The Long Good Bye

They say you can pick your friends but you can’t pick your family. But that isn’t completely true. Over 20 years ago I chose a partner, a young lady who agreed to walk this journey with me.

We eventually married and chose to start a family. I realize the saying is about the family you are born into, but in reality today, families are made in many different ways.  I have been fortunate enough to be part of a very special family, and how it all came together is one for the history books.

I remember my first trip to Sudbury, in the year 2000 to meet the people that would become my in-laws.  I wasn’t sure what to expect, my wife had given me her version of what I should expect, but the reality is unique to the individual.  I was welcomed into their home and treated with kindness, curiosity, and probably some reservation. Now that I am a father of a daughter, I get that. That first trip was short and pretty uneventful.  I don’t know that my future father-in-law knew at the time that he had met his future son-in-law. I don't know that he would have chosen me at that time 😊. But it was the first of many trips.

Family dynamics can be interesting and over the next 20 + years my relationship with this man would change dramatically. From the beginning where we both held back to measure each other, to the end where all walls had come down and a solid relationship of love and respect had blossomed. I am writing this today, due to the loss of this great man. A harsh and heartbreaking loss, the result of a years-long battle with Dementia.

When we first met I thought I had zero in common with this Doctor, husband, and father. He didn’t have a whole lot to say on our first visit, which is not unusual for relationships between men.  In the years that followed, we didn’t always see eye to eye on everything, but I began to see I had more in common with him than I first thought. He had come from humble beginnings, believed in hard work, was the ultimate family man, had a passion for cars, loved the outdoors, vanilla ice cream, and nothing more than to have the newspaper waiting in the morning with his coffee. He was also fiercely loyal to his family. My own father had many of the same traits, and so do I.

A lot of life happens in 20+ years. And we shared many of those experiences. Some were joyful times.  Shopping trips to get ready for our wedding, vacations together, help buying our first house, being together for the birth of my son, then years later the arrival of my daughter. He was such a proud grandfather. Other times were very, very difficult. With the death of my brother-in-law Andy, his son, from a long battle with Melanoma. I remember picking him up at the airport and seeing a man whose heart had been hollowed out. But he still walked with grace and carried on courageously, for his wife and family.

He was teased a lot by his wife and daughter for being a white-collar guy and not being “handy” around the house. He took the jokes in stride, but in reality that wasn’t really true. He wasn’t a carpenter, but he knew how to swing a hammer with the best of them.  And what I discovered was that he loved to be part of a project at the camp or our house. Whether it was cutting down trees, repairing the dock, leveling the deck, or draining the water system at the end of the season, he was all over it. We made a damn good team. 

His passion for cars was something we could share as well. It became a tradition that no matter what the weather, he would make the trek to Toronto so we could attend the International Auto show. We did this faithfully for many years until Dementia took that away. I remember our last trip there and seeing the fear in the eyes of this once confident man, and it was sad and terrifying to think of losing him there in that crowd. 

Dementia has no compassion, it takes people from you in slow motion, in increments. They call it the long goodbye.  And it’s true.  Over time you see a person become less. It’s heart-wrenching to watch.

 But almost to the end, I could still get him to join me for a road trip, whether it was a run to Canadian Tire for supplies or a dump run, he was up for it. He would want to know how many kilometers I had on the car now. He was always shaking his head at me for the high mileage vehicles I drove. Inevitably he would want to know what the horsepower was, and when I might be looking for a new one.

Elwood, our beginning was a little shaky, but in the end, you became a 2nd Dad. You were a constant source of strength and a great mentor. I will miss our chats, your love of my children, your support, our road trips, and our handyman projects. May you Rest in well-earned Peace.