Cultivate & Guard

1942 Dad in his B24 Liberator Bomber


(Dad and Mom (Agnes) 1965)

My dad died this past week. The timing could not have been better. Although dad was 89 years of age, he was in surprisingly great shape. Never having drunk alcohol or smoked, being a tireless worker (still chopping and hauling trees into his late eighties) and being a heath conscious eater. Dad was surprised when his doctor told him that cancer had thoroughly invaded his vital organs. By January dad knew that he wouldn’t last more than a few weeks. Each of us 8 kids, our spouses, children and grandchildren had time to visit him, tell him we loved him and say good-bye. Dad used our visits wisely too. I wrote a book last year, called “Dying Well” in which I recommend that we all say what is necessary to say before it’s too late. Saying “I’m sorry” for anything that may linger as a blockage in our relationship; “I forgive you” to clean out the other side of damage incurred; “Thank you” for all that has been lovingly given to make our life and death more fulfilling, “I love you” of course; and most important “I trust in God”. The assurance that a dying person knows that he’s in right standing before God is the best gift he can give to those he leaves behind. In each of our conversations with dad he remembered little things that he’d forgotten to apologize for. “I know I hurt your feelings when you were 15 and I said that I didn’t have time to help you on that school project—I’m so sorry son.” He also told each of us how much he loved us, how thankful he was to have been our father, and how proud he was of each of our achievements. We had the privilege of praying together during those last visits. My dad died well. The one regret that he had was that he was going to be buried in the winter. Dad loved God’s creation. Every insect, bird, animal or flower was a reflection of the love and beauty of God. In January, as he lay in the hospital and looked outside, he saw the dark cold drizzly rain and lamented. “It’s going to be a very dreary site where my body is laid to rest. I only wish that I could have lived until the flowers started to blossom.” He made it to his birthday on February 19. That was a milestone—but on March 9, he looked out his bedroom window in Abbotsford and saw the pinkish hew of the cherry blossoms and the first budding of crocuses and daffodils. It’s Thursday today as we lay his body in the graveyard. The flowers are popping out of their shells. An early spring is upon us—just in time. Just before dad died this week, he spoke to my mom, who was caring for him right up to the end. It was hard for him to speak, but he looked at her very tired face (she was wearing a pretty gold blouse, because she didn’t want him to see her in dark colours) and said, “Honey, you look so beautiful.” Then he managed, “Thank you so much for being such a wonderful wife and for caring for me up to the very end. I love you.” And with a final whisper, dad said, “I’m going to heaven now. Good-bye,” and he died. My dad died well. It was such an honour to give his eulogy at the service on today.

(Dad & Mom (Audrey) 1995)
My siblings, Susan and myself at funeral service.