October 12

Although, in Canada, we celebrate Thanksgiving today – I cannot help but look at the date and think of my Dad. If he were still with us, he would be turning 77 today. There is much in my heart . . . a memory from here . . . a memory from there . . . ah-ha moments of understanding, a feeling of gratefulness, a feeling of loss . . . I think a visit would be good today.

Dad . . . although it’s not even been quite three years since we laid you to rest, it has been a lot longer since we could really talk. Your strokes began about fifteen years earlier, leaving you with mental and physical disabilities, such that you had to retire sooner than planned. Five years after your first strokes, which already left you mentally defeated, you had a stroke that paralyzed one whole side of your body. Speech became difficult and was almost non-existent the last years, possibly, sometimes just because it took too much effort. These were years in which you changed against your will and it was difficult to look beyond what we saw.

It’s funny . . . but when I watched your face turn up and behold eternity in death, the hardships and bitterness of the latter years of your life just seemed to vanish. A hush filled the room, and all was well . . .because we knew you were released and that one day . . . yes, the next time we see you . . . you will be whole . . . well . . . smiling, with arms open wide.


With the release came memories of the Dad who loved me in the most unselfish way. The Dad who never had a father to teach him, but did his best to be what he thought a good dad would do. I bet that sometimes you were frustrated that you had to carve the way for yourself – raising, disciplining, providing and caring for a family, when you didn’t know what it was like to have a brother or a sister or a father.


I remember you had dreams for us. I was about five or six years old when you told me that one day we would live in Canada. I see that dream now as desiring a better future for your children than you had. You worked hard to achieve what was needed – a sponsor, paperwork and finances. I remember trusting you implicitly, jumping off a high wall, knowing you would catch me. I also remember my first day of Grade one. I was playing in the playground during recess and I saw you by the fence on your bicycle . . . checking. I didn’t know then . . . but I know now . . . the love of a parent watching a child in a new situation.

I remember coming to Canada as a 10-year-old, and how you took me through the bus route I would need to take to school. As a child I did not realize the changes and sacrifices for you. Leaving a good job, friends and a beautiful home in Brazil, you also had to learn the language and I must say, that when I look at what you did, I’m proud of you . . . with your broken English you applied at UBC and began night classes while working during the day. Ten years later, often working through the night, you graduated as a General Certified Accountant, having your own practice on the side already.

I don’t know if it was the loss of most of your family and the war that hardened you, but we never saw you cry in those years. In fact, you hated it when I cried. Tears seemed to trigger something in you . . . an attitude that they don’t help – so don’t bother! I never really understood, but I do remember that on my wedding day your voice broke. The grandchildren came along and you softened more. It was like seeing another generation for the first time gave you a whole new perspective.

One of the most precious memories I have is of my 33rd Birthday. We were camping in Washington State with the other side of the family, when someone brought a parcel to the campground for me. This was very unusual and to top it off, it was a gift from you, when usually Mom would take care of those things. I kept the box, because the words written on it were the only “card” I ever received from you. Inside the box was a gold bracelet with the shape of two hearts which, when you line them up in the right direction, they form into the number 33. This was you … always finding significance in dates and numbers. A mind that could store details like a computer and calculated as well as any adding machine.

It was a short time after that, when you had your first stroke. It happened too soon, because your strokes did not only make you forget, but sadly they made me forget who you were.

But I remember now . . . and how I’d love to tell you what has all happened! You have grandkids and great-grandkids – some in yet another country – but loving God and serving the people there. With the way you loved to travel, I know you’d be one of the first to go and visit your grown up “Liebling”. Then there’s Kristal – who’s little girl would remind you so much of your “Crispie” – and she sings just like her Mom. And can you believe it - Benji will be a daddy? He’s quite the businessman, you know. I know you would like to give him advice, but he seems to have inherited some good genes.

Dad, you were always into the latest technology and willing to try new things. I remember you spending about ten thousand dollars on your first computer, thirty years ago. It fascinated you! If you could see my computer now and what I’m doing, you would not believe it! But then, maybe you would believe that the computer has become my place to journal, store photos, receive and send my mail, store recipes, share recipes. It’s an encyclopedia, a dictionary, a map. We can listen to music, pay bills, book airline tickets, shop, see the news . . . you’d like that! And it doesn’t even cost that much any more!

Well, it’s been good to sit here and have a good cry. Do you understand that now? Wish you could tell me what it’s like where you are. Are you waiting? Or is it so perfect that eternity is already there? Something our finite minds do not yet understand, but one day we will. Until then . . . Happy Birthday, Dad