By, Alisa Yardley
Saturday, January 14th was a densely foggy evening. Massive conglomerations of moisture hung in the air, ominously cloaking everything in mist. Driving in those conditions left me white-knuckled and nervous. We were on our way to the hospital’s palliative unit to see my dad. All I could do was focus on the little bit of road I could make out in the headlights and keep going. It was an ironic simile to the grief that followed.
Like the fog, grief can impair our vision. It can be difficult to see through the haze of sadness we feel at the passing of someone we loved. Similar to that night on the road, we must continue forward and remind ourselves that the sun will rise on a new morning, the fog will eventually lift, and the beauty that seemed so obscure in the shadows will reemerge into our awareness, more vividly than before.
My dad passed away peacefully, surrounded by people who loved him. For my own sake, I’m sad because I missed him the instant he left and I miss him terribly still as I write what is proving to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever written, but I take comfort in knowing he is free from pain. I find solace in knowing that he went out of this world being reminded of all the beautiful stories of Heaven and the mansion that is being readied for him there. I find peace in my memories of him when he was happy, healthy and grinning as he so often did. The sound of his laugh echoes in my mind, and that makes me smile.
My dad, Larry, was born on May 10th, 1949. He was the second child, and firstborn son to Edward and Dorothy Yardley. He came by his strength naturally as he had such tremendous examples in both parents. My Grandpa was a WWII veteran, and a wonderfully devoted and protective husband. My Grandma who had been in a house fire as an infant and therefore had less than one complete hand managed to raise eight children; three girls and five boys, during a time when modern conveniences were not available. And she did it beautifully. They were incredible people, and he followed in their footsteps. He too was a wonderfully devoted and protective husband and a great father to my brother, Jesse and I.
My Dad’s family is full of fun, lively, creative, talented, intelligent and thoughtful people and like them, he was all those things. And he was the sort of person who would show excitement if all you gave him was a pair of his favourite grey socks with a red stripe, for the simple fact that you had thought of him. When my brother and I were little, he wrestled with us and taught us how to play crib. When we were older we had fun movie nights when everyone would get to pick a movie, bring our blankets and snacks into the living room and watch them together. When we were adults we had great conversations, recieved insightful advice, and for my part I always got the best ideas on any manner of home issues, from how to deal with unwanted pests, to gardening tips, to electronic and car issues and on and on. Many things remind me of my dad. Everything from motorcycles to stir-fry reminds me of my dad.
My dad loved nature. He was a gifted landscaper and we always had plants, birds and fish around. At one point he even had pet pigeons and another time he made a big cage in the basement for the 30 or so finches he got. When we lived in a run down neighbourhood in Calgary, he designed and built a fenced in garden oasis in our back yard that included a deck, planter boxes, a rock garden and even pond with Coy fish in it. Ever since I can remember, he was interested in various nature oriented things. Marigolds, Bonsai trees, Aloe Vera plants and gold panning will always bring him to mind.
When my kids, Griffin and Jasmine, were born and he became a Grandpa he was a wonderful one! He told them all sorts of great stories about his adventures. Their favourites and mine are those of his many random bear encounters. My dad loved to camp and take his motorcycles out for long road trips and it was during those occasions that his most interesting stories took place from a bear nodding thanks for his help safely crossing the highway, to a bear sniffing around his tent while he was in it! He had all sorts of fun and interesting stories to widen the eyes and make one laugh or be amazed by turns.
My parents were married, had my brother Jesse and I, and became Seventh Day Adventists all around the same time in the mid to late 70s. They frequently referenced their early days in the church and how much warmth and love they discovered there. They were excited to learn everything they could and were very involved in their church community. Many of their happiest stories come from the fellowship they shared with their church family. My dad used to play the loveliest songs on his acoustic guitar and we would sing and pray together to close the Sabbath. Those were nice times; days when we got to have fruit salad and popcorn for dinner.
My parents didn’t have much, but my dad always provided well for us. We always had a roof over our heads and a wide variety of healthy foods on the table. My dad had us trying all sorts of unusual things from molasses in our drinks, to dandelion leaf salads, and juicing before any of those things were popular. We couldn’t afford fancy clothes or expensive outings, but we always found ways to make things fun in creative ways. When we cleaned the house, he put on CCR to make it more fun; On Christmas mornings when my mom, brother and I would excitedly wait by the tree, he would casually go about his morning routine until he came out grinning, knowing how he’d kept us all waiting; We watched endless episodes of Star Trek and MASH and listened to all the country music and 60s rock he loved. As an adult, I still love those old episodes of MASH and I still play CCR to liven up home projects and cleaning days.
Then there is love.
My dad loved my mom very much. He loved Jesse and me. And he loved his grandchildren, Griffin and Jasmine. He loved all his family. I know just how much he loved us, because I saw how hard to fought to stay here with us as long as he could. I saw the magnificence of taking the predicted two years life expectancy diagnosed to him at the beginning, and turning them into eight. I saw it in the way he lit up whenever he talked to the kids. And at the end how he raised his eyebrow in his sleep and seemed pleased without being able to utter a word, just knowing we were there with him.
Most of all, my dad loved God. When it was his time, he was ready. He was at peace with it. During the last several years of his life, he devoted himself to his faith. He talked me through some hardships in my life by sharing his own experiences with me and how he had learned to trust and place his faith in God. My mom commented several times on how impressed she was seeing him face his end of life with such calm acceptance because he had reaffirmed his commitment to the Spirit that brought him in so many years ago in Medicine Hat. My brother commented that my dad never lost his sense of wonder. How beautiful a thing to retain! How much we can all learn from his life.
His body has been laid to rest now, but his spirit will continue to live on through the people who knew and loved him: his wife, his children, grandchildren, brothers, sisters and friends. We have all been touched by his life and these two pages only begin to relate the impact he has had on my life. I am grateful and blessed to have had such a father. There are no perfect people, but there are perfectly imperfect ones. There are people who take the bull by the horns, face everything head on and become the very best version of themselves as a result. My dad was one of those people. And in the end, I believe he did it. He was the best version of all the great qualities he had. He was strong. And he was kind. He loved, and he was loved.
He will be dearly missed. RIP Dad. We love you forever.
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