My father passed away suddenly, but not surprisingly, on February 14, 2023. He passed without warning in the literal sense, but I felt he would soon be leaving this world and knew it wasn’t long until he “shuffled off his mortal coil.” I received a call from his brother, but I already knew. Within the days that preceded his passing, I found an old birthday card from his mother, which still had some of his childhood photos in it, and I had this vague sense that he would be leaving soon.

I remember seeing my uncle’s name on Facebook Messenger requesting my phone number, and I knew what those words meant. I had thought about how I might feel when he died for years. We weren’t close, but I grew to appreciate and genuinely love the man, albeit from a distant yet compassionate approach. I had longed for a closer connection to him for most of my life. Still, in the years before his passing, I became very much at peace with my feelings regarding our connection and his inability to fully commit to being a father figure.

I remember it hit harder than I expected, and the emotional wave that followed was somewhat overwhelming. I think when he died, my dream of being a fully-fledged family member on his side of the family died, too, and as a result, I chose to attend his celebration of life ceremony put on by his friends in Vancouver, BC, namely due to the cost and only being able to attend one event. The trip itself was a bit of a challenge since I had just begun working as a temp in an office that seemed genuinely irritated rather than concerned or compassionate about the fact that I had just lost a parent and for the simple fact that I didn’t have the money to fly out to BC.

I often followed my intuition over logic and decided to make it work. I booked a direct flight from Halifax to Vancouver, and immediately after I sat down, the woman sitting next to me asked me if I would be OK with switching seats with her husband, who was across the aisle from me. When I did, I realized I was sitting next to an empty seat for the duration of the flight.

I got off in Vancouver, hopped on the sky train, and went through the city streets looking for my bed for the week, which was the least expensive hostel I could find. It sat atop a very loud bar, and coincidentally, my father’s celebration of life was held on St. Patrick’s Day weekend. And I remember waking up at 3:00 AM to bagpipes being played below me; thank God for earplugs.

My father’s name was Patrick, and he was proud of his Irish heritage, so it just felt right that I was there. I honestly hadn’t slept that well in months. I was offered by a woman from Iceland who was doing a practicum up north to travel to Vancouver Island and stay in a hostel with her there, but by the time I went to book a bed for the night, they were completely sold out, so I decided to stay where I was.

I was incredibly nervous on the day of his celebration of life, but I decided to leave incredibly early to ensure I arrived on time. I had to travel by sky train and bus to get there and ended up missing my stop and having to backtrack about two kilometres. It was the most beautiful weather of the entire trip, and it was such a welcome gift to walk alongside some water and sunshine before meeting his friends. Several bald eagles flew above me, and I could see some of their massive nests. I’ve always had such an affinity for those animals that I felt very at peace with how the day would unfold, and I think it allowed me to trust even more in the process.

I had arrived early and went to walk into the room; I was incredibly nervous and self-conscious, but I walked in confidently and approached this beautiful woman with blonde hair in the corner. I introduced myself, and she told me my father had once dated. To say that I was shocked would be an understatement, but it made me happy to know that he had, however brief it might have been, he had been in love with someone so kind and so beautiful.

There are just some people you meet, and you know immediately that they are among the kindest of souls; I felt comforted by the fact that he dated someone like her. That meant that it said something about who he was as a person and that it helped me cope with my love life at the time and how precious our time, connections, and experiences genuinely are.

I was walking around the room and introducing myself to people here and there, and eventually, someone gave the first speech. I decided immediately to say something because I would only be afforded this opportunity once, and I didn’t want to have any regrets after the event. I spoke briefly, with my voice barely holding it together and my eyes full of tears. I told them all, “that although I did not know my father very well, it was a testament to hear such beautiful words about him and to know so many people loved him so much.”

It was a wonderful day, and I spoke with many of his friends and so many of them could see so much of him in me, and I feel like my presence gave them comfort in knowing that he lived on in some fashion regardless of their beliefs around death and spirituality. During the celebration of life, I took a few photos and left with his ex-girlfriend. We spoke at length about him, and she told me all the nice things that he had told others about me, which I never really heard from him directly, but our drive back to the city gave me more insight into my own life and my connections to men how I could quickly draw parallels between their relationship and the relationship I was experiencing in my own life at the time. I found it profoundly comforting in some strange way.

But I found in the weeks that followed the event I was torn up inside for going to his celebration of life. I kept recounting all the beautiful things I had heard that day. I kept reminding myself that their memories differed strongly from mine because I stood in a room filled with love. I heard all these stories from people I didn’t know. They knew exactly who I was and heard amazing things about me when I had never heard those words. I needed to listen to them the most, and I struggled to reconcile my ambivalent feelings around my father and his passing. I struggled with knowing that even though he felt all those things about me, he was never able to verbalize it.

One of the last messages I ever sent my father was about how much I appreciated him and how he flew across the country to see me when I was eight. While he was in town, we spent the day together, and we were just about to watch the movie, Toy Story. We were standing inside a movie theatre when we heard a question asked over the radio station playing in the lobby.

The question was, “Who played “Hamm in the movie Toy Story?” And my father said, “It’s John Ratzenburg,” under his breath. I remember urging him to call into the radio station, which he did, winning the prize and giving it to me. It was a great day and a memory that I have always cherished. The reality was I felt like my father, and I shared a lot of similar characteristics and ways of thinking about things and appreciated certain forms of art in the same ways that other family members might not have shown much interest in. I love the TV show Jeopardy! which my father applied for many years ago. He never made it onto the show, but we always shared that same love for random knowledge.

I was left mourning all the missed opportunities around spending time with one another. I don’t think he realized how much I had longed to have him in my life and how much I appreciated those brief interactions with him. We often long for elusive things and connections that seem tenuous at best and do not fully appreciate the people there for us 100% of the time. The ones that make us feel truly loved and do so much without reservation.

My mom is a giver in every sense of the word. She goes out of her way perpetually to help others and fully lives life from a heart-centred approach. I often think about how indicative it is within the feminine experience and how often women play the most unappreciated roles. It’s one thing to give a significant gift that comes at the perfect time and helps alleviate stress. It’s another thing to consistently be there 100% of the time, helping pick someone up when they fall, and being that solid rock and foundation allowing a person to flourish when, under other circumstances, they might have faltered and then been swept away by unruly events and turbulent emotions.

It’s something to be recognized because she has been a gift from God, and I am only the person I am because of how she helped mold me. And the reality is that had my father played a more prominent role in my life; I likely would be less of who I am now, possibly in worse ways. Not because his presence was overtly detrimental, but I’m not sure if he knew how to be a father fully, and those moments that hurt the most would have been amplified if he had been in my life more than he was. I am so grateful for both my parents, and I’m so thankful that I had such a strong, confident, capable, and loving powerhouse of a mother who helped pave the way for me in so many ways while also ensuring that I continually stay humble and always look for opportunities to be in service.