A Daughter's Tribute

Honouring of Dad at his Memorial Service, on March 11, 2003

by Wendy Baxter

I want to paint the picture of the last days of our Dad’s life, metaphoric of the rich and beautiful life he built and cherished for 81 years.  He showed us a beautiful way to live, and a beautiful way to die. 

Our Dad loved nature, and always said that that is where he found god.  Sunlight slanting to earth through clouds; the surprising green of a spring hillside; every colour the sea could produce – each of these was a small miracle to Dad.  As his world grew smaller over these last months, I can think of many phone calls where he described with pure joy the quality of the sunlight on his living room plant, or the cosy contrast of the fire light with the steel grey sky outside.

 On the day Dad died, we watched big snowflakes fall, rare enough in this part of the world that they seemed an honouring of Dad’s wish to visit Winnipeg one more time before he died.  As the snow fell around us, as the brilliant sunlight lit the snow-kissed mountains out of his hospital window, as five bald eagles circled above us looking for fish in the new pond Tom built for Mum and Dad – as all of these miracles of nature occurred, we all told Dad in our own ways – “it’s a good day to die.”

 Our Dad was immensely creative.  He loved words and art.  He loved human expression in all it’s forms.  He could play with words and language like nobody else, and he could also craft words to express the honest fullness of life.  As you heard in the poem Tom just read, and other missives he has given us over the years, Dad had a great capacity to hold all aspects of life – the painful with the beauteous, the fear with the faith, and to express his deep thoughts artfully. 

 As he lay dying, he gathered creative expression all around him.  Song, music, poetry – poems he had long loved, as well as new poems, such as the precious words sent by his grandson Aaron by overnight express, received that day in time to say goodbye... and hundreds of brightly coloured folded paper cranes filled his hospital room. My daughter, Naomi had been folding cranes for two months for her grandpa, inspired by the story of Sadako and the Thousand Cranes.  First she worked on them as a symbol of healing and hope, then as spirit guides to help make her grandpa’s dying easier.  She brought these cranes to hang in his room and to place around him, and she taught the rest of us how to do it, giving us all – especially his other grandchildren Emma and Angelica - a beautiful way to sculpt our grief and to bring beauty to Dad’s passing.  Dad always said “ideas are good and fine, but carrying them to completion is what really counts”.  He gave this to all of us, and this legacy clearly lives on in the productive and creative lives of his grandchildren. 

 In a big family, just like sometimes there is the fear that there is not enough food to go around (at least of the good stuff), so it can be with love.  But we all always knew with Dad that he loved us fully, uniquely, and without end.  Over the last few days of his life, all of us came to be with him, and each of us were blessed with distinct, unique and deep communications with Dad, though speech had left him a couple of days before he died.   

As Dad’s time to die drew nearer, five of his six children were here, and only Marnie and her partner Dana still had to arrive – they were held back by snowstorms that closed the Cocquihala Highway .  In a brief window of opportunity, they started the journey down.  Marnie got to the hospital Friday evening, and had a beautiful communion with Dad.  Minutes from dying, he was holding on just for her.  Our father would never leave without fully honouring his relationship with each of his kids and with Mum.  His eyes, clouded for days, cleared, looked right at her, and shone with joyous light.  They said goodbye, and Dad began to let go. 

As Mum held him and said farewell, his spirit moved into all of us, leaving us with the gifts of a lifetime and the strength of his beautiful soul in each of our hearts.  We all gathered in his room, and we sung to him, cried with him, held each other, Angelica read her poem to Dad, we told jokes, prayed, placed the paper cranes all over Dad’s body to help his spirit soar.  His presence was palpable, and the strength of the love between all of us was a powerful way to honour the very deep way Dad valued family, friendship and the human capacity for feeling.

Our father loved people.  He truly cherished all of his connections with people, whether a neighbour, a shop-keeper, or a life-long friend.  He loved to challenge people’s thinking, to teach as well as to learn from others.  He loved relationship.  All of you here today are testament to this.  Thank you for making his life rich and meaningful to him, and for comforting us today.