Crisis Experiences

A month ago today hundreds of friends joined our family as we celebrated the life of my brother Doug. Through tearful words at the suddenness of his death or understanding smiles that surfaced with a memory, many hugged and shared stories and anecdotes of their love for such a good man. One friend said, “Doug was a dear man who loved life and lived it to the fullest.”

Fondly known as Dougie by his dear wife, Janet, my brother left a legacy of love, compassion, and dedication that many of us will be hard pressed to follow. My brother had a way of warming people to him, supporting them in their struggles, encouraging them in their victories, and defining what it meant to be a true friend. It is because of this, and because his absence in my life has left a great void, that I grieve more than words can describe.

With that said, allow me to share the eulogy I gave as we celebrated his life. For those who knew him, you may find yourself nodding as you recognize him in my words. For those who never had that privilege, let me introduce you to him.

In memory of my brother, Doug

Very early on December 16 I read the following from Come Away My Beloved, a daily devotional by Frances J. Roberts. Little did I know how much I would need these words as my morning unfolded:

“And the God of all Grace
who called you to His eternal glory in Christ,
after you have suffered a little while,
will Himself restore you
and make you strong, firm and steadfast.”
1 Peter 5:10 (NIV)

I will never leave you alone in the midst of any affliction.
You cannot escape the crisis experiences if you desire to grow and mature,
but you need never fear them regardless of the form they take,
for My grace and My serenity shall be as a strong anchor
that shall hold you fast, and you shall not be driven off course.

Little did I know …

Our mother sent this photo to our father while he served in WW II. His photo is on the shelf on the wall behind the chair.

Doug and I were bookends to our two siblings, my brother Lorne and my sister Mary who is no longer with us. Because of our age difference, I have only a few childhood memories of Doug as a big brother; but one is very vivid. When I was five, Doug was a teenager and I clearly remember him walking me to school on my first day to kindergarten. He reached for my hand when we went down the steps that lead to the sidewalk in front of our house on Ossington Avenue in Toronto, but I didn’t want to hold his. He had way too many warts! The number thirteen comes to mind—although I can’t be sure—so I took his coat sleeve! He didn’t seem to mind. I’m sure he hated them more than I did.

This picture was sent to our mother in Alberta following our father’s accident. 

When I was eight our father had a severe car accident in Western Canada that left him hospitalized for the better part of a year. The four of us were dispersed to family and friends when our mother flew to Calgary to be with our father. When they returned home, Dad spent months in Sunnybrook Hospital until he discharged himself—arriving home in a taxi—only to convalesce at home. Because he was unable to work for a long time, our mother entered the work force and Doug, being the oldest, left school to help support our family. He was in grade 10.

Our relationship changed somewhat when I was a young teenager. Doug got his first motorcycle and, oh, how excited he was! He insisted I go for a ride… and who was I to argue with my big brother? I was only thirteen! We rode through the subdivision for what seemed like an eternity and all the while I was slowly sliding off, clinging to the back of my brother’s leather jacket. I was never so glad to get my feet on solid ground. I believe that ride marred me for life; I’ve never been on a motorcycle since!

I met my future husband when I was sixteen. And as life would have it, he just happened to have the same name as my brother Doug. When I married my Doug five years later, I was thrilled to have my brother Doug in our wedding party. I must say life was very interesting having two Dougs, two Marys and even two Lornes in the family!

When our Dad died in 1967, our Mom moved to London to live with me and my husband, and my brother Doug took off on a lengthy ocean trip. When he returned, he lived with us for a while so he could go back to school. He was thirty-three at the time. He finished high school, went to University of Western Ontario, graduated with his BA degree and then went to Althouse College and became a teacher.

Doug married, had two sons, George and Ian, and by then I had three children. We hung out as families for several years, but life intervened, and Doug was on his own. Then he met Janet. How blessed he was and how he loved her. He immediately ‘adopted’ her family as his own. But sadly distance and time played a big role in our not seeing one another as often.

My husband and I relocated to Lindsay twelve-and-a-half years ago, but not before we had established an annual Christmas get-together. When we moved to Lindsay, we continued to meet at my sister’s home in London and were often joined by Andrew and Sarah, Mary’s son and daughter-in-law, George and Ian, Doug’s two sons, and Doug’s two grandsons, Zachary and Gabriel. We laughed at silly stories and nonsensical behaviour, exchanged gifts, and filled our bellies to overflowing! Cameras clicked and flashed and videos were made that have now become a keepsake. When our sister died three years ago, our Christmas gatherings stopped, but not before we had one last time together. We had Christmas in July in the Muskokas in 2017.

What I hold dear today are the phone calls Doug would make, sometimes with Janet, but often when Janet was out, and somehow I found myself on the receiving end of his longing to talk. And oh how Doug loved to talk! So we’d talk…for ages. We shared stories from our childhood, some I’d never heard before—and probably shouldn’t have—and for sure some he’d never heard before and needed to know, at least I thought so. We talked about our family genealogy, my father’s many sisters and the multitude of relatives we had in Newfoundland, and Doug was an avid fan of my writing endeavours, encouraging me with notes and emails that I’ve kept to this day. During those many conversations, we’d often have serious spiritual talks, challenging each other on our faith and beliefs,. At the end of each call we’d both agree it was good and we needed to do it again. And we did.

A week ago, Doug and Janet called to wish us a Merry Christmas and the four of us talked for half-an-hour. Once again we found ourselves sharing stories from the past, and of course, I had to listen as Doug bragged about his pork hawk soup about which he had become famous. He was quickly corrected by Janet who reminded him that she did all the shopping for the ingredients and prepared most of them. All he did was put them in the pot. But he got all the credit. I will cherish that half hour for the remainder of my years. The last words I said to my brother were, “I love you!”

The devotional I read the morning my brother died was entitled, Crisis Experiences, and learning of his sudden death an hour after reading the devotional would have certainly been considered that. But we are not protected from crisis experience. Life does not permit that. It’s how we journey through them that makes the difference. With God’s grace, mercy and love we are sustained and strengthened. To quote the previous verse, in part, “after you have suffered a little while, [God] Himself will restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.”

The memories I have of my brother bring a smile, and certainly tears, but I am thankful for them. And if you have taken this short journey into my past to honour my brother, thank you.

“To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.”
― Thomas Campbell―