I miss you, Dad. I thought you would like to see the Lady. Miss you very much.

Love Moya

Thinking of you, Dad, on this sunny Sunday afternoon. I am in the midst of reevaluating my life and deciding on what to do next. I wish you were here to talk and walk me through; a man who remade himself so many times and who had so many interesting careers. Love Moya

Hi, Tracy, I am glad you have found comfort here. My Father would enjoy knowing. Thank you. I hope in the days ahead, you will find your way through the darkness.

Thank you for posting the poems and thoughts about your father. As I prepare to inter my young sister with my parents, I found comfort and inspiration. Thank you.

My father really liked Easter. He always made sure to bring home many Easter goodies for us. He and Mom put together a great dinner each year. I miss those days. Happy Easter, Dad.

Thinking of you, Dad. Love Moya

I woke in the middle of the night a few weeks ago, sleepless and mindful. I thought about what had woken me and I realized it was a dream about my father and the birthmark on his arm. I tried not to get worked up but I couldn't stop myself from thinking of that birthmark and the morning he died. I need to look through the few pictures we have of my father and see if I can find one that shows his birthmark. It reminds me of my childhood. Love you, Dad.

This is the third anniversary of my father's death. These past three years have been very tough for me, even though I know my father wouldn't like to know how I've suffered.

I couldn't sleep that well last night and as I lay there I thought about how Dad must have been scared lying there all by himself, pressing a buzzer, waiting for help. I wondered if he knew when the pain came that the end was near. I was very close to my father but I didn't have a bad feeling. I actually slept through his death because I was still asleep when the phone call came.

I've learned so much more about these long-term care facilities since he died and if I let myself dwell on the details, I'm sure I would go mad.

Dad, my love for you is as wide as an ocean. I send you my love on this very sad day.

Thinking of you, Dad. Miss you lots.

Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: You don't give up. It's like driving at night: you can only see a little bit ahead of you but you can make the whole journey that way.

My father loved Newfoundland and the people who live on the island. He would have liked the following story.

A Tribute to Colour Blindness
Wednesday, April 5, 2006
By Danette Dooley,
Special to The Telegram

Lanier Phillips left St. John's on Saturday having shared, once more, his story of the kindness and compassion he encountered from the people of St. Lawrence over six decades ago - people, he says, who not only saved his life but also changed it completely. Phillips was the only African-American among the 55 people whose lives were saved when the USS Truxtun crashed off the coast of St. Lawrence during a blizzard on Feb. 18, 1942.

Had he not been aboard the naval destroyer on that fateful day when 101 people lost their lives, Phillips has no idea where life would have led him. There were only two options, he says: hell or jail.

The interview takes place in a small, bright, comfortable room in the bed and breakfast where Phillips is staying in St. John's.

His voice lowers to a whisper when he speaks of crawling under his bed as a young boy in fear of the Ku Klux Klan who were riding through the community shooting guns into the air.

"On one occasion, I could peep out through my window and see them beat this black man with whips. The hatred just rose up in me. And I had terrible ideas. But the people in St. Lawrence erased all of that. They cured that disease of hatred. It is a disease. And the best way in the world to cure that is with love and humanity. It's the best medicine there is."

At age 18, Phillips was one of four black mess attendants onboard the Truxtun. There was also one Philippine mess attendant, he says.

His earliest memory of the shipwreck was of being thrown out of his bunk.

"I landed on top of the rest of the mess attendants who were thrown out of their bunks. I thought we had been torpedoed. I just grabbed a pair of shoes, I don't know if they were my shoes or someone else's. And I ran topside. But it was dark and I couldn't see anything," he recalls.

Phillips' heart sank when searchlights shone over the area showed snow-covered cliffs and mountains. He was convinced he'd been shipwrecked in Iceland. Any black man to step on the land in that country at the time, he recalls, would be lynched.

"The storm was so bad you could barely see. The waves would just pick the ship up and slam it against the rocks. I went onboard a raft, but the other mess attendants were afraid to go over the side. I had looked at the men who were washed overboard from the waves. They were being crashed against the rocks close by. It was so terrific you could see body parts flying by. But I knew the ship was going to sink once it broke apart."

Philips said while the four other mess attendants were terrified they'd be lynched on Iceland shores because of the colour of their skin, he chose to take his chances.

"I told them, 'Gee, if we die at least let's just don't stay here and freeze to death.' Ice was forming on all our bodies by then."

That was the last conversation he'd have with his shipmates who refused to abandon ship.

"Just before we reached the land, the raft capsized and threw everybody out in the water. We were already wet. Now we were so numb we could barely move. It seemed like the heart rate had slowed down and you were very sleepy, extremely sleepy. You knew that all you had to do was close your eyes and it was all over."

By the time he reached the shore, still believing he was in Iceland, Phillips had convinced himself dying was a better fate than living.

"I decided to go in the corner and end it all. And I did. I went back into this little small cove. Not too much larger than this room. I got down on the ground but someone came and said, 'Don't lie there, you'll surely die.' "

Phillips, still covered in bunker C oil, was eventually taken into shelter with the white survivors, where the women of St. Lawrence worked to save each and every life.

Having grown up in a society where racism was as popular as slavery, the teenager was sure his life was about to end in some horrible way.

"When I got my eyes opened, I saw these ladies; they were massaging my body, getting the circulation going. I was completely naked and I was really afraid. Being from rural Georgia, it was a crime to be naked in front of white women - to even look at white women, or whistle at one, was a crime. Maybe you'd be lynched for it. And I was terrified."

As they cleaned the oil from his face and head, the women began to comment on the texture of his hair.

"I had a lot of hair then, and one of the ladies said, "This is the curliest hair I've ever seen." I said to myself, 'Now that's the end of me. They're going to throw me out in the ice all naked. I'm finished. I'm dead.'"

With every stroke of their wash cloths, the women continued to offer the frightened young man comfort, compassion and reassurance.

"One of the ladies had my hand and was trying to get the bunker C oil off me. It was like jelly. And she says, 'This poor fellow, I can't get it off. It's all in his pores.' That's the first time I spoke up. I said, 'It's the colour of the skin. You can't get it off. I'm black."

Sixty-four years later, Phillips words are still laced with the gratitude he felt for the women who continued to care for him, oblivious to the colour of his skin.

"They lifted my head up and they had a spoon and were giving me rum, I think it was rum. I had a hard time swallowing. They kept rubbing my throat and caressing my forehead and another lady kept rubbing my body and washing it off. I was just overcome. I had never heard such kind words from a white person before."

Phillips was eventually taken to the Pike home where Viola Pike put him to bed and began heating rocks and irons to place underneath the blankets.

"She said, 'I made some soup for you.' She lifted my head, but I couldn't hold the cup. My fingers were. I could hardly bend them. She just fed me like a baby with a teaspoon. And I was just overwhelmed."

When Phillips returned to St. Lawrence in 1988, the woman who'd help nurse him back to health had passed away.

"That house brought back a lot of memories and I felt so bad that she was deceased and I couldn't thank her."

Phillips says nothing he could do could thank the people of St. Lawrence for what they did for him. Nonetheless, he has started a scholarship and has donated financially to the community.

Growing up in rural Georgia, Phillips said he always knew his place as a young black boy. He'd attended school for about three weeks when the Klan burned it to the ground.

By the time he'd reached his teens, his mother had sent him to Tennessee to live with an aunt. That's when he decided to join the navy, though he couldn’t read or write.

"I wanted to get away from the south because I resented the racism and the discrimination. I resented the cotton fields and the cornfields. I resented the granite pits."

The role of black men in the navy at the time was to serve the white officers their meals, make their beds and shine their shoes.

"I guess what's why they called us mess attendants."

Phillips spent 20 years in the navy, becoming the U.S. Navy's first African-American sonar technician. He married and raised a family and continued working as a sonar technician in later years.

He has done many meaningful things in his lifetime. He's marched with Martin Luther King. He's fought for civil rights for decades. He's told his story about the people of St. Lawrence to anyone who would listen.

While the people in his hometown have come a long way over the years in eradicating racism, there's still a master-slave mentality there, he says. Those people never met the people of St. Lawrence.

"I know within my heart if I continue to resist the wrong of racism that, some day, I'll overcome. I know that today is better than yesterday. But I want tomorrow to be better than today, and there are people that still hold on to the plantation mentality, to not resist and not talk about it.

"But I'm going to talk about it. And I don't care whose toes I step on. Because it's wrong. We are all God's children and we're all human. If we could just learn to treat people like the people of St. Lawrence treated me, how sweet the world would be."

For a short video on Lanier Phillips, visit: The Ambassador of St. Lawrence

Instead of buying Christmas gifts this year, we are planning on putting our money to better use by helping the children of Africa survive malaria. One net costs ten dollars. We can change the world one life at a time.

Please visit the following site and make a donation. My father would be proud of me for helping the people of Africa. He loved his time on that continent.

Spread the Net

Miss you, Dad.

I think of you every day.

Love you.

Hi Dad,

I was thinking today that I wished you were here still to talk to. Christmas was not the same without you and probably never will be. It doesn't seem to mean as much anymore. January 28 will always be a difficult day, and the winter seems so much longer and colder now without you here.

The kids and I are moving again, tragic really. The older I get the more difficult it gets to undertake such a huge venture. If you were around you would tell me to suck it up and get it done. So that's what I am doing. (Could you ask the guy upstairs to take it easy on me for awhile? I am not sure I can continue to shoulder the weight my life seems to put on my body.)

We had an excellent visit this Christmas from Danny and Shannon from Newfoundland. You would be so proud of him and his girlfriend. What a fun visit we had. The kids loved spending time with them and so did I. They were very kind and we did a wonderful tour of Ottawa. When I saw all the Christmas lights downtown I thought about all the times you and mom would put us in the car and drive around the city looking at all the lights. Trully wonderful memories. Robert also visited us and it was awesome to spend time with him (now I have to convince him to turn off that Blackberry once in awhile). We are going to Toronto for Easter this year, Aaron is being baptised and I am his Godmother.

I went to mass on Christmas Eve and spent most of it (the sermon was really boring - sorry to say) thinking about the time you spent on this earth. I think very few people live the kind of life you lived. You travelled the globe and made friends everywhere you went. You saw things and places the rest of us just dream about. I think you loved your life, right up until the end. You have four children that are strong and compassionate - each in our own way. You and mom raised us well and I hope that I do half as good a job that you both did for us. And no - I still have not become a very good cook. That did not rub off on me. And my dough just won't rise.

We all miss you and think about you often, I have a great picture on my bedside table of you and Robert in Toronto on the waterfront. My only regret was that I didn't get to take you up to the Muskokas like I wanted to. You would have loved the drive.

Rest well dad, and pray for all of us. Enjoy your time, and we will think of you often.

Love Lisa

It is snowing today, Dad. I can't remember if you liked the winter. There's no doubt you enjoyed the sun. On more than one occasion I found you sitting outside of your apartment building on Lowther soaking up the rays at a time most people were concerned about heat stroke. That is a joy you definitely passed on to me.

I'm heading to South Africa next week to see a client and will think of you and how much you would have enjoyed it. I found it sad when your health had reached a point where you could no longer travel. I know this bothered you as well and that you felt trapped in Toronto and in a declining body. I hope you have seen better and bigger things these last two years.

We just visited you Dad at Mount Pleasant Cemetery - me, Jack, Aaron and Chantel. I'm glad we chose you a spot inside the arboretum, it is very warm and cozy on days like this. Even though you've been gone two years, Jack remembers you, or at least he thinks he does. It is hard to know whether he is remembering actual events or stories we've told him after you were gone. But he definitely remembers the day of your service. Last night he reminded me that he'd left you a little stuffed lamb in the niche along with your ashes. You never met Aaron but Chantel sees you in him and that is good.

As I said, it is snowing today. Not a day for much hope or joy, no sunshine around the corner. But a good day to reflect on your life and to remember all the good you brought to the world, including your four kids. Mom misses you too and one day, hopefully not for decades from now, she'll join you. She is well and we in Toronto wish we saw her more often.

I've reached a point in my life where I'm facing much change. I'm trying to follow your life lesson and embrace these changes with an open mind and strength. As you've also taught us, life is short with no guarantees as to health or happiness. I do my best to live for the moment, if not always perfectly in the moment.

There's a song from The Lion Ling called "He Lives in You". I heard it the other day and thought of you of course. I also thought of Jack and Aaron and how parts of you and me will live on in them. I discreetly wiped away a couple of tears from the corners of my eyes as I listened to that song - not necessarily tears of sadness, maybe just tears that life is always moving on with no time to really enjoy the good times.

I'm doing well. My kids are wonderful. They are truly a gift for which I thank Chantel. I hope one day when they are much much older they will think of their own father with fondness and some sadness and recognize a part of him (of me) in them.

Happy Day. Stay warm, have a cup of tea and keep the music playing.

Love Rob and all of your family.

Soon after my mother's mother passed away, my father took all of us to the Bahamas for an extended stay. I am sure he was trying to make Mom feel better as she struggled through her grief. Different surroundings, sun, anonymity, and the beach helped.

I didn't get to the beach after my father passed away two years ago today; that was just the beginning of a long tough road for me. I should have packed my bags soon after and headed for some place like Tuscany to weather the storm, but I didn't.

You find out a lot about the people around you when something like this happens in a family.

My father wasn't the most conventional person you might meet in a life, but he had a very good heart. He loved us.

Since my sister sent me this photograph at Christmas, I thought how happy Dad was when it was taken: he had his family, the sun (which he always worshipped), and probably a nice cold drink in his hand, saluting life and love. I thought it was a fitting picture to post today. In the foreground you can see one of our baby blankets.

Love you, Dad.

Hi, Rob:

I have to admit that I found your story fascinating and of course, very sad. I would like to offer you my heart-felt condolences on the loss of your father. Thanks so much for getting in touch, Rob. I really appreciated reading your message and wonder at the complexity of the universe. They say there are no coincidences.

Best regards,

Moya

I could not help but contact you after one night whilst bored I googled myself and came across the page dedicated to your late father.

I am sure you will be amazed at my story and I can assure you it is no hoax.

To cut a long story short, My Father, Ronald Mason died just over a year ago in Winchester England. He had a massive stroke and heart failure at the age of 76. Dad was essentially happiest as an ex soldier but like your father was a bit of a jack of all trades. Whilst not having the artistic bent that your father had, he loved "a good painting but not that modern crap!!" once he left the Army he bounced around all sorts of jobs until he retired then he was really happy because he then became heavily involved with the Regimental association and became once again part of the Army. Just two weeks after he died, he was due to meet Her Majesty the Queen at the 250th anniversary of the birth of his regiment. As he could not make it (!!) I was asked to represent him and was introduced to the queen as 'Ginger Mason's' son. She remembered my father and we had quite a chat about his illness and how much he had done for the regimental association. It was a very touching moment and I am sure he was very proud of me.

I hope you don't mind me contacting you like this but I hope you agree that it was way too much of a coincidence to let go. Just having a look around and found dad's name on his old association website; not much but if you follow this link you will find him:

http://www.greenjackets-net.org.uk/krrc/obit2006.html

I hope your family is well and I am sorry for your loss.

With Warmest regards,

Rob Mason

I love you, Dad. I miss you a lot.

This is another paper on grief and how it can affect you:

Factors Associated with Filial Grief Following the Death of an Elderly Parent

Merry Christmas, Everyone.

We just finished making my father's Seaman's Log into a flash movie.

- To turn a page: Click on the outside corners of the page.
- You may also drag the side or corner of a page to turn it.

Flash Seaman's Log

Dad with Santa Claus

Merry Christmas!



Miss you, Dad

My father and mother owned an art gallery called Gallery Mason. This is an inside shot of one room:



Miss you, Dad

My father loved the colour blue.

Here's a lovely blue flower for you.



Miss you

My father spent a good amount of time working in Ghana in the 1980s and early 90s. He really liked the country and found the people there friendly.

"An internet campaign to instigate African peoples to take the issue of global climate change more seriously and compel their governments to takes steps to influence the developed world to adopt lifestyles that would reduce the level of greenhouse gases emission into the global environment was launched on Friday. The campaign, dubbed StopKillingUs.org, is also a website that seeks to inform ordinary Africans about the causes and effects of climate change and also provided the opportunity for such ordinary Africans to let their voices be heard on the issue of climate change. The message was clear: Africa cannot adapt to climate change, Africa needs a reserve in climate change to survive."
-- http://www.ghanaweb.com/GhanaHomePage/NewsArchive/artikel.php?ID=114888

The official song for the campaign can be downloaded on StopKillingUs.org or here.

I thought this article on grief might be useful to some of you who read here.

Meanings Adult Daughters Attach to a Parent's Death