That was the day, one year ago, that my darling wife, Denee, started her last journey. She had been out front when she slipped on a step and fell. She had broken her hip. She was taken to the hospital by ambulance and the x-rays confirmed the break. She was scheduled for hip replacement surgery the next day. That surgery turned out to be very successful, but other problems set in, nothing to do with the surgery. She slipped and slipped, soon she was unable to eat. She died (not “passed away”, not “went to heaven”, she was dead) on the last day of May. It was the saddest day of my life, surpassing the day my mother died and the day my father died. Denee had been my wife, partner, and best friend for 56 years, one month and 15 days.
We had met in Halifax in late August 1965 and fell in love so quickly that we got engaged at the end of that September. At the end of November, I was on my way to my next posting in Victoria, B.C. Denee joined me out there in early March and we were married in mid-April. We always said that the best thing that ever happened to us was to spend the next two years as far away from out parents as possible. We had to make the marriage work. No running home to mom or dad at a moment’s notice. Denee became, in my estimation, the perfect Navy wife, able to look after the home and family during my frequent absences, looking after our money with success, manager of moves from one place to another, and an equal partner in all things.
At the time of her death, Denee had three children, nine grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. Not bad for an only child. She loved her family dearly and enjoyed seeing them whenever possible. It made her sad that they were scattered across the country in Peterborough, Calgary, and Victoria. To be closer to at least one child is the reason we moved to Peterborough from Ottawa six months before she died. As it turned out, it was a great move. It was the only move we made voluntarily. All the others had been because of military postings.
I only had one problem with Denee. She loved getting presents on gift giving occasions; Mothers Day, her birthday and Christmas. But she would never give you a hint of what she wanted or needed. It made gift buying a guessing game, and I wasn’t always a good guesser. But if that was the only problem I had with her, it made our life together very successful.
So, today becomes both a celebration and a mourning. A mourning for her loss. A celebration of her motherhood and all of the other great mothers (including Denee’s) that we knew.
Happy Mothers Day everyone!
