Donald Herbert Thomas

Anyone who knew my dad, Don Thomas, wouldn't be surprised to hear that some of his last coherent words were, "I'd love a nice cold glass of beer."

In January of 2021, Dad fell and broke his right hip, but even a broken bone couldn't keep him down. For a man his age, he made a remarkable recovery and, with the aid of a walker, was soon doing laps around the expansive garden at Rest Haven Lodge in Sidney. While still recuperating, he sanded and painted benches with youthful vigor and was involved in every activity the facility offered, including – and not surprising – happy hour!

Then just before Christmas, he fell again, this time breaking his left hip. Unlike his previous fracture, this break and subsequent surgery proved too much for his 92-year-old, still-healing body. Despite the tender attention of his Rest Haven healthcare team, Dad passed away painlessly and peacefully on January 15, 2022, knowing he was loved by many.

I spent hours at his bedside in the weeks following his fall, waiting for him to wake up and curse or say something like, “where should we go for lunch today?” In my mind, I see nurses and care aids drifting in and out of his room. Sometimes one would sit with me and tell me about their time with Dad and what it was like getting to know him.

The people at Rest Haven loved his vibrancy, his tell-it-as-he-saw-it honesty, and his stories – the so many stories he never forgot, like growing up in London's east end in the '30s. He told how shenanigans like scrumping (stealing apples from people's trees) would get him in just enough trouble to earn him a mild scolding and an ice cream cone from the local constabulary.

He told them about his adventurous days when he and his wife, Barbara (my mother), immigrated to Canada on a cargo ship with the shirts on their backs and little else. He talked endlessly of the life they built together during their 65 years of marriage, of their moves to Toronto, Edmonton, and Victoria, and of their travels to places like the Netherlands, Panama, the Caribbean, and Hawaii.

Dad shared memories of what being the only boy to four adoring sisters was like and how each one, Eva, Gwen, Winifred, and Joyce, was completely different from the other. He talked of his many nephews and nieces, who thought of him as a second father. He reminisced about the days when he and Mum ballroom danced with their best friends, Jim and Vera, and of the parties, games, and cruises they enjoyed with their cherished Summergate Village family.

He talked of the two girls he and Mum raised, his four grandchildren, and four great-grandchildren, all of whom he loved very much and was fiercely proud of.

Of the many lessons I learned from Dad, the most important was to wake up each day with a sense of awe, curiosity, and adventure – and to forget about half-assed intentions. His zest for life, sense of community, easy laugh, and generosity are what I miss the most already. He was a good dad who gave my sister, Donna, and me opportunities and memories beyond amusement and purpose; they will shape our days and live in our hearts forever.

Dad wasn't big on sadness or remorse and instead wanted people to remember him as a good old Cockney who loved a pint or two. Instead of feeling pain and loss, raise your glass to my fun-loving and genuine dad and to a life well-lived.

Here's to you, Dad. Until we meet again.

Lynne West