Remember

Dear Megan, Conel, Kieran and families,

I am so very sorry for this terrible loss to your family and to everyone who knew Brent.  I was his assistant at Advanced Education and truly loved working with Brent. He was so very smart, caring and funny and he was so proud of his family.  To lose such a wonderful person at such a young age is heartbreaking. I know people say "it's God's plan" but I never did understand or agree with "His Plan".  

I have funny story I would like to share with you.  We were having one of our weekly ADM/Directors meetings at Advanced Ed and a couple of us decided to hide my fart machine above the ceiling tile in Brent's office.  Since I had a remote control for the device I would set off the sound during the meeting. We could hardy keep a straight face waiting for Brent to figure out what we were up to.  After we showed him the machine he proudly went around to all the staff offices and cubicles in AEB with the fart machine in his back pocket to set off the machine and excuse himself.  We all laughed and laughed.  

I wish I could have been there for his tribute and I thank you for this memorial to share stories and remember such a special person.  Thinking of you all...Carolyn Joudrey (Mingo)

I first started playing baseball with my dad and brother because I didn’t want to be left out.  I was three years younger than Conal and had neither arm nor the patience to really care about the sport, but I was jealous of how much of my dad’s time and approval Conal would get if it was just him and my dad playing catch up on the road.

My dad taught me a lot during those ephemeral summer nights, fifteen years ago.  He taught me how to catch; to make sure I kept sight of the ball all the way into the glove. He taught me to field grounders; to place my body into the path of the ball, trusting that even if you get hit, you would stop the ball. And he taught me how to throw. Ball back, elbow in, straight and even – always follow through.

Playing baseball is my most visceral learning moment with my dad, but truth be told he was always my teacher.  Whether it was assessing the quality of my history essays or screaming “slow down” while clutching the roof handle when teaching me how to drive, Dad spent much of his free time teaching me how the skills I’d need to thrive.  But from splitting wood to catching fish, nothing he taught me was as important as the values he taught me to hold.  While he demonstrated those values in everything he did, I learned them first by watching him with my mom.

As much as my dad loved an audience, the only audience he craved was my mom.  He first met her during his graduate studies at Queen’s.  It was not love at first sight, but my mom definitely caught his interest.  He had to work a little harder for hers.  My mom loves to tell the story of my dad showing up to the graduate department for lunch everyday.  Every day, without fail, my dad would show up to where she worked and strike up a conversation with her.  Over time, those conversations deepened, and they began to peel back the platitudes of small talk, revealing common interests, shared passions, and a mutual love of learning. Years later, on a hazy Yukon summer's day, my dad confessed to me that he spent more time planning their next lunch conversation in those days than he did studying. 

It was during that college courtship that I know my dad developed that private smile he held only for my mother.  He wore it for her during their long conversations on the veranda. He flashed it to her from across the party during backyard barbeques or Yukon’s frequent after hours.  Growing up, my dad always saved his energy for when he was around my mom.  It didn’t matter how long or frustrating his day was, he kept the best of himself for her. Now in my late twenties, living with my fiancée and working a job with long hours and even longer travel, I truly appreciate how important that lesson was. 

When you’re a child, you don’t understand what it takes to run a house or raise a family.  I was no different.  When I was ten, all I knew was that someone would drive me to after school sports.  I knew dinner would be on the table.  That my Saturday morning cartoons would be taped so I could watch them after swimming practice.  Because of this, it wasn’t until I was older that I understood how much my parents’ marriage was a truly equal partnership. 

Now, of course, I can see and articulate the divisions of labour that my younger self could not.  Both my parents cooked.  My mom did most of the laundry.  Dad drove us to friends or parties.  That, however, does not hold testament to their complete trust in each other. Trust that held strong when my grandfather fell ill, and my mom flew out to be with her family in his final moments. Trust that stood steady when she had cancer, and chemotherapy kept her from us for brief but agonizing periods. Trust when my dad had surgery, or pneumonia, and he needed time to recover.  

That trusting bond was forged over years of happiness, turmoil, joy, and laughter.  In the fading fire of my dad’s life, the trust never wavered.

I do not know what vows my dad made to my mom thirty-six years ago, but I know he lived up to every one of them.  Some things can only be fully seen by the results they cause. I see the results of my parents’ marriage when I look at my brother, and his family. I hear it in my brother’s laughter as he plays with his daughter.  I felt it when I asked my fiancée to be my wife.  

My dad stayed with us just long enough to watch us grow into honourable manhood.  He taught me about two important things: how to be a loving and worthy partner, and how to play baseball.  They’re really the same lesson, though.  

• You have to keep your eye on the ball – even if it means spending your lunch hours sharing stories with your partner instead of studying.
• You need to put your body into the path of the ball.  Through sickness, health, careers, and arguments, you need to be fully committed.
• Always follow through.

Two days ago, I started to wear my father’s wedding ring. It is a simple band, freshly polished and enlarged.  It has weight.  Until and long after I commit to my fiancée and begin to wear my own, dad’s ring will remind me of what it means to be a Husband.  To be a loving, patient, and gentle partner.  To live and serve as an honourable man.

Kieran Slobodin