1996
1996 was a pretty shitty year.
In what should have been me prepping to go off to college and focussed on the next stage of life, I had to grieve the death of my father on June 20th. Following that, I would suffer a devasting loss of my best friend Trisha, but for now this is about my dad.
He struggled with heart disease from what I can recall since his early 40’s. He had for years high blood pressure and high cholesterol, and from what I understand he most likely needed a new heart. He had what I seem to remember, a quadruple bypass and he was able to extend some life after that, but in his 48th year he would suffer through his last heart attack while driving in the early hours of the morning.
Grief is a wild ride. The first few years you are really trying to get your footing, while living your life and finding a way to move on. I suffered a sickness for 5 years, I thought for a decade that every health issue I had was ‘it’, and I really believed I would end up life my father, and my grandfather Joseph who died of a heart attack at 37. (I don’t have firm dates, but this is what I know).
As I sit here a month before I turn 47, I am happy that I’ve taken time to remember moments that are so long ago. I think often of what he would think of my life now. His thoughts on me living in Quebec, playing men’s hockey, then taking up skiing, mountain biking, gravel riding and moving across the country. Would he be here to help fix that thing that I have to hire someone for, and would we argue about financing over leasing?
The truth is I will never know. I was robbed from having a father as an adult, seeing him as a friend and someone I could rely on. It really fucking sucks.
A few years ago I decided that I would take the time and do something special for his death anniversary. I have never been one to visit graves. I really don’t get it. I mean I do get it, but I don’t get emotional or any sort of relief in going, so I decided I would do things I love. Things that challenge me and ways that I can take his spirit with me.
I took myself out to West Bragg and went for a mountain bike ride. I showed him the views, the people I talk to on the way, and of course a cute dog that comes to say hi. And without fail in the Canadian Rockies, I found myself in rain, hail and sunshine.
There’s no real measure for how we get over the loss of a loved one. My father was one tough cookie. It wasn’t always easy growing up with him as an authority figure, but with the tough times I also learned how to be extremely resilient, courageous, hard working, and a good friend. And as I cross into the age of which he passed; I have long let go of any fears in having an ending like him. I live my life in the most authentic way possible, spend time with those I feel care for me and inspire me.
A few photos of my dad. The first one he’s sitting in front of his mum who I called Granny Brandimore. The second one is with my mum and some relatives. The third I’m not sure where it is, but he had a great smile and I love that it shows here. The final fourth photo really shows his passion. Farming and ski-doin’. He loved living on the farm and he would have loved that I shared this photo.
