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Saturday, January 14, 2023

Remembering Dad / Larry / Grandpa on the 15th anniversary of his leaving.


Dear Larry, 

Today I am thinking of the fifty years we spent together and I am so grateful for the memories and our family. 

You are an unforgettable, one-of-a-kind, man who will always be remembered by all who knew you. 

There's a saying that "a life that touches others will go on forever" ... and you touched so many. We are still hearing stories from former students of your impact on their lives, and every June we give your award to two high school graduates going on to further studies in science. 

Your family misses you and keeps your memory alive by sharing your stories and funny sayings.  You will certainly be missed this February when we celebrate your mother's 100th birthday but I know your presence will be felt as we show photos of you. 

R.I.P. Thumper!  You will always be in my heart.  Love, Maureen  XXOO

 


Dear Dad:

“It’s been 15 years now and I still dream of you. I feel your presence in significant moments in my life. I miss you and wish you were here to guide me.”

“Oh, I miss my Dad.” It doesn’t take much. The tears still come easily. Followed by that feeling of a bowling ball rolling to the centre of my gut. An empty space you once occupied. You were my assurance, my reminder, my steadiness.”

We all remember you in different ways, Dad. When we hear a snowmobile ripping by on the trail. When we eat Habitant soup. When we see someone laugh so hard that they go silent, with tears running down their beautiful smile.





Grandpa:

“I had a dream and you were in it. You were in jeans and a crisp button-down shirt, sitting at a picnic table with Grandma. There was a street party going on and you were on the sidelines, observing, blue can of beer in your hand.”

“Grandpa would LOVE this snow.” He loved winter. The chance to race across a cornfield on his Yamaha.

"She has his smile, and his sense of humour." 



We haven't forgotten. It's impossible to forget such a big presence in our lives. Fifteen years. Fifteen minutes. You are still here.



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