A few days after my father died I spoke to a friend on the phone. I was telling her how upset I was that Dad didn't come to see me after he passed on. We were so close that I thought I would at least feel his presence around me. I didn't. My friend said that Toronto was pretty far away and maybe he couldn't find his way. Maybe.

I related the story to Dorothy Jackman, my former mother-in-law and someone I have great respect for. She asked me if I remembered Alice Lacey. Of course I do. She was the mother of a close friend of mine, but she died of cancer back in the 1980s. I used to visit her at the palliative care unit. I liked her a great deal. Mrs. Jackman volunteered at that same unit for a number of years and was working when Alice was a patient. They raised their children right next door to each other and talked as they hung laundry on their clotheslines, year after year.

Mrs. Jackman told me she would visit Alice as soon as she got to the hospital. One morning, Alice told her she wasn't doing too well. She thought her time was coming fast. She said that the night before her dead parents and other relatives had visited her and asked her to come along. Alice said they had young Adam with them, her beloved grandchild, dead from cancer. She told them that she didn't want to go. She was going to hang on for as long as she could. But she had a change of heart. Alice told Dorothy that when they came again to collect her, her plan was to go. That if they came for her that night, she would gladly go with them. She died some time during the night and Mrs. Jackman never saw her again.

Mrs. Jackman said it was possible that someone came for my Dad, people who were waiting for him. Maybe that's why he asked his attendant to help him get dressed. Maybe he knew he was going on a long journey. Maybe he didn't have time to stop off and see me one more time. I hope he thought of me. I keep wondering where he is; I worry about him still.

For so many years, I didn't really have a lot of time for sleeping. Especially those years as a single parent after my divorce, many of which saw me in university full-time and working as a research assistant part-time. Then years of working long hours as a freelance researcher, a job I still do. As a result, I didn't dream. I never really remember dreaming. When I came back to St. John's a few years ago, Louis encouraged me to sleep more and not work so many hours. It was a big adjustment, but I did. I began to dream, but I never had dreams about my father, even though he was such a big part of my every day. Last year I saw a movie called Stepmom. Susan Sarandon plays a mother who is dying of cancer. She tells her young son that even though she won't be around anymore, they will be able to visit each other in his dreams. She tells him that dreams are one way that she will use to still be with him.

I have dreamt of my father four times since his death. I don't know what it means. I did think of the film and wondered if it was possible that Dad was trying to reach me through my dreams. I hope so.

I've been looking through my father's address book. My sister sent it to me this week. I'm so glad to have it with me. I don't recognize all of the names but I plan to call everyone in it. I found the following musings written by Dad: Living is an art. It takes an awful lot of living to learn to become yourself. I miss you, Dad.

For Robbie

Young Grandpa reminds me of you.

"The Feeding of the Deer"

My sister just sent me some family photos that we are scanning for archival purposes. My plan is to send each of my siblings copies of the scans on CD so that they can view the pics on their own computers and print off the ones they want. Here's one of my brother Robert and Dad, taken while on vacation in the U.S.

The following is a copy of an article about our father that I have submitted to the Globe & Mail for publication in a daily section entitled Lives Lived. We are still waiting to see if it will appear in the newspaper.

Lives Lived

Ronald Mason
Art gallery owner, baker, landscaper, father.
Born July 20, 1928 in Orangeville, Ontario
Died January 28, 2005 in Toronto, Ontario of a heart attack, aged 76.

The pivotal moment in my father?s life came in 1969 when he accepted an invitation to move to St. John?s, Newfoundland to work for the art gallery at Memorial University of Newfoundland. Prior to that time he had worked in Montreal for several years, first in the construction of the Canadian Pavilion for Expo 67, and later as an assistant in the pavilion?s art gallery. My father never aspired to have a career in the arts and had no formal education in that area. Nonetheless, in 1969 he moved his wife and three children (I, the fourth child, would be born in 1971) to a small university-owned house in foggy St. John?s, decades before it became a fashionable place to visit.

After four years of learning his trade in the university gallery, my father opened his own gallery in 1973 in St. John?s. Although Gallery Mason operated for only six years, it and my father left an indelible mark on the city and a community of Newfoundland artists. He exhibited works from dozens of then relatively unknown painters and helped to keep many of them afloat. There are stories of my father driving for hours to small coastal towns to deliver food to impoverished artists and their families. My father came in contact with a variety of celebrities through his gallery, including premiers, CEOs and entertainers. On one occasion my father brought Peter Gzowski home to supper - he was in St. John?s to tape his radio show This Country in the Morning.

When Gallery Mason closed in 1980, my father searched for a new challenge. In 1981 he joined the oil drilling industry just beginning to flourish off the coast of Newfoundland. Although he had never previously been on the sea, for almost 10 years my father worked in increasingly senior positions - baker, cook, chief steward - on oil drilling ships and platforms around the world, including in the Beaufort Sea and off the coasts of Senegal and Ghana. He would often be gone for several months at a time. Life on the ocean was not easy. I know my father battled countless hours of seasickness and, in 1982, he was dealt a blow when the Ocean Ranger platform disappeared into the Atlantic Ocean with all 84 souls onboard, many of whom he knew well.

Eventually my father became too old for life on the oil rigs and in 1988 he decided to move to Toronto to begin a landscaping company. My father did not have any background in landscaping. Nonetheless, after a couple of back-breaking summers as part of other people?s crews, my father managed to start his own landscaping business while also working at Sheridan Nurseries in North Toronto, where he stayed for 10 years. I?ve been told that customers loved my father and would seek him out - for his knowledge of plants and flowers, for his grasp of world affairs and art, and for his sense of humour.

After my father?s death, my sister Moya created a website in his honour (www.moyak.com/ron). Dozens of messages have been posted on the website about our father, many by people who knew him long ago when he was in his prime. One of our favourite letters is from Peter Bell, the great painter who now lives in Scotland and who, in 1969 changed our family?s destiny by convincing my father to join him at the university gallery in Newfoundland. Mr. Bell wrote that my father ?had a broad, capacious battery of virtues rarely found in one individual. In the years we worked together I never once experienced anger in him...He was no angel, but he would probably put most of them to shame?If it is appropriate to cheer for the passing of one who made the most of his life from day to day, then, with due respect, maybe we should cheer now too."

Dear Rob, Chantel, Jack and all the Mason Family

Louis and I wish to express our sympathy and condolences on the passing of your Dad. It is always a shock and one is never ready.

One feels a kaleidoscope of emotions, just when you think you have dealt with one feeling or thought another turn and there is a whole new picture.

We are grateful that you all had the opportunity of a family reunion at the happy celebration of Rob and Chantel?s wedding so many years ago in the Battlefords and on our farm.

Louis so wanted to visit Ron on our last trip to Toronto but ended up in hospital himself and was unable to complete that wish.

We know that Rob and Chantel have been amazing caregivers and honored both their dads through difficult times.

We know Ron was, as we are, delighted with Jack, the grandchild we share. Jack often spoke and still speaks of grandpa bobo.

We wish all of you healing, wonderful memories and peace in the time to come. May the threads your dad wove in the fabric of your lives be strong, colorful and bond you as a family.

We hold you in our thoughts and prayers.

Louis and Judy Lavoie

I loved talking to my father when he called. Sometimes I was working late or was tired or feeling down about something and didn't feel much like talking, but most nights I did. I looked forward to it. Dad was the one who heard a rundown of my daily events, thoughts, concerns, joys, and dreams. He was very supportive. He loved to hear what I had done all day. In some ways, he was my gatekeeper. It was interesting to see how our relationship changed over the last number of years.

Years ago, I remember how excited I was when I was invited to go on summer vacation with the Hanlon Family, who lived down the road from us on Mount Scio Road. I loved all of them and was very excited to be going with them to Square Pond Provincial Park, out near Gander. I was also nervous to be leaving my family for a few weeks. It was the first time I would be away for an extended period. I was around 12 years old at the time.

I remember thinking about how I was going to get a hug from my father before I went. I remember scheming and going over scenarios in my mind. My father came from a family that might not have shown very much affection. He didn't grow up with the tools he needed to say or show that he cared a lot about you.

I didn't get that hug. I was too young to make it happen. It is something I've always carried with me. I'm not sure why. As an aside, I will say that I was actually sent home on the CN bus because I got sick. I think the stress of everything before I left made it impossible for me to have a great time. I was in my thirties before I heard "I love you" from my father and got that long-awaited hug.

Dad changed over time. He let his guard down and came into his own as he grew older. He told me how much he loved me every night on the telephone for the last five years. Every time he said it was like a miracle to me. What a great gift from him to me. My wait was over. Sometimes I wonder how different my life would have been or what I might be like today if I had all those hugs when young, but like my sister said here a few days ago, I wouldn't have changed a thing. I never told my father how much I might have needed to hear those words when I was growing up. What would be the point? As a parent, I now know that you can make one hundred mistakes a day. I truly believe my father did the best he could, but I was never one to accentuate the negative anyway. I always tried to keep the good memories tucked inside of me, all along the way. To keep me going. What else could I do?

There was never a day of my life that I didn't believe my father loved me. True, he wasn't that storybook father one hears about through the grapevine, but he was mine. I miss him so much. I can't stand that he isn't here anymore. I didn't get enough time with him.

The Great Ring commemorative sculpture was presented to Prime Minister Lester B. Pearson at Expo '67 in Montreal by American President Lyndon B. Johnson. On the base of The Great Ring of Canada is the message: "For the People of Canada on the Centenary of Canada's Nationhood, from the People of the United States of America."

While my father was working at the Arts & Culture Centre in St. John's, the Great Ring was on tour across Canada. My parents attended the opening of the exhibit:



My mother with Lord Taylor; my father and mother with Lord Taylor; my mother, Lord Taylor and the American Consul; and the American Consul, the American Ambassador to Canada, and Dad in the last picture.

For Grandpa

An early memory: The cutting and painting of the branch.

To My Dad

If I had my life to do over,
I'd have chosen you to be my dad
once more.
Even if it meant losing you again,
It's worth all the tears in the
world.
You were my sunshine when skies
were gray.
I loved you and honored you;
You took all my tears away.
I was happy to be with you,
Proud to be your little girl.
Sometimes we would argue,
But to me you meant the world.
Your love was always pure;
You treated me as your own.
Your time seemed all too short and
I feel so alone.
What can I take from this?
My heart is completely crushed.
But nothing loved is ever lost -
And you are loved so much.

Dear Moya,

I am sitting in the library in Kettle Falls, Washington crying openly.

I received an email from Aunt Karen, which I hope you and Louis received a copy of and I was already crying.

Then I came to your Dad's site and after reading some of the notes I was crying even more.

What a wonderful tribute to your Father. I know reading the messages and notes must give you much joy.

I wish even more that my computer was set up so that I could be on more than the short trips to the library, but at least I have that.

I miss you both very much. Love, Maggie

Not long after my father died, I realized that I wanted to know what happened in the world on January 28, 2005. At the time, I was too overcome with everything that had taken place to go and buy some newspapers for that date. I didn't even think of it right away. A couple of weeks ago I knew I would want The New York Times and The Globe and Mail for January 28th.

I wanted to know what was happening in the world on the day my life changed forever. I would want to be able to read about the other catastrophes that took place that day and also some of the good things that happened in places all around the world, places my father might have visited or even lived in over the course of his life. I wrote the newspapers from their websites and both graciously agreed to send me the copies I wanted. The New York Times showed up on February 28th, exactly a month after my father died. I'm still waiting for the Globe. I haven't had the fortitude to look through the paper yet, but here's the front page:

Click here to view a larger version.

Thanks, Adriana. It means an awful lot to us that you come here.

Hi Moya,
I know this has been a very difficult time for you and your family. This website was a wonderful idea. I visit it every day. I know it must give you such comfort knowing how many lives your dad touched. He was loved and respected by so many people. I am sure he is so proud of you. Take care.

Love,
Adriana

I am happy to report that we've had 1308 visits to this webpage as of this writing. Many people, from all across North America, check in here every day. I am very glad for my father.

I want to thank all of you for your support. Just you coming here makes a very big difference. And please feel free to write as many messages as you want.

Our plan is to continue this site for our father. It will change, grow, become something more. I am considering turning it into a blog so that others can upload photos and make changes to their posts. As well, I am thinking of adding some more navigation and dividing the material into months. We'll see how it goes for a while yet.

I also have a growing list of people I will be getting in touch with to let them know what has happened. My hope is that they will add their voices here. I would like to include some of those who knew our father in Africa.

Always living away from family members makes things difficult, especially if you want to buy your father a load of groceries. While living in Louisiana, I found a cool site on the Internet that let me make a grocery order online and have it delivered to my father's house in Toronto. Grocery Gateway is a great company that services the Toronto area.

It was very exciting. The first delivery was made on Friday, July 20, 2001 (my father's birthday) between 8:30 AM - 10:00 AM.

The first order included the following:

1 Apples: Organic Red Delicious 3 lb Bag $2.99 Each
1 Bananas 3 lb. Bag $1.99 Each
1 Bassett's Licorice Allsorts 400g $2.99 Each
1 Cabbage Large Each $1.69 Each
1 Canada Dry Ginger Ale 2L $1.69 Each
1 Carrots: Organic 2lb Bag (908g) $2.99 Each
1 Christie's Newtons Classic Fig Full Fruit Bars 350g $3.39 Each
1 Dempster's Deli Pumpernickel Rye Bread 450g Loaf $1.89 Each
1 Dempster's Premium Flax Bagels Pkg of 6 $2.39 Each
1 Dempster's Whole Grain Stone Ground Wheat Bread 680g Loaf $1.99
1 Dempster's Whole Grain Wheat 'N Oats with Honey Bread 680g Loaf
1 ED Smith Jam Black Currant 250mL $2.19 Each
2 Gray Ridge Family Pack Extra Large White Eggs 18 Pkg $2.99 Each
1 Hunt's Thick & Rich Italian Style Pasta Sauce 680mL $1.79 Each
1 Hunt's Thick & Rich Original Recipe Pasta Sauce 680mL $1.79 Each
1 Imperial Soft Margarine 1.36kg $4.69 Each
4 Italpasta Penne Rigate 900g $1.29 Each
1 Italpasta Small Pasta Shells 900g $1.29 Each
1 Kellogg's Raisin Bran Cereal 1.45kg (Jumbo) $6.99 Each
2 Kraft Canadian Singles Thin Cheese Slices 500g 24 Pack $3.99 Each
1 Onions: Cooking 2lb. Bag (908g) $0.69 Each
1 Paper Yard Waste Bags 5 Bags $3.99 Each
1 Pine-Sol Household Cleaner Original 800mL $3.49 Each
1 Potatoes: Green Giant Premium Russet 5 lb. Bag $1.99 Each
1 Tetley Orange Pekoe Tea 72 Bags $3.99 Each
1 Tomatoes Hot House 1 lb. Pkg. $2.29 Each
1 Tropicana Calcium & Vitamin C Supplement Without Pulp 2.84L $5.79

1 Cabernet Sauvignon (0) 750 ml $8.95 Each
1 Merlot (0) 750 ml $8.95 Each

I know my brother Rob and I had a lot of fun over the next few years shopping online for Dad to make sure he got some good food. I know Dad really appreciated it and looked forward to the delivery people coming with boxes of food for him. We usually made sure to include a bottle or two of red wine.

Dad is gone four weeks today. To me, it seems like yesterday. It is the first thing that comes to my mind in the morning, mostly before I am fully awake. I shake my head as if that will make the truth go away. Every morning I go over in my mind how I found out, as if this will somehow convince me that it isn't a mistake. My son wrote an email that morning with the subject line: call me. Inside the message was: not good. That was all it said. I called and Danny told me that "Grandpa is dead." I asked him whose grandpa. He said it was my father. I wouldn't believe him. He told me to call my mother, which I did. I heard her tell me that my father was dead but I know it didn't sink in. It was like talking about someone in another family, far away. I know I am expected to accept what has happened; intellectually I know what has taken place. But there is something, some twist inside me that is unwilling to fully integrate the reality. I reject it. I don't like that he isn't here anymore.

But I never liked my father going away, whether it was off on the rigs, or in later years, to Toronto. I missed him. I just hated him going away. I hate Toronto because it ate my father up and spit him out. That's the way I saw it and the way I still see it. The Black Years. Nothing good ever came of him going to Toronto. He had to work too hard when he went there and he was too old. I saw first-hand how hard he worked when I lived with him for awhile in 1996. All the hard work took its toll. I know he liked to work but it was too much.

My father wasn't motivated by money. He never put it before people. It is true that he didn't save for a rainy day but he enjoyed life and had a lot of fun. He helped many people along the way. I remember our family driving all the way to Ferryland, Newfoundland because an artist, who was living there needed money to feed his family. They had been eating rice pudding for days and had no furnace. My father helped them, not because he had buckets of extra money hanging around. He had many mouths of his own to feed. He helped because we had so much in comparison and they needed that hand up. I think he realized that money isn't everything.

I know from stories he told about his parents and his father especially that money seemed all too important when he was young. Instead of finding gifts under the tree, Dad and his sisters came down the stairs on Christmas Day to find envelopes stuck to branches of the tree, left there by their parents. Money inside. His parents ran the local credit bureau and had lots of money and no time for the kids. They had little fun and from what I can tell, less love. I believe my father decided early on that people were more important than how much money you have in the bank. It's what you can do for people with your money that means a lot more.

Dad. He was different. He was eccentric. He was memorable. He gave a lot of meaning to my life. He was very much loved.

The first site of our family art gallery was on Water Street, at the foot of Patrick. My father worked really hard at the gallery but he also had a lot of fun with friends like Peter Dawson.

I thought it appropriate to post this email message that Peter wrote me because it adds greatly to this celebration of Dad's life:

"It's been a long time since we met and once again I have to say Moya just how very sorry I am to hear of your father's passing. Without a doubt he was a unique individual and I for one am a better person for having known him. I regret very much that I lost contact with him in more recent times (we have lived in BC since late '91), although I did receive news re: your Dad from time to time. The last time we met would have been around l990, soon after an adventureous trip by your Dad to get back home from Toronto. With a Christmas tree strapped to the roof of his car, the vehicle chock-o-block full of goodies for the family, he struggled to get back in time for the holidays. Christmas was long past by the time he got across the Gulf, the tree still clinging to the car roof. Nearing St. John's he was to go off the road on two more occasions before he finally made it. We sure laughed a lot as he related the whole experience.

I really enjoyed your notes in reply to the questions posed by a local (St. John's) writer. Brought back a lot of memories. Your father certainly made a huge contribution as the Newfoundland art community blossomed and flourished. As for the gallery and the frame shop he had to be a bit of a pioneer. Certainly in the way your dad approached and tackled this (then) new opportunity. I first walked into the 'Gallery Mason' in early 1975. Suffering the pain of a failed marriage I said to your Dad who was furiously working away . . 'Looks as if you could do with some help'. He agreed and that was the beginning of a great relationship. Actually, I think he helped me more than the other way round. Working with your Dad, meeting and dealing with all those artists (and customers), allowed me to get back on my feet and start building a new life. I have been forever grateful for that experience and I have never looked back.

I first met your Dad when he was at the Arts & Culture Centre. I certainly remember the aquarium. That was wonderful! It was then that I realized your Dad was a man of considerable stamina and enterprise. Great humour and he said just what was on his mind. What a character! You are right . . . when the time came for him to be replaced it took several people to fill his shoes. Always remember that. Should point out that of the four galleries at the Centre, one was devoted to marine history, the curator was a Mr. Ted Drover. MUN (Peter Bell) was responsible for the other three. It was because of Drover's gallery that brought me on the scene. My crew were responsible for the exhibits in that room. This exhibit was eventually to move to the Murray Premises on the St. John's waterfront. Another thing I noticed in your notes Moya was that you referred to Lord Taylor as 'Lord Taylor of Harrow'. Actually its 'Harlow'. Check that out. I think I'm right. (He was!)

I could go on about your amazing father. What a guy! Watching you all grow up Moya, he had to be proud. When I get back to St. John's I would love to see you and your family. To catch up with all the family news. Meanwhile my thoughts are with you and all the family. Knowing your Dad, you have much to celebrate. My love and very best wishes to all of you . . . . Peter Dawson."

The house we lived in on Waterford Bridge Road no longer stands. I went to visit the site a couple of years ago when I came back home. My father did a lot of work on that property, including putting in lawns, planting strawberries, designing an English flower garden, and cultivating a small kitchen vegetable garden. He raked and raked and raked some more. The maple trees were everywhere.

You can see a small part of the foundation that remains.

When I was a little girl, my father would often take us for Sunday drives. One of his favourite destinations was the St. John's waterfront. As a child, I always remember it being very far away from our house on Mount Scio Road. It seemed as though we were going to a different town. But Dad thought we should see the ships, particularly when the Portuguese White Fleet was in town.

Of course, the Portuguese fishermen don't come anymore but just this past summer there was a monument erected near the Newfoundland Hotel that commemorates the five hundred years of their visits to Newfoundland. I told Dad about it a few times but hadn't sent him a picture of it. Here it is, Dad:



To view a larger version (160k) of this image, please Click here.

I was finally able to open up the box of gifts I was collecting for Dad to send him for Valentine's Day. I always included a postcard. My father was very fond of nuts. Every Christmas he bought bags of them to put in a large brass bowl.

So many images come to my mind
whenever I speak your name;
It seems without you in my life
things will never be the same.

Dad, sometimes I hear your voice
and turn to see your face;
Yet in my turning... it seems
the sound has been erased.

If I could turn back time
and once more hear your voice;
I'd tell you that out of all dads
you would still be my first choice.

Please always know I love you
and no one can take your place;
Years may come and go
but your memory will never be erased.

Today Jesus as You are listening
in your home above;
Please go and find my dad
and give him all our love.

Lisa,

I know most people's first question is how you are doing. Myself included. When we all know that you and your family are in great pain - filled with grief. It has been a very sad loss for you all and, having lost my own father I share in your grief. I know there's nothing I could do or say to make you feel any better. Except try to be a good friend - that's all any one can do at this time.

I read the following passage recently and thought of you and your family. I hope it brings you some small measure of comfort.

"Somewhere a journey begins at the end of the worldly experience we know,

Somewhere a path stretches over the stars and rivers of memories flow,

Somewhere a silence is heard far away and the brightness of day fills the night,

Where the trials of life are resolved into peace,

When a soul finds its way to the light,

May it comfort you to know your loved one is at peace."

I know you all loved your father very much and he too loved you. I like to think my dad is in a place of peace, waiting for his loved ones to join them. I believe your dad too is with loved ones. You will all be together again, we all have our own journeys to live first.

Len.

My Mom and Dad a long time ago in Hamilton or Montreal.

I think this picture must have been taken around twenty years ago when my father was working offshore.

The family received another note from Peter. I thought it appropriate to post here. --Moya

This is the saddest news I've received, literally, in years! Ron and I never maintained an on-going relationship, but he has always been a nostalgic factor in my life. I have talked about him to many. That he has died comes as a terrible shock. A very tragic shock! He was a remarkable person. I will never forget the moment, at Expo '67 in Montreal, when I decided to lure him to the art gallery in Newfoundland. I didn't think for a moment that he'd consider it, but he came and pitched in, and the gallery owed him a great deal for its growth and success. To an exceptional degree your father took everything in his stride, allowed no set-back to disturb him, or to evoke any kind of resentment.

Spiritually he was a very strong person, generous, compassionate, fair. He was a good judge of people . . and of 'things' too! He frequently bought works from exhibitions we presented. All he asked of me was whether an exhibition was good, whether the artist was good. If I said he was, Ron, inevitably!, bought the very best work on view . . . not the most expensive, but the 'best'! I'm so sad he's gone. He was a great man, a fine man. I know you all must be very sad at his going, and I send my love to you all. But, if it is appropriate to cheer for the passing of one who made the most of his life from day to day, then, with due respect, maybe we should cheer now too. Ron gave pleasure to many, unselfish in his regard for them. While many will mourn his going, that sadness will be tempered by so many joyous memories. "Wherever you are now, good luck. 'Bye Ron!"

Peter Bell. Kyle of Lochalsh, Scotland

This is my father in Algonquin Park, Ontario, circa early 1950s. My mother says it was taken when my parents were on a weekend vacation in cottage country.

Hi Moya,

Here 'tis, most of the lyrics. Thanks for talking. Helped me through some things too. Love, N.

A song for your father:

"I Hope You Dance", Lee Ann Womack

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,
May you never take one single breath for granted,
God forbid love ever leaves you empty handed.

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,

I hope you dance....I hope you dance.

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Living might mean taking chances, but they're worth taking,
Loving might be a mistake but it's worth making,

Don't let some hell bent heart leave you bitter,
When you come close to selling out reconsider,
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,

I hope you dance....I hope you dance.
I hope you dance....I hope you dance.

This morning marks the third week anniversary of my father's sudden passing. While in some ways the immediate shock and grief of his death is beginning to diminish, I believe that my siblings and I will remain forever changed by his absence. We are, in our own different ways, still coming to terms with our own personal feelings of guilt and regret that are natural when one lacks the opportunity to make closure with a loved one in life. In time, I'm sure these darker feelings will pass and will be replaced with happier memories that bring us comfort and help us to immortalize our father.

During his last few years in this world I believe my father struggled with his own feelings of sadness and regret - missing loved ones who had gone before and reliving the moments that had shaped and determined his life. For many months he spoke often of his childhood and his parents. But eventually he was robbed of an ability to articulate the colors and textures of his thoughts, leaving my wife and I wondering what he spent his time thinking about. I sometimes tried to probe my father to find a key that would explain his life, that would help me understand who and what he was. But these attempts were unsuccessful. When he died suddenly, I was stricken by not knowing his final thoughts or words. I interviewed everyone who my father met his final morning on this earth - nurses, doctors, staff at his retirement home - and as far as I've been able to determine, his last communication, my father's "rosebud", spoken to the woman who answered his buzzer call from his bed early on January 28, was "get me dressed, get me dressed, quickly." Perhaps he knew he had a long journey ahead of him. Or perhaps he simply thought he'd feel better, less out-of-breath, if he was sitting up in his wheelchair.

So at the end of everything my older siblings and I are left with many questions about my father, about who he was and how he should be remembered. I never knew my father as a young man as he was already in his 40's when I was born. As a consequence, I don't have many memories of the vigorous and courageous man that others remember. In times past I admit that I had felt sorry for him that he had not been happier, healthier or richer. But as the result of the many notes that have been posted on this website, I'm beginning to see a different man, with strengths and contributions that I'd either never known or had forgotten.

My father was a great fan of the Kennedy brothers and was especially moved by Robert Kennedy's assassination in 1968. About a year ago I played for him an audio collection of various speeches of the Kennedy brothers and of reports of their tragic deaths, and my father became overwhelmed by emotion, something I'd never seen before, perhaps reliving the horror of the moments when he and Mary first heard of the killings of John and later, Robert. I mention this because there is a speech that Robert Kennedy made in South Africa in 1965 that reminds me of Dad these days. Kennedy said that "few men will have the greatness to bend history itself, but each of us can work to change a small portion of events, and in the total of all those acts will be written the history of this generation... It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped." I'm beginning to see now that my father did many things in his 76 years that had positive influences on others - through his contributions to the Newfoundland art scene, during his years on oil rigs, as a landscaper in Toronto and, of course, as a father to his children - and in his own small way, he helped to define the history of his time. We should all be so lucky.

Dear Moya,

With Sincere Sympathy.

May the presence of our heavenly Father sustain you during this difficult time.

Sharing in your sorrow and praying for you.

With loving sympathy as you mourn the loss of your father. I'm sure this is a sad time for you and your family. I saw the lovely tribute to him in the Telegram.

Sincerely,
Sister Marion