Tuesday, October 8, 2024
A Loving Tribute from Brenda to Dad
Though I could not attend my Dad's funeral, due to my medical condition, I want you to know that I have been with Dad in spirit, every step of the way. I was able to visit him after his stroke, and every day I stayed in touch, calling the nurses so they could tell him I called and loved him deeply.
Dad grew up in a time when hard work was a part of everyday life. From a young age, he was driven to succeed and provide for his family. He had a pony and cart that he used to sell goods around the neighbourhood, and this entrepreneurial spirit carried him through life.
His generosity was always evident—I remember when he gave a second-hand trailer to a man who had been sleeping on a cot at the Chatham stockyard. Dad’s sense of leadership wasn’t about power; it was about helping others and making sure they were taken care of.
Dad’s love for horses was central to who he was. From his early days with his pony to the countless hours we spent at horse shows, horses were his passion. He had an uncanny ability to see the potential in a horse, and his joy came from bringing out the best in them. He used to joke about the “bargain horses” that we trained for resale in order to buy our show horses, but there was nothing bargain about the way he cared for them.
One of the most memorable moments recently was when he got back on a horse. He called me that evening and said it was one of the best days of his life. That joy, that freedom he felt in that moment, took him back to a time when life was simpler and full of possibility. I’ll always treasure the happiness he found that day.
Dad was also a man of great creativity and skill. He could build anything he put his mind to—horse trailers, garden furniture, and even sculptures out of old tools. One of his many creations was a miniature sulky for my pony, something he designed and built entirely himself. His eye for design and his hands-on talent turned everyday items into works of art. Whether it was making rowboat coffee tables or crafting insects from discarded tools, Dad’s creations were expressions of his resourcefulness and love for making things with care and precision.
Dad had a sharp wit, but he never saw it as a talent. I remember telling him how much I admired his humour and sharp one-liners, and he just laughed and said, “but I don’t have your brain to succeed at university.” That was Dad—humble and self-deprecating, always turning the focus to others.
His humour came through most when he was sharing stories. I remember his Roy Smale stories and Roy’s three grandsons who would sit enthralled as Dad recounted tales that left everyone belly-laughing with tears running down their faces.
Dad faced many challenges in his last few years. His grieving was profound… He was grieving the loss of my mother, his beloved dog Ethel, moving out of his family home and having idle hands which led to many sad days.
Over the past few years, Dad and I grew even closer. After Mom passed, we talked on the phone every day, sometimes for hours, except when I was in the hospital or too ill. We had so much to share. Dad wasn’t one for long phone calls, but these calls became our lifeline. Every call ended the same way: “I love you,” I would say “I love you” and then he would add, “I love you more.” Those words are a reminder of the deep bond we shared, a bond that will stay with me forever.
Dad may no longer be with us physically, but his legacy lives on in all of us. He was a man who didn’t need to seek attention or accolades. His actions spoke for themselves—whether it was his generosity, his creativity, or the quiet strength he showed in every aspect of his life. Dad’s love, his kindness, and his unwavering sense of responsibility will live on in the hearts of everyone who knew him.
Dad, I am with you in spirit, remembering and honouring a man who will forever hold a place in my heart.
Goodbye, Dad.
…I love you more
