Author James M. Barrie’s full quote goes as follows: “God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.” I am thinking about the gift that is memory this Sunday morning, my first back in beautiful British Columbia, and one of my first without my much-loved long distance phone calls with my parents. Each Sunday morning since I moved to Toronto well over 20 years ago, and then to Alberta and now to BC, my Dad and I would take turns calling each other on Sunday mornings to catch up on the week. We would talk about the weather (of course), the work week, and about the latest Blue Jays or Leafs game the day before. These calls would sustain all of us until I would be fortunate enough to visit home, which never happened enough!

I was reminded of the importance of memories my last weeks back home in Lambton County. Whenever families gather to mark the passing of a loved one, it is often the chance to share favourite memories or stories that remind us of the ones we miss. My sister Jen and I were touched by the many stories that were shared over the past weeks by family and friends who knew and loved Dad like we did. These wonderful memories made us smile, comforted us and made our day!

I would like to share one memory I have of Dad that makes me smile today. I took the photo above of a ripening wheat field on Confederation Line, the route I would take while driving with Mum down to visit Dad at St. Joseph’s Hospice in Sarnia. It triggered one of my favourite memories of Dad from years ago. Dad used to do custom work while we lived on the farm. He would travel the back roads of Lambton County harvesting wheat for our neighbours. One sunny July day my Mum packed a lunch for Dad and asked me to take it to him. Back then I rode my bike everywhere and loved to ride it around the neighbourhood to see my Dad in action. On this day Dad was harvesting a field of wheat for our neighbours the Bell’s on the 16th Line (now Fuller Line). I hopped on my bike (with the transistor radio held tightly on the handle bars with black electrician’s tape) and peddled off in search of Dad. He always welcomed my visits and let me ride on the combine with him. I can still smell the rich, sun-burnt scent of ripe wheat, and feel the wheat dust between my fingers and toes! I would later find out that our neighbours would often refer to me as Little Jack back in those care-free farm days. This memory is indeed my rose in December!

I would like to thank our family and friends for so generously sharing your stories of Dad with us this past month. They help us remember him, especially on difficult days like today, when we no longer have a voice on the other end of a phone line. I would invite you to share your stories here if you like?

Helen Keller once wrote: “So long as the memory of certain beloved friends lives in my heart, I shall say that life is good.” Life is good indeed!