By Kate Winquist
kate@yoursouthwest.com

My Dad passed away in the early morning hours of November 30, 2010. It doesn’t seem possible that he’s been gone for ten years already. There hasn’t been a day that goes by that I don’t think of him. A black and white photo of him sits in a wooden frame on a shelf in my condo. It’s my favourite picture of him, taken by my sister Carrie. A smile on his face and a gleam in his eye. He’s wearing a Co-operatives hat and a zippered coat. It is how I remember him.

They say time heals all wounds and that our grief softens over time. I suppose that is true to some extent, but the special occasions and anniversaries always seem to be the toughest. I don’t think I will ever completely get over my father’s death.

When Dad had gotten sick and was in Medicine Hat Hospital, I didn’t think that it was that serious at the time. After all, Dad was only 77. He took reasonably good care of himself. Dad was active and had several hobbies. Mom would call and give updates on how he was doing. Robert was working rigs, and I was at home looking after the kids and running my business from our house in Shaunavon, so I didn’t go up right away for a visit. That’s when I got a phone call that I will never forget.

It was Friday, November 26. I had tucked the kids into bed, and I was working on the newspaper for the upcoming week. My sister Pam had flown over from Scotland to visit with Mom and Dad, and she called me and told me that I better get up to see Dad because he wasn’t doing very well. My body went numb. I remember not wanting to believe what I was hearing but knew that I had to get a hold of Robert.

The rest of the weekend was a blur. Robert did make it home and drove the kids and I up to Medicine Hat. The weather was horrible. Roads were icy, and visibility was poor. Seeing Dad in the hospital lying in his bed was difficult. He had lost his vision and literally couldn’t see us, but he could hear, and he knew we were all there.

Our worst fears were realized on Sunday when the doctor met with the family and told us that Dad wasn’t going to make it.

I went through an entire realm of emotions in those next few days, weeks and months after Dad’s passing. I went through my Facebook feed and deleted months’ worth of postings as I didn’t want the memories to show up in my feed. I regretted not going up to visiting Dad when he was first hospitalized. Why did I rely on Mom’s reports? Why didn’t I drive up and see for myself? Why didn’t I call him more often on his hospital phone? Why? I beat myself up a lot over this, and sometimes I still do.

Now, ten years later, we are faced with the COVID pandemic and I have only seen my Mom twice since March. The same worries go through my head. Mom turned 84 in August and she still lives on her own with the help of home care. We speak often, but do I rely on mother’s reports? Is she really feeling okay?

I never got to have a final one-on-one chat with my Dad to tell him how much he meant to me. I am hoping that my Mom knows how much she means to all of us and I hope that we will get up to see her over the Christmas holidays, COVID permitting, of course.

As We Look Back

Author Unknown

“As we look back over time
We find ourselves wondering…
Did we remember to thank you enough
For all you have done for us?
For all the times you were by our sides
To help and support us…
To celebrate our successes
To understand our problems
And accept our defeats?
Or for teaching us by your example,
The value of hard work, good judgment,
Courage and integrity?
We wonder if we ever thanked you
For the sacrifices you made.
To let us have the very best?
And for the simple things
Like laughter, smiles and times we shared?
If we have forgotten to show our
Gratitude enough for all the things you did,
We’re thanking you now.
And we are hoping you knew all along,
How much you meant to us.”