Nel and I have been friends for as long as I remember. Our
families were friends before we were even born.
My mother’s family farm was next to Nel’s father’s. My dad was friends with her uncle. Although we lived on different sides of the river
and went to school in different towns, somehow we became friends as young girls
and the friendship has lasted all these years.
So it was that Nel and her husband asked me to be godmother to their son
(admittedly, it was the fourth child,
but they did finally get around to asking me).
They asked Nel’s brother, Terry, to be the godfather – and the gloves
were off. For over twenty years, we competed
for the affection of our godson.
The
competition began almost as soon as we accepted the honour of being
godparents. At his baptism, we fought
over who would hold him during the ceremony– I did, for most of the ceremony,
but then Terry insisted on holding him too.
We competed over who bought the most gifts – I did. We fought over who visited him the most often
– he did. Terry accused me of trying to buy
our godson’s affection with gifts. I
accused him of trying to turn our godson against me with all his visits. We had
several discussions over which was more important: gifts or visits. He insisted that gifts were an easy way out
of taking the time to visit; I accused him of being cheap and getting free food
and a bed by visiting without bearing gifts.
We kept careful track of how
often our godson visited each of us. It
was a good-natured battle we both enjoyed over the years.
That competition came to an end on February 7. Terry lost a short battle with cancer.
When he
wasn’t competing with me, Terry led a busy, full life and was an amazing
man. As a teen-ager, I watched Nel’s big
brother become a married man and was in awe of how beautiful his wife was. Shortly after they married, she was told she
had MS and her condition quickly deteriorated.
I always quietly admired Terry for the way he stood by his wife through
all her years of suffering. In the final
years of her life, she was mostly bedridden. Terry put his life on hold for
her, although I suspect he would never have seen it that way. He would have seen it as living his life with
the woman he loved.
After she passed away, Terry re-married and built a new
life. He was fortunate to have found
another soul mate. Then, twelve years
ago, another woman came into his life: his beautiful daughter Kate was
born. Terry lived his life to the
fullest. He had a long career as a
social worker. He enjoyed being a pilot,
gardening and golfing. Terry took pride
in his Métis background. But likely the
thing that Terry loved the most was the home he shared with his wife and
daughter on a river lot by St. Laurent. It was situated very close to the home he
had grown up in. He loved that river and
the serenity of living there. In his
obituary, it is written that he loved watching “the river flow and the St.
Laurent ferry cross back and forth on lazy summer days”. That is the way I will remember Terry: out on
his long river lot, high above the river, the wind blowing through his hair as
he took in the site he so loved – the Saskatchewan River and the St. Laurent
Ferry.
The next time I buy something for – or visit with - our
godson, I will remember Terry and be thankful that our paths crossed and our
lives touched. Remembering a truly amazing man . . . it's a good thing.
