Remembering my father

My father passed away yesterday morning from complications of the radiation therapy he was undergoing to treat his throat cancer.

The picture on the left is of my dad, no kidding. The beard is real, as are the belly and glasses. He and his partner dressed up as Mr. and Mrs. Claus every year for the local retirement home. I thought you'd enjoy this like I do. After all, how many kids can say their dad actually IS Santa Claus?

While I was writing this, I had to really think about what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it. I have seen a lot of tribute pages that speak to the person as if he was still here trying to put into words the things they regret not saying. I don't suffer from that particular syndrome, I had the opportunity to say what I wanted - no, make that what I needed to say to my dad before he passed.

Many people I know have heard the story of how I didn't speak with my dad for 20 years because of the pain involved in being raised in an abusive home, To be blatantly honest, I have some very bad memories of my father. I won't go into details, but it was the reason I got as far away as I could when I went to university. I stopped in Ottawa because I still kept all my funding options open, even though I didn't have to exercise the OSAP loan option. My dad was undoubtedly a very angry man.

But there was another side to my father, and not all of my memories of the man are bad. My dad taught me woodcraft, how to fish, how to hunt, how to shoot a rifle, how to shoot a bow, how to make a camp, how to plant a garden, how to clean a fish or game I had brought down, how to drink, how to do what I said I was going to do, how to pay my bills on time, how to run a business, and the meaning of words like faithfulness, loyalty, and honour. He was an example of them in good and bad ways. In short, he taght me everything I needed to know about life and how to survive it.

Some of my best and dearest memories of him are the time we went moose hunting about 80 miles north of Kenora, Ontario. Or deer hunting through Adams River country with our bows. Or the fishing trip to Zippermouth Lake (not its real name) where the four of us in the boat each caught our limit of 6 Walleye in a total of 6 minutes. Although I wasn't thankful he drank all the beer on the trip up there. I mean he could have saved some for his brother Julius and me. (My tongue is planted firmly in my left cheek as I type this sentence.) I remember the night we got drunk together in my first year of university (he came to visit me on a Friday night in residence on campus, where he was promptly voted coolest parent ever).

One of my greatest joys happened this year when after 20 years of silence, we both agreed it was time to reconcile, forget the past and move on. We got to talk about a lot of stuff, and he apologized to me. He took responsibility for the things he had done to cause those silent years, and I forgave him. After that, we moved past it together. He came to visit me in May of this year, and got to meet my wife and children. What is important to me is that we did it because we wanted to, not because he had cancer and was dying. He hadn't been diagnosed at that point, and we were making plans for my family to visit with him at his home.

However, with the finality of these situations, that came to an end yesterday.

I will remember my father for the rest of my life, and all of the lessons he taught me. I can take comfort in knowing he approved of what I do for a living, and that he had great confidence in me to succeed. I don't know if he is "looking down on me from heaven" or anything like that, but I can feel some of his strength and character flowing through me to face life and meet whatever comes head-on with courage and boldness. I can't lie to myself and say that I know he is helping me, but I can say with absolute clarity and certainty that he has helped me already. Most of all, I will remember our last day together. We spent it in the quiet joy of each others' company, and we both could say after many years of silence that we loved each other. Our parting was after an ardent embrace, a final expression of the love we shared as father and son.

People have asked me if there will be a funeral. According to his wishes, no, there won't be one. However, I'm told that his partner Nora wants to have a celebration of his life in a month or so, and I plan to be there. I plan to bring my family if at all possible. It's what I think he would have wanted.

So I go on from this point, saddened by the loss of the greatest influence in my life, for good or ill. But I find comfort in that sadness in knowing that I can move forward in liberty of the spirit of reconciliation that we shared, and in the strength of the character that he helped put in me. And now, if you will indulge me just for a sentence or three, I have to say this.

Goodbye, dad. I don't know if we will meet again on some other plane of existence, or if you are even aware of what I have wrtten here. Even if we never do and you are not, thank you for everything. I love you.

Your son, Gerry.

[PS to you readers: Pay attention to the signature below. My dad is the reason it is there.]

--

The True Samurai has only one judge of honour, and this is himself.

Decisions you make and how these decisions are carried out are a reflection of whom you really are.

You cannot Hide from yourself.

-The Bushido Code, Meiyo (Honour)

Location:Viewmount Dr,Nepean,Canada