stories that started with "remember when", the creases on our faces relaxed and tensions drained away. Over melting ice cream and berries we vowed to make it an annual tradition.

Last weekend my dad, Theresa and 95 year old Doris made the trip up to the cottage. My dad had lovingly built a pair of beds for our spare room and he was making the delivery! He was sweating buckets as he put them together, drilling each screw nail. When he was finished, we all crowded into the tiny room to admire his handiwork. The single beds are sixteen inches high to accommodate our storage bins and we left off the foot board so extra tall people can dangle their feet over the end and not get tangled up. The beds are just another fingerprint that my dad has left on the cottage - yet another happy reminder of his caring and thoughtful nature - of the man who is a builder.

I still have to pinch myself to believe that this precious dream that I share with hubby is a reality. And for that, I am truly grateful.

Shadowed

Sisters

Finished product. Thanks Dad!

Family Lottery

Where we are born -- the country and circumstances - is not unlike a lottery. And I was fortunate to come out on the winning end. I live in what I believe to be one of the safest, most beautiful, and socially conscious countries there is. It is also so with the family that I was born into .... I was raised in a noisy, often chaotic - but always exciting- household brimming with hospitality and unconditional love.

If my mother was our emotional centre, our father was our guiding light. He cut an imposing figure, but we never saw a violent bone in his body. He was demanding at times, expecting us to meet the highest of standards in our education and anything else we did. And somehow, knowing that he believed that we could "do it", made us believe it too. We watched him try everything -- sports, politics, leadership, hobbies - and excel at everything he tried. Big shoes to fill and steps to follow in. 

He prepared us well though... and even though he was borderline overprotective in some ways (our dating habits), in others he would simply give us the directives, warn us of the outcomes that would result in us not following them ("if you don't keep the snow machine exactly in tracks I make, you could fall into open water, and risk your life"), and then trust us to follow them. That was how he instilled confidence and caution into each one of us. He burdened us with responsibilities that at times, tested our limits, but then, voila - we handled them!

So today on his birthday, I will do what I always do -- say thank you Dad for being the very best; and to be grateful for winning the family lottery. I have wealth beyond belief.

Drive-By Love

I was deep in thought and song when I made the turn onto our street that winds and bends and passes by your house and takes me to mine. As I drove by your house I could see you working busily in your garage – and I think maybe I heard music coming from there as well. It is a familiar sight and for some reason, this time it touched me especially deeply. I was instantly filled to the brim (and a little over) with love for you and gratitude for the life we share; gratitude for having you with us; gratitude for having you just 400 metres down the street; gratitude for the warmth and comfort I get every time I drive by your place and catch a freeze frame of you or the ladies going about your daily lives. At 50+ I love that I have my Dad a stone’s throw away and a step-mom who really knows how to make a girl feel welcome – not to mention the wine that is always on chill. We are a fortunate bunch – and just one more reason why life is good. 

Dad's Day

I have a vivid memory of skiing down a hill, my white Squaw Valley skis firmly wedged inside his, my arms clasped tightly around his legs, freedom and fun nudging aside any traces of fear I may have had. I was safe and secure. I could do anything with his belief in me. Life was mine to push myself beyond my self-imposed limitations, and mine to enjoy and celebrate.

And that is how it remains to this very day. With the unwavering support and unconditional love of a truly great father - everything is possible. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

Happy Father's Day to my dad, and all of the fathers in the world whose love for their children is greater than any disappointment, anger, or ambivalence they may have.

Simple Joys of Summer

The taste of summer - fresh strawberries, straight from my Pop's garden, lovingly, organically grown with his special "brand" of compost. How is it a heaping bowl of crimson sweetness can deliver so much happiness? Guess when it comes right down to it, it's those small, simple things in life that create big goodness. Pops and Mama T harvested their bounty, side by side with the chipmunks, over the past few days, and then went into preserving mode.  And the extra bonus - a special jar of homemade strawberry jam. My drop in visits reap great rewards. I'm off to spread some of that goodness on a piece of toast. Loving the simple joys of summer.

Arctic Longings



Spirit of the Arctic - photo by Lyn

I found another reason to sit on the couch ... a new Canadian television show called Arctic Air. It is set in the high north and the story revolves around an airline in the Northwest Territories. I'm addicted. It takes me  back to when my dad was working in Cambridge Bay - now called Ikaluktutiak (say that after a few drinks). Picture a six foot two beefy white man bundled in a puffy down parka moving amongst the diminuitive Inuit people. And he swears he assimilated! He lived his dream and while he was doing it, I took the opportunity to venture up to the top of the world for a visit; actually two - one in the summer and another for the winter experience. I could write post after post about the experience but I will leave that up to my dad, Polar Bear from Peering Through a Porthole.

I have never heard silence like that which I experienced out on the land. My dad and I were sitting on our ATVs out on the tundra, watching the sun roll around in the sky (it doesn't set in the summer) and inhaling the stark, majestic beauty when he asked, "Lyn - what do you hear?"
"Nothing - not a thing" I answered.
"That's right" he nodded, quiet satisfaction written all over his face.

And in the absence of any competing sounds (e.g. traffic, planes, city hum), if you listen very carefully, you can hear the whispers of the land, sharing its sacred secrets; you can hear the beating of your heart and the rhythms of your life; meditation is imposed.

On my last night in Nunavut my friend and I built an inukshuk as a marker that we had been there to that magical place. My dad the consummate collector had rescued a small anorak from the landfill and when I placed it beside our inukshuk to take the shot, I felt as though I was photographing the Spirit of the Arctic. My inukshuk lasted several winters and when my dad left the north, it was still standing.

Watching the landscapes and listening to the distinct Inuit clipped, blunt speech on the tv show has stirred a yearning for the Arctic. I wonder if I will ever again hear the profound sound of silence of our North. I wonder if my inukshuk has withstood the test of time - as well as my memories.

The North has much to teach us. If you are interested in Inuit culture, this will be a wonderful resource.

Celebration

I am overly sufficiently sufficed with full of two plates of Chinese food tucked nicely into my food belly and I may be seeking a few TUMS in a minute, but it's been a good day.

We gathered a few days late to celebrate my Pops 75th birthday. I was wondering if it was going to be a major waterworks event, however it was just nicely sentimental. This was the birthday my dad asked for; he took control and organized the celebration to his liking: Chinese food; no gifts and no fuss. After my sister SKYPED in and we had our fill of cake he asked everyone into the livingroom. With kids sprawled out on the floor nursing their food bellies he proceeded to dish out special mementos to each of us: the metal insignia off of our Cadillac; his daybook of inspiring quotations; jewelry carved by his Inuit friends; pucks from his past hockey life .... you get the idea. It was fun to listen as he told the story of each item and watch everyone open their loot bag.

Then he ran a quiz of 10 questions about him and his family  -- and awarded a coin as a prize. The kids joked that they would have to study before the next famjam.

I think he enjoyed his birthday. We always feel the void when we are missing some of our precious family members ... but all in all, I think he could feel the love and admiration in the room. He ushered in 75 by giving a little -- no -- alot -- to each one of us. Happy birthday ... and pass the TUMS!

Mama T presenting the cake

Sis and her hubby SKYPED in

Three Quarters of a Century

Your eyes are still the colour of a moody sky; your blonde hair is natural (and you still have hair!) with only traces of white when your sideburns get long; you still walk tall, and only when you are incredibly overtired do I see a hint of your true age.

Age is an important number - not to remind us how much time we have left, but as a marker of the number of years lived, and I have never met anyone who has crammed as much living into their days/months/years as you.

I remember helping you with your resume post retirement, and after adding up all of the years of experience in the various posts you held, it looked like you were 102!

I have many reasons to be proud of you -- too many to list here. However I think I have told you before that I am most proud of the ways in which you continue to evolve. You are proof of someone who is getting better with each passing year. You live up to your notion of a life long learner and are interested in the world around you. Better than that -- you are continuously excited by the life around you, and express it.

This milestone birthday is especially poignant, not only because you are 75, but because this year you set your sights on, and pursued better health. In the process you earned back some quality years.

So today on your 75th birthday I want to thank you for more than half a century of hugs, unconditional love, and for challenging me to be all that I am meant to be. Thanks for your stories, debates and for sharing yourself freely and leaving nothing unsaid. Lastly, thank you for being here.

And for that I am supremely grateful.

Writing Frenzy

With a little time off I have turned my attention to the stack of documents that I have consolidated into what is to eventually be my Dad's book. For almost twenty years he has been chomping on the bite to put his life's experiences on paper. With several starts and stops, and in between posting daily to his blog, he churned out more than 150 pages of memoirs.

He asked for my help in crafting them into a cohesive story. I was more than flattered - I was honoured. That being said, now that the work is well underway I admit I am daunted, intimidated, and feeling somewhat incapable and unworthy of the task. I want to rise to the challenge and help my dad express all that he wishes and leave his footprints in the snow.

He is an incredible man with an interesting, inspiring story. I am learning more about him than I ever thought possible and I can't wait for it all to be shared with our family. And so we will press on and I will revel in my front row seat to a real showstopper. Stay tuned.

The Gift

Christmas had a special meaning this year. It marked the end of a long wait for my dad's return to health and relief from pain. So although I was thoroughly spoiled by my loved ones and our day was filled with abundance, there was one special gift ... he promised us, and he delivered.

Walk on Pops!

Wonderful Life

That glossy film is my Christmas Spirit. Negativity is deflecting off my crystal shield; nothing but light is getting through. I can't stop singing those corny Christmas tunes -- not even at the office. my poor cubemates  It's a magical time, if we let it be. I live in a cocoon of love and I am trying to make like a butterfly to spread the joy.

After I left my dad's visit I was overcome with gratitude. It's hard to watch him be vulnerable -- and only because this territory he is navigating is foreign to him; and it shows. But to see his unwavering determination is inspiring and reminds me of the great space he occupies in my life. My heart is full and I am grateful to have him with us.

T'is a season of joy and giving ... and I want to sing it from the rooftops ... it's a wonderful life.

Well With My World

Today was all about getting inside stuff done. It was my day off and my car is still in the shop so it was a guilt-free day of puttering. I had lots of online shopping and laundry to do so I got a head start on the weekend. Fritz and I sang Christmas songs with wild abandon; I stayed in my  hubby's t-shirt and sweat pants until 3 pm and nothing could dampen my spirit -- not even the call from the car dealership about the cost of my "leak" repair. My hair was a little wild and my face scrubbed 51 - and I momentarily worried that I would look like h@ll if Distributors Clearinghouse showed up to award me a big prize or something. It was only a fleeting thought.

Life is good. My dad was sprung from the hospital today after two full weeks. When I spoke to him tonight it was evident that home will take some adjustment and he will have to make a conscious effort to rest. A little shaky but happy sounding, his voice was music to my ears.

Tomorrow I tackle the mall yet again and hopefully I will find treasures to buy for my loved ones  (with love in my heart) and put a wrap on the gift end of Christmas. Next step: I will be dusting off my rolling pin and greasing up my cookie cutters. mmmm the best of Christmas is yet to come.

So happy me will sleep soundly tonight -- cause all is well with my world tonight.