In praise of a good man

It is with a sad and heavy heart that I pass along the news that my dear uncle John Fraser succumbed to a six month fight with Multiple Myeloma on Thursday, September 30th.

I remember being seven or eight. It was clear, but there was a light breeze and both the air and the lake were remarkably cool. We were watching the clock tick away the minutes, the smell of coffee and toast from a late breakfast still lingering in the air, waiting for the magic one-hour period after eating to pass, so I could get in the water. Then, uncle John stood up, declared that it was time, grabbed a towel and headed out the door. Where he lead, one was compelled to follow.


We carried the rowboat to the water's edge and pushed it in. I hopped into the cold water and maneuvered the boat around to the point, and uncle John hopped in. I must have looked scared, because uncle John delivered one of his "never mind that" speeches and told me to get in the water, or else. The next thing I knew, I was in the water swimming behind uncle John in the rowboat, trying to remember why it was so important that I be able to swim as far as the other side of the lake.


The lake, that dear beloved Lake Hughes was where, only 2-3 years before, that same uncle John had taught me to swim -- patiently, forgivingly, lovingly. He not only loved all kids in general but also, to my great delight and surprise, me in particular. I remember Lake Hughes being dark and cold in the middle. My imagination worked as hard as my scrawny frame in conjuring up images of sub-aquatic monsters living in its muddy, weedy depths. I remember starting to panic and telling uncle John I couldn't go on: "Nonsense," he said. He utterly rejected giving up at anything. I treaded water for a bit and then continued on. I stopped several more times, tired from the effort, and prevailing on uncle John to let me in the boat, but he refused each request in turn.


You see, it was always that way with John. He pushed you on, because he always believed that if you worked hard and true enough, you could accomplish anything you set your mind to: he knew that, in life, the quick fix is an illusory prize and that real accomplishment comes from persistence and perspiration. And sure enough, I eventually made it to the other side. Not long after, we got there and back again.


Since Janet and I moved to Calgary in 2001, my dear uncle John and aunt Johanne have been so extraordinarily kind and generous to us in every way imaginable. When I faced challenges making a career transition as we settled in Calgary, there was John steering the boat up ahead again, leading and coaxing me on in the right direction. When we bought a house here, there was John again, offering his practical and gracious advice, or rolling up his sleeves to help. He had a way of pointing me in the right direction and letting me take the lead. He had, I have often thought, a remarkably misplaced sense of confidence in my own abilities. And finally, on the occasions of the births of my daughters, he was pulling on the oars again, telling me, "just love them Jer... lots of hugs and kisses. That's what it's all about." I so wish that they could have the chance to know him better.


John was a man of clear and unshakable principles. Conviction, consistency and compassion were but a few of his guiding lights. To say that he did not believe in quitting would be an unprecedented understatement. My uncle John was a fighter right to the end. This is how I know, without guessing, that John's own fight with cancer was one that nobody could have won, and why we must take some small comfort in the speed of his decline and the fact that he passed on without pain and suffering.


I know that, although John was not a religious man, he was deeply fascinated with the spiritual aspects of humanity. He believed in an afterlife and I know that he would have enjoyed the peace of knowing that he would be reunited with his beloved parents, George and Daisy.


His marriage to his dear wife, Johanne, is one of the great shining examples of love and constancy I have had the honour to behold, and a beacon by which any right-minded person could orient their heart and sense of romance. Equally, there is nothing in this earth that I know of that he loved more than his two sons, Jason and Devin, and his granddaughter Kiara.


I will miss you dear uncle. I will always think of you rowing that boat up ahead of me, encouraging me on with a cheeky smile and a wink. I hope that in this dark hour, those of us who knew and loved you well can all summon the strength of your good humour and the courage to follow your example.


I send love and sincere condolences to my aunt Johanne and my cousins Jason, Devin and Kiara -- and, of course, to my dad, Ross, who I know will miss his younger brother to the end of all his days.


Jer