Advice from my Dad…

I remember driving south down Albert Street with Dad. It would have been some time in late 2001 or early 2002. We were in his forever-dirty black Mazda pickup. I don’t recall where we were going or why – but, as with any trip I took with Dad in my post-teenage years, the destination was immaterial. The conversation was the most important part.

He caught me off guard asking when I was going to “stop playing house” and marry my now-wife B. I told him that we had talked about it and decided that we would wait until she convocated from university– putting the wedding date some time in 2005. He casually asked why I would wait so long, and I had no answer for him. He didn’t belabour the point, letting my lack of an answer speak for itself. He didn’t ever bring it up again – he just left it at that. And that summer we were engaged and then married 6 years ago today, on July 12, 2003.

And as I dwell in the place of sadness and anger and general malaise that has accompanied his passing, I see every day what my dad saw in B. What made him comment on my relationship – something he rarely did except to offer a sympathetic shoulder through my teen years. What made him check to be sure I saw what he did. And I did. And do.

While our most recent tragedy has brought to the forefront all of the characteristics that I love and admire in B, they have been there all along. Her compassion, intellect, and wit combine to make a rare breed of super-human super-wife. She has offered me all of the support she can – put her needs to the bottom of the list – taken Norah for countless hours when I wasn’t able to focus or when I was tied up with matters on the farm – been welcoming and accommodating to my family and forsaken her own, briefly, to be able to – and been there to help me remember Dad, laugh, and cry.

Over the years we have often laughed together. We have traveled together. We have worked together.  We have become parents together. Most of all, we have grown together. And now we grieve together. And B is helping me to deal. Read the letter she wrote to Norah about Grandpa Paul. Now you get a small sense of what a wonderful partner I have.