January 25, 2002

Two years ago today I wrote about visiting my Dad for what turned out to be the last time before he died. Time is a strange animal. It at once seems like forever and also seems only yesterday that that visit took place. We were to have gone up the week after Christmas to visit, but bad weather and Dad's failing health vetoed that plan. Instead, we took a Friday and Monday off and had a long weekend in mid-January to, for all intents and purposes, say good-bye. It was an odd, almost surreal, couple of days. Here was this broken shell of a body, shuffling slowly about the house; an impostor in my Dad's clothing. The spirit of the man still burned bright in those tired eyes, but he knew it was only a matter of time before that empty husk failed him.

I can't say that Dad and I were terribly close. I'm sure that's one of the by-products of growing up in a military environment; where the children rarely are given a chance to get close to their parents who serve, given the nature of their career. There was a period of some years where we never saw each other. Still, I am very much my father's son. My personality, my mannerisms, my laugh, my dashing good looks; all of these are courtesy of my blood line. I am extremely glad that he and I were able to reconcile the past over the last few years of his life. It was great to get along with him in an adult to adult relationship that ended up strengthening the father-son bond much much more than the traditional family relations ever had a chance to.

Mom gave me some framed photographs at Christmas that are a nice mini-glimpse into that which makes up Ron. (Click on them to enlarge in a new window.)

(With apologies to The Mighty Kymm, who posted a first/last set of pictures of her Dad when he passed on.) To the left is a picture of Dad and me when I was very small. I'm sure it's not the very first picture of us, but it's one of the first. To the right is the last picture taken of the two of us, in August 1999, when Dad and his wife Lee came over for a visit.

My Grandma and Pa, Mom's parents, taken around the end of World War II. Pa had served in the Coastal Patrol of the Royal Canadian Navy during the war. You see him here in his uniform. My family on both sides has a nautical history; Dad served aboard the HMCS Saskatchewan just after I was born. I was christened aboard the ship and my name was engraved on the ship's bell.

Mom and Dad around the time they were married. My pedigree, as it were.

That little gaffer wrapped up in the blanket is yours truly, age 10 days. Gotta love the stunned wonder expression I'm wearing.

Not sure how old I am here. Weren't I a precocious little thing?

I love this picture. This is Duffy (Moorehead's MacDuff was his official name on his papers.) He was the family pet when we lived in Gander, Newfoundland.

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