Obituary for my Father

Robert Knight, 96, laid down his working tools on May 23, 2024 and passed away at Huron Lodge Long Term Care Home.  Fondly known as Scotty, or Uncle Bob, Robert was born on May 7th, 1928 in Greenock, Scotland. A man of few words, yet a teller of stories (most often the same ones over and over) Robert is survived by his wife of 71 years Margaret and his daughter Catherine.  Predeceased by  his children Bryan (1975), Lynn (2005) and Scot (2016).  Robert was a proud Grandad/Papa to Bryan, Trevor, Tyler, Cameron, Kyle, Lauren, Ethan, Matthew and Abby.  

The oldest of five children, Robert was just a young boy when his father was taken as a prisoner in the Second World War.  He left school at the age of twelve to work on a farm and provide for his family in his father's absence.  At the age of eighteen, Robert met Margaret at the Ceilidh and they married on March 27th, 1953.  

With only two dollars in his pocket, Robert boarded a ship and sailed to Canada to find work and a better life for he and his new bride.  A self taught, skilled tradesman, Robert was able to provide passage for Margaret to join him and they settled in Toronto.  Job opportunities brought him to Windsor and, at the age of thirty eight, Robert started his own business; a commercial acoustical ceiling installation company.  An avid reader, Robert enjoyed military history and a good spy novel.  His hobbies included golf, horse racing and telling stories over a warm pint at his local pub.  Robert and Margaret loved to travel and managed to visit several destinations across the globe.  In their later years, the warm desert air of Palm Springs, California became their winter refuge.

We remember not only the journey you've completed, but the "dynasty" you have left behind.  May you receive a Highland welcome and find peace on the bonnie banks of eternity's shore.  

"If there's another world, he lives in bliss;

If there is none, he made the best of this."

~Robert Burns

 Slàinte mhath! 

Eulogy For My Father

Today, we lay my father, Robert Knight to rest and reunite him with his first born son, my brother, Bryan. I believe that now he will finally be at peace. In his 96 years, my father lived through many trials and tribulations. His was not an easy life.  

The oldest of five children, Robert was just a young boy when his father was taken as a prisoner in the Second World War.  He left school at the age of twelve to work on a farm and provide for his family in his father's absence.  At the age of 18, Robert met the love of his life, Margaret, at the Ceilidh and they were married on the 27th of March, 1953.  With only two dollars in his pocket, Robert boarded a ship and sailed to Canada to find work and a better life for he and his new bride.

A self taught, yet skilled tradesman, Robert was able to later provide passage for Margaret to join him and they settled in Toronto and started a family. Opportunity led him to Windsor and Robert moved his family to the place he would call home for the remainder of his life. 

Robert is survived by his loving wife of 71 years, Margaret.  After three years apart, unfortunate circumstances reunited them last June and over this past year, they once again resided under the same roof.  Dementia may have stolen their memories, but I believe that their connection and love remained intact.  I will be forever grateful that they were reunited in the end.  Though my mother cannot be here today, I know she would have wanted me to acknowledge the life they had together and celebrate the man that he was. 

A father of four children, Robert would outlive all but me.  The grief and tragedy he endured in his lifetime cannot be put into words.  All of you who stand here with me share in a part of that grief.  In that, sadly, we are united. Today, Bryan, Lynn and Scot, are here with us in spirit and have welcomed my father home. 

On this day, we remember not only the journey you've completed Robert, but the dynasty you have left behind.  I know he will live on in our memories, in our stories, and in what all of us have become because of him.  Today, tomorrow, and in the years to come,  I encourage you to share your memories and your stories of him. In doing so, we will keep the gift of his life alive and the pages of his book will never be closed.  In our memories, his story lives on. 

I'd like to close by reading a poem written by Robert Burns.  In tribute to my father, please raise your glasses;

Epitaph on my own Friend

" An honest man here lies at rest,

As e'er God with His image blest:

The friend of man, the friend of truth;

The friend of age, and guide of youth:

Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd, 

Few heads with knowledge so inform'd:

If there's another world, he lives in bliss;

If there is none, he made the best of this."

 Slàinte mhath!

A Leg Up

      May 7th,  2024 marked my father's 96th birthday.  While this was a milestone, it was met with mixed emotions. 

 Over the last 4 years, I have become the reluctant guardian of my father's memories as dementia over takes him. Recently,  as I watched  the 150th running of the Kentucky Derby, I couldn't help but feel nostalgic and dug up some old photos from his days at the track.

    I inherited my love of horses from my father. The above photo is him putting me up on the back of one of his race horses.  Dementia has made him forget me, but I will forever be thankful that he gave me my my first leg up.

   Looking at these photos gave me an idea. A way to both honour my father on his birthday and celebrate his love of horses. With the help of a wonderful local organization, Windsor Essex Therapeutic Riding Association, I was able to let my father once again touch, feel and interact with a horse. 

    Horses  give us the gift of their presence and offer to hold space for us to feel and process our emotions.  No matter our age, humans have the innate desire to be seen and heard authentically.  While my father wasn't fully able to engage, Cody the therapy horse did nuzzle out a laugh and caused my father to smile, albeit briefly. The memories we created that day may be fleeting, but I will cherish them and hold them close forever. 

Hold on and lean in.

Living in the Sunshine...

 

Today is a big day for me.  It marks a milestone.  Of the four of us, I am the only surviving sibling. 

My oldest brother was killed in an accident at the age of 18.  My sister died of cancer at the age of 50.  My closest sibling, my brother, died from complications resulting from surgery at the age of 54.  

Today, I am one day older than my brother was when he died.  I am the oldest and only surviving sibling.  It is bittersweet to say the least. 

This photo was the last one taken of the four of us together.  As I look upon it, I try not to feel sadness.  Today I am choosing to live in the sunshine of their life, not the shadows of their death. 

Hold on and lean in.

Meet Me In The Middle...

 

It has been said that writing is cathartic.  This, I know.  The reason I started my original blog, The Bookish Baker, was to create an outlet for my emotions after losing my beloved school librarian job in 2011.  I thought that was a bad year.  I was mistaken.  It was merely a fork in the road. 

It is with a heavy heart that I return to writing.  Something I once found joy in doing. It is time.  

If you are a follower of The Bookish Baker blog, you know that I took that fork in the road several years ago and it let me, by way of a jewelry store, a bakery and a trip back to university, to a job that started my career as a librarian.  

I began my adult working life in 1993 as a fresh faced, optimistic university graduate.  I had every intention of becoming a teacher back then, but as fate would have it, I began working in a  local public library and found my true calling.  I forged my path through marriage and the birth of our three children.  It was a job that I loved dearly and one that I had no intentions of leaving.  In 2004, however, I was offered a job that suited my family to a tee.  After much thought and contemplation, I decided to leave my wonderful job in the hopes that I was moving on to something better.  

It was. For seven short years.  Until someone higher up decided that school libraries were a thing of the past.  As archaic as the dinosaur. Myself, and many other  wonderfully talented individuals were let go.  There was no warning.  We didn't see it coming.  I was 42 and, for the first time in my adult life, I was unemployed.  It was not a good time for me.  

I began blogging as a way of not only coping, but finding something to do with all of the new found time I had on my hands.  It worked then and, for that reason, I am returning to it in the hopes that it will do the same for me once again.  

I have been circling this computer for days. I knew that I wanted to write, but feared what would happen once I started.  I had many fears and questions:

• Do I want to express all of my feelings to "the world?"

No. 

• Do I need to let these feelings out?

Yes.

• Would it be wonderful to connect with others on their grief journey? 

Absolutely.

I finally sat down and committed myself to writing at least one paragraph.  As the saying goes, the hardest part is getting started.  Before I knew it, I was galloping forward and this blog took on a life of its own. I am writing with the notion that no one is going to read this.  This writing endeavor isn't for anyone but me.  The thought that my words may go unread allows me to write with clarity and freedom. 

I didn't know where to begin, so I started in the middle.  Writing about what is happening in the present felt too fresh and starting at the beginning seemed to daunting of a task. 

Meet me in the middle.  The year of 2016.

This year started out fine.  Great in fact.  It was the year of the dream vacation that my husband and I had been planning for over a year; a Mediterranean cruise that would last two full weeks.  We had so much to look forward to. I was once again working at a public library (ironically, the same one that I left in 2004) and I loved my job.  Our kids were healthy and prospering teenagers and my husband and I had a trip of a lifetime coming up in the fall. 

On June 25th, things began to unravel. 

Our library management and board could not come to an agreement with our Union during  contract negotiations and we locked out/on strike.  It was such a foreign concept to me.  I had never done such a thing, nor was I prepared for what it would entail.  I will not go into detail about the strike, other than to say that it was one of the most brutally difficult things I've had to endure, but it wasn't the worst. It lasted for seven and a half months. Two hundred and twenty nine days to be exact. Long enough for me to lose some of my faith in the decency of people. But, as I mentioned earlier, it wasn't the worst thing that happened in 2016.

In March, a healthy, robust and wise man that we loved was diagnosed with an acute form of cancer at the age of 54.  A relative on my husband's side, Rick was a witty and kind person.  His battle with this cruel disease led him down a path that would cause much heartache within our family.  

At the risk of sounding like a late night infomercial, but wait! That's not all! There's more...

In yet another cruel twist of fate, my brother, my only surviving sibling (I am  the youngest of four and I have already lost a brother and a sister.  Remember, I'm starting in the middle, bear with me) went into the hospital with a headache in August and never came out.  Scot was also 54, the same age as our cousin Rick.  

The two men died a day apart in September of 2016.

This was in the same month that my husband and I were to travel on our much anticipated dream cruise.  We sailed for 4 days before having to return home.  It was a difficult journey to say the least. I cannot, nor will I try, to put it into words.  I also cannot express in words the great hole the loss of these wonderful men have left in the hearts of many. They are missed each and every single day. 

It is now April of 2024 and, while I suffer from survivor's guilt, I have a great life. I am forever grateful to my wonderful and loving husband who has always remained steadfast and by my side.  My supporter, my advocate and my voice of reason.  We have three wonderful, healthy and understanding children.  Together they have made me smile even when I didn't want to and thought that I couldn't.  In spite of this, I still find myself struggling to make sense of it all.  The questions surmount the answers. 

In writing  this blog, I hope to dispel some of my dejection.  My goal is to return to blogging on a somewhat regular basis.  As I have previously mentioned, this worked for me once before, I am hopeful that it will again. In the words of Ernest Hemingway, I hope to write hard and clear about what hurts and perhaps somewhere along the way I will rediscover myself and find an outlet for my grief.  Until then, hold on and lean in.