My friend Doug Hickey once said that my dad was like a weed; “You just can’t kill a weed”, he said, shaking his head and laughing to himself.

And for 94 years, Doug was right. My father was like a weed; like a 5-foot-2-inch indomitable dandelion rooted smack dab in the middle of your lawn. It didn’t matter what you threw at him, what you sprayed him with or how many times you cut him down, he’d always bounce right back up ready to fight. There was nothing under the sun that could wilt his spirit.

Jim was a powerhouse. There was no question about that.
Until last night…

Just after 3am my father passed away after a brief but severe illness at the Overlander Extended Care Hospital in Kamloops B.C. where he’d been quietly crumbling away for the past 4 years.

We all knew the end was coming. The minute he was taken out of his garden, away from his roses and lilacs, it was just a matter of time… And that countdown came to an end last night.

As I sit here now, I think what bothers me the most about his passing is that everything he worked tirelessly for his entire life is gone. The beautiful house he built himself, his magnificent gardens and the flowers he loved so much, have all disappeared. Even two of his four children faded away long before him. There simply is nothing left. His legacy is dust. In 20 years the eradication process will be complete. No one will ever know he even existed.

And what is the point of that, I ask myself? What is the point of working so hard your entire life when, at the end, it all fades away to nothing? We all work so hard with our heads down and an eye to the future, believing that what we are doing means something to someone somewhere, and when it all comes crashing down, it is so obvious that it doesn’t. And that to me is the failure of living.

My dad was a simple man with simple tastes. He may not have been a community leader, or the best husband to my mother, or even the greatest father to his children, but he knew the value of hard work and what beauty the earth was capable of producing. And I appreciated that about him. Growing up, my father did everything in his power for me, his youngest, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

I read somewhere a long time ago that the death of a man’s father signifies the birth of the son. I don’t know if that’s true, but I suppose now I am going to find out…