Eight years ago today my best friend Mike passed away after a courageous two and a half year battle with cancer.
It was a Friday morning just after 9:00 am when I got the call. I knew right away. I sat in my office as tears rolled down my face. After composing myself I went for a walk around the block and reminisced.
The last time I saw Mike was the week before at the local folk festival. He was sitting at the picnic table in the shade with purple and pink dyed hair, a portable oxygen tank at his side. As the music waffled in the background, Mike told me he had 3-6 months to live. My final words to him were bless you and thank you Mike.
I walked away knowing this was the last time I would see my best friend.
We met in university as members of the men's basketball team. I was the student manager he was the athletic trainer. Friends in the truest form for the next 25 years. He accepted me for who I was. We talked and shared everything and even tried to solve the world's problems. He shared the same passion for sports, current events and history that I did.
We would do anything for each other, one night he called me at 3:00 am, he got sick at work and needed a ride home. Without hesitation I picked him up and drove him home.
After many years of trying he finally got me to volunteer at the folk fest with him. Damm near fell off his chair at the bar when I said yes.
Mike loved a challenge and in 2003 accepted the challenge to climb the second highest mountain in the world. Conquer the mountain he did. He was my hero, my rock. He knew when I was feeling depressed and low. He always had the right words to say, things to do to cheer me up.
In 2005 when they found a tumour, he saw it as another challenge to conquer. He embraced it and was determined to beat the cancer. We went on our yearly football road trip. He savoured the experience and company each time. Our talks were deeper and more spiritual in nature. We cherished every moment.
I miss him and when he passed I was sad and full of joy at the same time for being a true friend in his life. I think about Mike all the time and know that you are watching over me. I will hoist a beer for you.
Monday, 18 July 2016
Saturday, 16 July 2016
Memories of my Father Part 2
Today is July 16, 2016, six years ago I had my first date with a great lady. Six years later we are stronger and more in love with each other.
My father once told me to take risks, because life is about choices and risks.
I did take a risk and asked Shelley out. As most first dates go you share stories about family, career, hobbies, interests etc, etc. After I dropped Shelley off at home I evaluated the date and decided I would take that risk again and several days later made arrangements for date two.
I had the pleasure and honour of writing my father's obituary. About 1:00 in the morning July 16, 2005 I sat down with pen and paper in one hand and a glass of single malt in the other. My dad loved his scotch. He had a strong partner, my brothers had strong personalities. I had a strong relationship with my father and his obit would be my legacy to him.
My father was a humble man of many achievements, first and foremost he was a survivor. His birth mother died when he was 4 and he went to live in Prague with his grandparents. The time was 1938, a turbulent time indeed. Hitler's army was marching towards Prague.
With the help of many people including the British Red Cross, my father at the age of 9 was granted safe passage to England so he could have a better life.
This experience defined him. He was complicated, complex, distant, aloof, brilliant. His formative years were spent in rural England. He excelled in sports soccer, cricket and bridge and was an exceptional student.
He attended Oxford and the London School of Economics for his doctorate. It was no surprise that his field of expertise was European history considering he lived it. He read, wrote and spoke German which led to his first job translating captured German war documents.
My father was destined to be an academic. When you are just starting out you go wherever you get a job which meant England where my brothers arrived, to Australia where I appeared on the scene, back to England, to the United States and finally Canada. Winnipeg to be exact.
My relationship with my father can be defined in three parts. From early years to age 15, he was my hero, I worshipped and idolized him. He supported me when I played soccer and speed skated, spending many a cold night timing me at the outdoor oval.
From age 15 to early 20's, I resented my father was angry, confused and blamed him for my parents separation. Months would go by without me seeing him and even our phone conversations were frigid and only discussed surfaced material and pleasantaries. He was making every effort to gain my approval of him. I was not receptive.
In university the healing started. I took an interest in history and we found common ground. We would talk history which led to current events, sports and monthly lunches together. I was maturing and my father was becoming a regular fixture in my life.
When he and his partner would travel, I would stay at their house. Apart from over watering plants it was the best of both worlds. I had my space because I was still at home with my mother.
As I said earlier my father encouraged me to take risks. I took a huge risk by forgiving him and recreating a relationship with my father that continued to blossom until the day he died and even beyond his death.
My father once told me to take risks, because life is about choices and risks.
I did take a risk and asked Shelley out. As most first dates go you share stories about family, career, hobbies, interests etc, etc. After I dropped Shelley off at home I evaluated the date and decided I would take that risk again and several days later made arrangements for date two.
I had the pleasure and honour of writing my father's obituary. About 1:00 in the morning July 16, 2005 I sat down with pen and paper in one hand and a glass of single malt in the other. My dad loved his scotch. He had a strong partner, my brothers had strong personalities. I had a strong relationship with my father and his obit would be my legacy to him.
My father was a humble man of many achievements, first and foremost he was a survivor. His birth mother died when he was 4 and he went to live in Prague with his grandparents. The time was 1938, a turbulent time indeed. Hitler's army was marching towards Prague.
With the help of many people including the British Red Cross, my father at the age of 9 was granted safe passage to England so he could have a better life.
This experience defined him. He was complicated, complex, distant, aloof, brilliant. His formative years were spent in rural England. He excelled in sports soccer, cricket and bridge and was an exceptional student.
He attended Oxford and the London School of Economics for his doctorate. It was no surprise that his field of expertise was European history considering he lived it. He read, wrote and spoke German which led to his first job translating captured German war documents.
My father was destined to be an academic. When you are just starting out you go wherever you get a job which meant England where my brothers arrived, to Australia where I appeared on the scene, back to England, to the United States and finally Canada. Winnipeg to be exact.
My relationship with my father can be defined in three parts. From early years to age 15, he was my hero, I worshipped and idolized him. He supported me when I played soccer and speed skated, spending many a cold night timing me at the outdoor oval.
From age 15 to early 20's, I resented my father was angry, confused and blamed him for my parents separation. Months would go by without me seeing him and even our phone conversations were frigid and only discussed surfaced material and pleasantaries. He was making every effort to gain my approval of him. I was not receptive.
In university the healing started. I took an interest in history and we found common ground. We would talk history which led to current events, sports and monthly lunches together. I was maturing and my father was becoming a regular fixture in my life.
When he and his partner would travel, I would stay at their house. Apart from over watering plants it was the best of both worlds. I had my space because I was still at home with my mother.
As I said earlier my father encouraged me to take risks. I took a huge risk by forgiving him and recreating a relationship with my father that continued to blossom until the day he died and even beyond his death.
Friday, 15 July 2016
Memories of my Father Part 1
It was 11 years ago today that my father died. Friday July 15. 2005. A surreal day if there ever was one.
I received the call approx 11:00 a from my dad's partner Stella, she said she couldn't wake my father.
I had just returned to my former job 2 weeks prior and had just returned from picking my mom up from the hospital earlier in the morning.
I flew out of the office saying I had a family emergency. As I drove to the house, several thoughts rushed through my mind, was this for real and if it was, the first dead body I ever see is my father's. I phoned my brother and told him I think this is real.
As I turned left onto his street, I saw from 4 blocks away red flashing lights. Tears started rolling down my face. I parked in front of the house, sat in my car for several minutes, felt like hours, gaining my composure.
When I entered the house, Stella gave me a big hug and said he was in the bedroom. I started to walk down the hall to the bedroom, stopped halfway full of fear, a million thoughts running through my mind, nervous anticipation.
I came back to the living room where Stella was with the 2 two paramedics who couldn't have been more than early twenties.
I asked them to come with me. Flanked on either by them my head was staring at the carpeted floor silent and in deep thought. At the bedroom door, I looked in and my knees buckled ever so slightly.
There was my father sleeping peacefully except he would never wake up. He was in his side, one arm on top of his head the other by his side. I was convinced I saw his chest expand and relax. I gasped. The paramedics asked if I was okay, I said fine inside I was a wreck full of emotion. At that moment my phone rang. It was my brother asking what is happening, he was driving back to the city.
I walked back into the living room and comforted Stella with another big hug. The young paramedics took their leave to be replaced by 2 city police officers. It would be several hours until the medical examiner came to pronounce and remove the body.
I went and spent some quite time with my father and the police officers. I sat on the edge of the bed telling him how much I loved him and how much I would miss him. I moved my hand over his back and his arm.
As other people starting arriving I spent my telling the police officers all about my father. His life, his passions, his story and his contributions to mankind.
11 years later, I know you are around me every day. I feel your prescence, your energy, your strength. I am motivated and empowered by it.
I received the call approx 11:00 a from my dad's partner Stella, she said she couldn't wake my father.
I had just returned to my former job 2 weeks prior and had just returned from picking my mom up from the hospital earlier in the morning.
I flew out of the office saying I had a family emergency. As I drove to the house, several thoughts rushed through my mind, was this for real and if it was, the first dead body I ever see is my father's. I phoned my brother and told him I think this is real.
As I turned left onto his street, I saw from 4 blocks away red flashing lights. Tears started rolling down my face. I parked in front of the house, sat in my car for several minutes, felt like hours, gaining my composure.
When I entered the house, Stella gave me a big hug and said he was in the bedroom. I started to walk down the hall to the bedroom, stopped halfway full of fear, a million thoughts running through my mind, nervous anticipation.
I came back to the living room where Stella was with the 2 two paramedics who couldn't have been more than early twenties.
I asked them to come with me. Flanked on either by them my head was staring at the carpeted floor silent and in deep thought. At the bedroom door, I looked in and my knees buckled ever so slightly.
There was my father sleeping peacefully except he would never wake up. He was in his side, one arm on top of his head the other by his side. I was convinced I saw his chest expand and relax. I gasped. The paramedics asked if I was okay, I said fine inside I was a wreck full of emotion. At that moment my phone rang. It was my brother asking what is happening, he was driving back to the city.
I walked back into the living room and comforted Stella with another big hug. The young paramedics took their leave to be replaced by 2 city police officers. It would be several hours until the medical examiner came to pronounce and remove the body.
I went and spent some quite time with my father and the police officers. I sat on the edge of the bed telling him how much I loved him and how much I would miss him. I moved my hand over his back and his arm.
As other people starting arriving I spent my telling the police officers all about my father. His life, his passions, his story and his contributions to mankind.
11 years later, I know you are around me every day. I feel your prescence, your energy, your strength. I am motivated and empowered by it.
Friday, 1 July 2016
RIde Don't Hide
This past weekend I volunteered at the local Rid Don't Hide event to create awareness and break down the stigma of mental health. u
RIde don't hide is he perfect title for this event. It could be riding, walking, running, hiking or any other form of activity. The key is to be active.
When I am feeling depressed, the last thing I want to do is be active and nvolved. I would rather be isolated, quiet and withdrawn because it is safe and comfortable. It is where I can beat myself up and wallow in self pity for weeks or months on end.
Thankfully since I was diagnosed, received counselling and started on medication I have been open and address my depression head on. The depressive moments are now for shorter periods of time.
I am not hiding anymore, I am open and aware of my depression by sharing my story.
A couple of months ago I shared my story with grade eleven students. The students were engaged and active, asking informative, thoughtful and intriguing questions. I left on an incredible high feeling empowered and grateful that the world will be in good hands with today's students. I wish we had education about mental health issues when I was school age. I was hoping to make a difference in someone's life, instead a difference was made in my life.
When I returned to my office, one of my colleagues asked me about my morning. I took a risk and told her about my story. We hadn't had the greatest professional relationship, so I was taking a big risk. And she took a risk back by sharing with how she is struggling with depression in a different way. Her daughter deals with extreme anxiety disorder. Now we share a bond and are professional relationship has improved greatly and hope to build s personal friendship with her.
Ride Don't Hide
This is one example of sharing my story, others abound, kindred spirits are everywhere, waiting for someone to take a risk and share.
Back to the event, about 100 riders braved a windy, cold, rainy day including the cities mayor and ex football player and an Olympic silver medalist. The silver medalist passed her medal around and I took my picture with the medal draped around my neck.
Since then I have looked at the picture many times and have a hard believing it is actually me. The person in this picture has an amazing smile. Anyone looking at this picture would never guess that I had been struggling to smile for decades.
RIde don't hide is he perfect title for this event. It could be riding, walking, running, hiking or any other form of activity. The key is to be active.
When I am feeling depressed, the last thing I want to do is be active and nvolved. I would rather be isolated, quiet and withdrawn because it is safe and comfortable. It is where I can beat myself up and wallow in self pity for weeks or months on end.
Thankfully since I was diagnosed, received counselling and started on medication I have been open and address my depression head on. The depressive moments are now for shorter periods of time.
I am not hiding anymore, I am open and aware of my depression by sharing my story.
A couple of months ago I shared my story with grade eleven students. The students were engaged and active, asking informative, thoughtful and intriguing questions. I left on an incredible high feeling empowered and grateful that the world will be in good hands with today's students. I wish we had education about mental health issues when I was school age. I was hoping to make a difference in someone's life, instead a difference was made in my life.
When I returned to my office, one of my colleagues asked me about my morning. I took a risk and told her about my story. We hadn't had the greatest professional relationship, so I was taking a big risk. And she took a risk back by sharing with how she is struggling with depression in a different way. Her daughter deals with extreme anxiety disorder. Now we share a bond and are professional relationship has improved greatly and hope to build s personal friendship with her.
Ride Don't Hide
This is one example of sharing my story, others abound, kindred spirits are everywhere, waiting for someone to take a risk and share.
Back to the event, about 100 riders braved a windy, cold, rainy day including the cities mayor and ex football player and an Olympic silver medalist. The silver medalist passed her medal around and I took my picture with the medal draped around my neck.
Since then I have looked at the picture many times and have a hard believing it is actually me. The person in this picture has an amazing smile. Anyone looking at this picture would never guess that I had been struggling to smile for decades.
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