It wasn’t the first Christmas we lived away from our parents’ homes; we’d weathered two Decembers in noisy basement suites before this place.
But it was our first in the cozy cottage that felt like a real home for a romantic young couple, two cats and a new pup.
I had been working at the local college in Chilliwack for two years, and in the spring we had taken the leap and moved to this town more than 70 km away from our families. Close enough to drive in on Christmas Day, but far enough away that it was also time to start some of our own traditions.
And 1992 had been a very eventful year in our lives.
In February we had found this tiny house literally wedged into the rock-side of Little Mountain (the back basement was dirt and sometimes a small stream ran through it). Not practical but perfect for us at this stage in our lives, nestled in a cedar forest, far from neighbours, overlooking a quiet street, a few other old houses, and a schoolyard.
The deck was the top of a carport, with no railings, but that didn’t matter to childless us. We entertained there regularly. The terraced yard was cedar, moss, dirt, and stone. We were in our blissful element.
April — when we both turned 26 — kicked off the most eventful few months of our lives so far.
The provincial government did something that at the time was monumental: it opened the adoption records so that adoptees and their birth parents could be reunited if both were willing. I had been part of advocacy groups on this issue for several years and was among the first in line when this happened.
After more than a quarter century of knowing next to nothing about my birth family, suddenly I knew that my birth mother’s name was _________, I had two teenage half-siblings, and that I used to be named Sara.
Within days I was talking with _________ on the phone, asking a multitude of questions, most certainly overwhelming her, and bringing to life part of my identity that had been shrouded in darkness and secrecy for decades. My adoptive parents were supportive about my search and reunion and so were my extended family and friends. For a few weeks I was on a high of self-validation and discovery, and of course since I’m a natural storyteller, telling the amazing story of finding out about my birth mother and discovering that a magazine that featured her had been sitting in my college library all along (that’s another story).
But it wasn’t so easy for ________ and soon after our all-too-brief phone and letter reunion, the lines fell silent again. I tried to be patient, as she asked me to be in the one letter that she sent in May, explaining that there were a multitude of complicated reasons, none of which were my fault, why this was so difficult for her.
In these days before Facebook and Instagram, I looked in the little red mailbox at the end of our gravel driveway for missives. None came.
I was sad, of course. Open exuberance is my natural state. Once you’re in my circle I want to embrace you with love. Holding back, being patient, respecting boundaries, was hard. It still is.
But life was going on at an action-packed pace. My brother and his Australian wife had eloped in April, giving us a blueprint to do the same. On July 4 we gathered with two friends and an elderly officiant at our special secluded beach near Tofino and formalized our 11-year relationship.
The summer was filled with after-parties, followed by an early fall reception at my parents’ place.
I excitedly shared all this news by mail and email with _______, and still was met by silence. I regularly checked the email inbox and creaked open the door to the mailbox at the end of the driveway. Nothing came. My heart was heavy.
But life, indeed, went on. I was safe in the embrace of my loving man and many caring friends and family members. Things were going okay. I just wished that I could extend the circle to include the woman who grew me, birthed me, and ensured that I started on a good journey by placing me with my adoptive family. And I wished I could know my siblings.
As it turns out, in my life, I’ve been adopted many times over. Born a waif without a family, I have been welcomed by the embrace of many, starting with the parents who adopted me with I was just 12 days old. When I moved to the Fraser Valley I made new friends, including older women from work who sensed the seeker in me. I was hungry for mentors and mother figures.
Jody was one such friend. Twenty-eight years my senior, it turned out that one of her four children, Laura, was born within the same two-week period as Daryl and I. In fact, we all joined our families within a three-day period, as I was adopted on April 29 and they were born on April 28 and 30, respectively.
Our college closed at noon on Christmas Eve, and Jody invited me for lunch in then-bustling downtown Chilliwack. We went to the Copenhagen café, one of many restaurants that have opened and closed on the Yale Road strip during my decades in Chilliwack. “There’s someone I want you to meet,” she said. “I think that you and my Laura, who is home from university for Christmas, would like one another.”
We were 26 years old and Jody was setting her daughter and her new friend up on a playdate. As it turns out, she was right. Laura and I took to one another right away, and when I told her about the cottage on the hill, she said “oh, you live in the Crackerbox house!”
Laura had attended Little Mountain School across from our little pink shack, and the kids had called it the Crackerbox house because it resembled a faded box of Premium Plus crackers turned on its side. Legends abounded about the place. So the Christmas Eve playdate ended up with 26-year-old Laura asking her mum if she could go visit her new friend’s house.
There was a dusting of Christmas Eve snow and with colourful lights shining through the windows, our house painted a pretty Christmas scene. Laura came for tea and cookies, met the man and the pup and the cats, and we all had a delightful visit, a precursor to decades of friendship to come. I offered to drive her back to her mum’s house, but the opted to walk, and I accompanied her down the gravel driveway, saying goodbye as we approached my red mailbox.
I creaked it opened one more time before Christmas, in case any late cards had arrived. And one had. It was a Canada Post note telling me to head to the corner store on Broadway and First for a parcel. I shared the exciting news with my brand-new friend Laura. Then I headed there in a hurry.
The parcel was from ___________, from her home province across the country. I brought it home and Daryl and I opened it together. There were small presents for the cats and the pup, and ones specially addressed to us. Two were blown-glass ornaments that I treasure to this day, hand-made by an artisan in my mother’s tourist town. And they were accompanied by a card saying that we should meet in the new year.
It wasn’t the material gifts themselves — as beautiful as they were — that made this one of my most precious Christmas ever. It was the gesture, a symbol of a reignited connection, one that had been severed at birth, with both of us nursing the wounds and never expecting them to heal through the opportunity of a reunion — one that had been illegal until a few short months before. For a magical moment I felt acknowledged, that my yearning to know where and who I came from wasn’t a vain notion. I did have a birth family and they had been there all along, hidden by a curtain of shame, bureaucracy, and secrecy.
But the wounds caused by separation didn’t heal completely. None of this was easy and it still isn’t. ________ has never felt ready to meet me. Twenty-eight years later, I am now older than she was when I rediscovered her.
She did, indirectly, send her daughter to me as an emissary, and we enjoyed a few years of each other’s company when she lived on the west coast in the 1990s and 2000s. We built a sisterhood of sorts and had a genuine affection for one another. She was a playful auntie to my young daughters. My half-sister did more than anyone to help me understand the dynamics of the family I came from and allowed me to feel a genetic and familial connection to this grouping of what had been strangers to me. I also had the pleasure of meeting my half-brother and maintain a distant but amiable and admiring connection to him through the wonder of social media to this day.
But ______ remains mostly a mystery.
The trauma of giving me up and other losses and sorrows she has suffered in have been more than I’ve had to bear in my own life. That part is not my story to tell. I’ve learned that for now the best I can do for her is to leave her in peace. This goes against my impulse to include everyone in the embrace of my love and in my rollicking ongoing life narrative.
Events of the last year (2020) mean that there will never be a time when my mother is together with all of her children. I’ve grieved quietly and in isolation about this. And I am grateful for the acknowledgement that I did receive — so beautifully symbolized by the gifts sent from afar that Christmas of 1992 — and the love I was able to share with my sister.
Merry Christmas to all. Share love as best you can, all things considered.
December 10, 2024 marks 34 years since I hopped into my Volkswagen Rabbit and made the 120 km life-changing trek from my basement suite in Burnaby to what was then the teeny-tiny Chilliwack campus of Fraser Valley College. Upon arrival, I thought to myself, “This is smaller than my junior high school.” I was about to start a big adventure of community engagement, professional development, and friendship building.
I was hired as a ‘marketing coordinator’ for a three-month posting, although the focus of my job was more communications than marketing. My job was to help secure university-college status for FVC, so that the little college could start offering third- and fourth-year programming and build its own degree programs. We succeeded! It’s now 408 months later and I’m still happy to be here.
Here’s a list of memorable moments:
Meeting two of my best friends on my first day of work, one of whom hugged me at first introduction and said: “We’ve been waiting for you!” They are still my dear friends all these years later.
Participating in an intense, dramatic, and by no means guaranteed campaign to secure university-college status for Fraser Valley College (and thus the ability to launch third- and fourth-year programming) in my first six months of work.
Moving into a spare room of an instructor’s house during my first weeks. (She also became a best friend. I have a lot of best friends.)
Working with students who became dear friends on the grassroots community campaign for university-college status.
Partying all night at my boss’s house after we secured university-college status in July 1991 and driving home down the country roads of Ryder Lake after thinking to myself: “This is going to be an interesting place to work. We have decades of university-building ahead of us.”
Helping our very first bachelor’s degree program planners articulate a vision and marketing plans for our first degrees.
Meeting students slightly younger than me in the first months of my career (and often being mistaken for a student) and then meeting them decades later and wondering who these old guys and gals are.
Witnessing extreme sorrow on the part of family members of a young graduate who was killed in an act of multi-victim domestic violence. Her uncles brought the entire convocation audience to tears when they accepted her posthumous degree.
Preparing historical stories from our first generation of faculty and staff for our 20th anniversary (and our 40th anniversary).
Being super-pregnant (like, nine months pregnant, for realz, as the kids say) at our 20th anniversary open house but still working it (by sitting in a chair as a greeter).
Going into labour at work five days after said 20th anniversary open house, after kickstarting the labour by walking my replacement all over, touring two campuses. Going to straight to hospital and having baby six hours later.
Having both my girls in the daycare on the Chilliwack campus. It closed when I was eight months pregnant with son Miles, so he was cared for by mums from the East Chilliwack community.
Working dozens of Convocations, missing only when nine months pregnant (twice) or recovering from surgery (once), giving birth on Convocation day (once), and having to juggle two kids’ birthdays with Convocation days for 20+ years.
Taking on editorship of Headlines, the Fraser Valley College newsletter, and improving its quality and storytelling style.
Writing our first editorial style guide and creating our first graphic standards guide.
Being the founding editor of Aluminations, our alumni newsletter, and Skookum, our university magazine.
Working on an intense, years-long lobbying campaign for regional university status, to help change UCFV to UFV (this campaign ran from 2000-2008).
Working on campaigns to secure the former Canadian Armed Forces base for a new Chilliwack campus for UCFV and to secure funding for what became the South Asian Studies Institute. These were also campaigns that went on for several years.
Shaping the future of UFV by sitting on more than 20 hiring committees.
Meeting Jean Scott, who was about to turn 90, and successfully nominating her for an honorary degree for her decades of social justice work. We became best buddies, a friendship that lasted until she died at 102 and three quarters.
Meeting and learning from Indigenous colleagues and friends, including the legendary Theresa Neel, the groundbreaking Shirley Hardman, and the brilliant (and great soccer player) Wenona Hall. All showed kindness and patience while sharing their culture with me.
Meeting and learning from South Asian colleagues and friends, including the generous Satwinder Bains and the feisty Sharanjit Sandhra.
Sitting my boss Kim Lawrence down in 2008 and introducing her to Facebook, saying “this is going to change everything.” Also introducing or advocating for UFV accounts for Flickr, Linked In, Twitter, Instagram.
Introducing UFV to digital photography.
Helping to choose the Top 40 alumni in 2014, interviewing them all “speed date” style at a winery (I drank water) and then spending a crazed weekend propped up with a bad ankle sprain writing their profiles. Catching up with many of those Top 40 a decade later as we prepare to honour our Remarkable 50 alumni.
Learning so much from so many faculty members from so many disciplines as a byproduct of writing stories about their work and research.
Working with multiple eras of colleagues in a portfolio that has had many names (Information Services, Community Relations, Marketing and Communications, University Relations, External, and Community Engagements), within which I always find cool and creative people to collaborate with, some for decades, many of whom also became dear friends. I like to say I have more eras at UFV than Taylor Swift does in her career.
Serving four presidents, four vice presidents, and four directors, and helping to orient them to UFV.
Meeting or at least being in same room as many leaders and celebrities, including Margaret Trudeau, Sheila Rogers, Sophie Schmidt, Bif Naked, Vicki Gabereau, Tantoo Cardinal, Esi Edugyan, Michelle Good, Gwynne Dyer, Stephen Lewis, John Herdman.
Connecting with those who lobbied for a college in the 1960s and early ’70s and recording that history. Including Catherine Marcellus of Mission and Doug Hamilton, FVC’s first board chair, who also happens to be my husband’s uncle.
Successfully nominating founding board chair Doug Hamilton for an honorary degree and seeing his whole extended family (my in-law family) in the front row cheering him on at Convocation when he received it just in time for his 89th birthday.
Venturing to Seabird Island to interview Elizabeth Herrling in 2004, and to Cheam to interview Siyamiyateliyot Elizabeth Phillips in 2018, both for stories to acknowledge their honorary degrees. Then arranging for Siyamiyateliyot to be interviewed by CBC for The National on Convocation Day.
Bringing my passion for women’s soccer and the Fraser Valley together by successfully nominating longtime Canadian women’s national soccer team member and Abbotsford homegirl Sophie Schmidt for an honorary degree, and then helping to prep a very successful reception for her that brought a hundred youth soccer girls to campus.
Being seconded to work on our 50th anniversary celebrations, including going through 7,000 newly digitized old photos and using my famous encyclopedic memory to identify people, places, and stories in them.
We have all come together here today to celebrate two very special people, our parents, parents-in-law, grandparents, and great-grandparents, Noel and Maureen Russell.
So I’m going to tell you a story, a long story, one that spans the roughly 90 years that Noel and Maureen each spent in this world. Noel died when he was 88, and Maureen passed away a month shy of 90.
At its heart, this is a love story, one that starts between two people, lasts more than six decades, and grows to include everyone in this room. We are all here, together, as the extended Russell family because of the enduring love between Noel and Maureen.
They met in their early 20s and we’ll get to that part — it’s kind of an exciting romance with Dad as the hero who stole Mum away from her first fiancé — but first I want to tell you a little about their early years.
Once you’ve read the story you can watch the video here! And see photos from their celebration of life here. And see many more vintage Russell family photos here.
Noel
Noel was born at home in Ballymena, Northern Ireland, the youngest of six children, on December 19, 1931. His siblings were Rosalie, George, James, Ernie, and Beatrice. His parents were Sarah, who was a Smyth, and James Russell. Sarah came from a farming family and James was a lawyer, the first in his family to achieve that status. James also served briefly as a soldier on horseback during World War I but was sent home due to injury.
When Noel was nine, he came home for lunch on April 1 to the news that his father had been killed in a car accident, hit by a jeep driven by U.S. Army soldiers stationed nearby. This was during World War II, and although Northern Ireland was not involved directly in the war, there were soldiers stationed there.
James’s premature death was a great tragedy for the family. Noel’s brothers George and James were only in their early 20s, but had to take over the family law firm immediately. They even accelerated the graduation of the younger James from law school. The family firm of James L Russell continued until 2019. One of our cousins continues as the fourth generation to provide legal services in Ballymena.
Noel and his younger siblings were left fatherless and provided much support to their mother, who was left a widow in her mid-40s. He remembered that she did not venture downstairs for many months after her husband’s death. Eventually, Noel was the last one left at home with her. Despite the devastating loss, his siblings all attended university. His two eldest brothers became lawyers, his sister Rosalie studied home economics and married an engineer, his brother Ernie became an engineer and worked for Boeing in Seattle, and his sister Bea became one of the few women doctors in her generation. As we all know, Noel also became a doctor and that set him up for meeting Maureen when he was in medical school.
While at school at Ballymena Academy, Noel enjoyed playing rugby. He was often sent to stay with his cousins at a farm in the country as a boy, and he had fond memories of those visits and spending time with his relations. He loved family vacations on the beach at Portstewart. He also acquired a motorcycle in his youth and enjoyed bombing around the countryside on that.
Maureen
Maureen was more of a city girl. She was born in the small town of Bangor in 1932, born at home on the same street her parents would later retire to: Waverly Drive. But early in her life, her father William became the manager of a bank and they went to live in the house above the Ulster Bank in the big city of Belfast.
A bit about Mum’s parents: Willie and Mabel. They were young during World War I. Willie tried to serve but was disqualified for health reasons. Mabel served as a nurse to wounded soldiers at the Royal Victoria Infirmary in England (she grew up in the farming village of Wooler in England). Willie was set to marry another woman, but she died of meningitis three days before the wedding. Her mother remained close to Willie and he ended up inheriting her house. Some of the furniture we still have in the family comes from the Milliken family. Mabel was an independent woman, traveling to New Zealand and Egypt as a private nurse. She had several love interests but did not settle down. She met Willie in Ireland while she was providing nursing care for a young girl who later died.
Willie and Mabel married at age 37, had our mum Maureen at age 40, and their son John at age 44. Their generation had their youth disrupted by the tragedy of World War I so it’s not so unusual that they married a bit later in life.
Maureen grew up in Belfast and attended a private school called Methodist College, known as Methody. She played field hockey and swam competitively and took music lessons. She was also a girl guide. From early in her life Maureen was drawn to the natural world. She would take walks from Belfast to the countryside and collected specimens for her nature diaries, which survive to this day.
She also had a lifelong love of reading and animals. She was especially drawn to cats.
She recalled that the first thing she would do when visiting other peoples’ houses was to look for the cats. And then maybe hide away with a book.
World War II erupted when Maureen was just seven and continued until she was 13. As Belfast was under threat of bombing, she and her brother John spent some time staying in the countryside with host families. She did NOT enjoy that. She had to attend a country school and missed her friends.
Later in her youth, Maureen made several youth hostel hiking excursions, venturing as far as France.
She followed her mum into the profession of nursing and moved from home to train when she was just 18, thus setting the stage for the meeting of Noel and Maureen.
Theirs was a doctor/nurse romance. They met in 1953 when Maureen was a nurse on the ward where Noel was assigned as a medical student at Royal Victoria Hospital in Belfast. Noel’s girlfriend Yvonne was a radiographer in the same hospital, while Maureen’s fiancé Johnty was off in England studying engineering. These unfortunate two have the role of “also-rans” in this romance.
Noel quickly became enthralled with Maureen and broke up with Yvonne to court our mum. He claimed to have not known that she was already engaged to Johnty.
“Johnty was a big man and very possessive,” recalled Maureen. “I’d been out with Noel on his motorbike and he left me off at my house. I told him I’d meet him in 15 minutes. Johnty was in town and saw my bedroom light was on and walked over and saw Noel and the motorbike. When he saw me going to meet Noel he accosted me, but I told him to go away. But he followed us…”
Johnty had personal history and family approval on his side. Maureen felt very pressured and accepted his engagement ring in the fall of 1955.
“My parents did approve of Johnty,” Maureen recalled. “In fact, Noel received an anonymous letter, supposedly from a friend, telling him to back off, but I recognized the handwriting and knew it was from my mother.
“I broke it off with Johnty right after Christmas, 1955,” said Maureen. “There was a dance on Boxing Day in our hometown of Bangor. My dad came to get me from Belfast for it. I knew I was going to break the engagement. I was feeling so terrible! Johnty came around and I put the ring on the table and said ‘I guess this is it.’”
The Johnty camp didn’t give up easily.
“My mother reminded me that marriages were not all based on passion, and Johnty kept pestering me to go see him. He’d visit my folks to try to talk to me through them.”
So why did the little black-haired fellow from Ballymena win out over the tall, brooding hometown guy?
“I was very moody at that age, and Johnty was too,” said Maureen, looking back almost 50 years when interviewed in 2004. “Neither of us would give in to the other, or try to talk each other out of a mood. Noel was very understanding of me and solicitous. He was like my own dad, in that my dad was very caring toward my mother. So that’s a trait I admired in Noel, his compassion, and the fact that he wasn’t possessive.”
Now that gentle and caring nature is very characteristic of our Dad, a trait he handed down to his four sons. And as the daughter and granddaughters chose spouses, it was a trait they were attracted to in their men. So being a nice guy and/or choosing a nice guy is kind of a Russell family tradition.
Six months after breaking it off with Johnty, Maureen became engaged to Noel, in June 1956. She then immediately left for a six-month maternity nursing training stint in Scotland, leaving Noel to smooth things over with her parents. He visited them a few times, getting to know them better and convincing them that he was a decent fellow with good intentions.
“I came home for Christmas, and a year to the day after breaking it off with Johnty, Noel and I went to the same Boxing Day dance in Bangor. I remember walking through the snow with him.”
Together
In April 1957, Noel and Maureen were married and had a reception at the Crawfordshire Inn in Helen’s Bay, Northern Ireland.
Two months later, they sailed for Canada. Ten months later, their first child was born. Four years later, they had three children under three and were living a hectic and at times lonely life in Burnaby. Maureen’s mother eventually warmed up to Noel, although she wrote him a stern letter about restraining one’s self after the third child in three years. Seven years later, they added to the hectic pace by having their fourth son. Nine years later, they adopted their fifth child. Six decades and 17 grandchildren and numerous great-grandchildren later, they remained happily married. Noel was still caring and solicitous, and Maureen was known for her serenity, not her moods, so much so that we have a hard time believing her tales of her rocky youth.
So I summed up their first decade in Canada in that last paragraph, but it was not an easy transition.
Maureen was on her own, away from friends and family, and had her first son, Brian, within 9 months of arrival. (He must have been conceived on the boat over!). Followed very quickly by Dave and John within two and a half years. That’s three kids under three years old with no family support.
Mum recalled that the streets in New Westminster and Burnaby had few sidewalks, unlike in her hometown, and she felt trapped in her apartment or house. She didn’t drive in those days and it was hard to push a pram over rough roads. Especially with a bunch of other kids in tow. When they eventually moved to their first house on Taylor Place in Burnaby things improved a bit.
Noel and Maureen forged friendships with other young doctors and their wives from Ireland and England. They had known Jimmy and Martha Martin in Ireland and continued their friendship here. They got to know the Parker Suttons, the Yellands, the Glasses, and others. Ten years in they were joined by the Johnstons, David and Belle. Noel and Davy Johnston had been best buddies in medical school. Those friendships endured through all their decades in Canada and provided the family-style support they all needed.
They also found help: Mum’s friend Pat McQuitty came to stay when Dave was born and became his godmother (she is also who I, Patricia Anne, was named after, although I did not know that for decades). Mrs. Close became our weekly cleaning lady and stayed for 27 years. Mrs. Webber and Mrs. Davidson were brought in as babysitting reinforcement and also served the family for more than a decade each.
Noel started to take Wednesdays off to go on excursions with Maureen, shopping, or picnicking. Those Wednesday dates were a tradition that lasted through retirement.
They even took up skiing, learning at Mt. Seymour and then being some of the first people to ski at a new resort called Whistler. Noel was crazy about skiing. In fact, he was skiing the day Maureen went into labour with her fourth son, Colin.
Maureen also preserved her sanity through visits home to Ireland when the boys and Anne were little, and visits from her parents and Noel’s mother. They always made a point of showing off the beauty of BC through day trips and multi-day excursions when the grandparents visited. Bit by bit they were growing to love the natural beauty of their new home country.
Colin’s arrival in 1964 made for four boys in six years. And here’s the crazy part of the story, one for which I am very grateful. Mum wanted a girl. She wasn’t getting one the old-fashioned way. So they decided to adopt. I joined the family in April 1966. They flew to Prince George in the morning and home with me in the afternoon, much to the flight attendant’s surprise (she had also served them on the way up). So that made for five kids under the age of 8.
Adoption is a multi-layered and emotionally charged lifelong experience. There are wounds close to the surface for all involved. Intertwined with every joyful story of joining a new family is the sad story of saying goodbye to the old one. But I want to express that as a little baby who was looking to make her way in the world, I am incredibly grateful that the family I landed with was this one, and that the parents that I got to have were Mum and Dad. My brothers were pretty good too!
So, once I was on the scene, the family was complete, and the house at Taylor Place in Burnaby was too small. Mum and Dad found a brand-new house under construction at 814 Austin Avenue in Coquitlam and snapped it up. Our Coquitlam era began in June 1966. And we became good friends with our neighbours, the Chapples. Their daughter Nancy was like a sister to me and remains my friend to this day.
I should speak a little bit about Noel’s career.
He wanted to come to Canada because he found the British healthcare system too restrictive. And he had an adventurous spirit too. He started with a one-year internship at the old Royal Columbian Hospital (where all four of his sons were born) and then practised in New Westminster for a couple of years before deciding to cross the river and join a practice in the growing community of Surrey, which in 1960 was still mostly dirt roads.
All in all, he served B.C. families for 40 years as a general practitioner, delivering hundreds of babies, serving multi-generations of the same families, making house calls to the elderly in nursing homes, and seeing patients for a myriad of ailments in the office and in the hospital.
He was well-loved and appreciated by his patients. I got to witness that in person as I worked in his office part-time for five years. His gentle nature suited a career in medicine just as it did in his role as a father and husband.
Mum stayed home to take care of us and the animals and the garden for all those decades, with only a couple of brief forays into the workplace as a health care aide and assistant in Dad’s office.
She was a queen of balanced living once her kids were in school: lots of dog walks, lunch dates with friends, weekly swimming sessions, badminton, and later in life yoga. And, of course, her garden.
Going through the family slides one can see prolific and beautiful gardens at every place they lived. She had a magic touch and a love of flowers.
She was NOT a morning person and Dad would bring her tea and toast in bed every morning while we fended for ourselves at the breakfast table. She often read late into the night and went through probably a hundred books a year.
But she excelled at providing us with lunch and dinner. Dad made a point of driving home from Surrey on his lunch hours for decades, for soda bread, hot biscuits, scrambled eggs, tomato soup, banana muffins, or cheesy toast.
And there was dinner with fresh home-made dessert for all seven of us almost every night. We can all recall her banana cream and lemon meringue pies, “hard chocolate pudding”, her delicious chocolate cakes that turned out to be from a cake mix, her cookies, her macaroni, her roast beef, her lasagna, and other basic dinner fare for a crew of mostly plain and picky eaters.
I mentioned pets: there were a lot of them over the decades, all loved dearly by Mum. Dad pretended to just tolerate the cats, but he was spotted being very tender with them when nobody was looking. And they both doted on their dogs.
Over the years, they had at least 17 cats and 5 dogs, in this order:
Cats
Fudge
Tiger 1
Tiger 2
Nicky
Pippi
Ginger Christa Popsy
Mopsy
Jasper
Sookie
Katie
Andy
Mickie
Zoe
Lucy
Neko
Dogs
Gyp
Morag
Bridie
Cody
Tess
Alfie
The last two cats and Alfie the dog outlasted Mum and I have placed them in loving homes in Chilliwack and I visit them from time to time.
Ours was a busy household all through the 1960s, 70s, and 80s as we grew from children to teens and left home one by one.
Mum and Dad ferried us to countless swim practices and meets, soccer games, and water polo tournaments. They also taught us all how to ski and took us on annual ski trips.
They stewarded us through our awkward teenaged years, and were there for tears and heartache, and also for an occasional stern talking to as Dad waited in his bathrobe for an errant teen to stumble home.
They took us on holidays that introduced us to the beauty of BC’s oceanfront, lakes, and mountains.
As the older boys grew into teens they started taking them on multi-day hiking trips, discovering their own joy of being immersed in nature along the way.
And as we grew older they started to escape more frequently on their own, starting a decades-long enthusiasm with trips focused on nature or wilderness.
They hiked mountain passes, rafted down rivers, rode horseback along trails (Dad did not like that) and kayaked rivers and oceans. They adventured in the desert, trekked in Scotland, visited Africa and Australia, and hiked Machu Pichu in Peru. Mum got really adventurous when she was almost 60 and trekked in Nepal with Colin and Maria. They really liked the Yukon and Northwest Territories and went on several rafting trips there.
This freedom to explore places of natural beauty on trips that Mum carefully planned and Dad cheerfully paid for were a defining feature of their empty nest years.
The 1980s also marked the beginning of a new era in the Russell family. One by one we paired off and found our own soulmates, moved out, got married, and eventually started families of our own.
We welcomed Lisa, Mari-Ann, Kathy, Maria, and Daryl into the family. And enjoyed some fun family weddings.
And those grandbabies started arriving! Bryden was the first, 40 years ago. (Wow!) Carmen was the final one, number 17, arriving 22 years after Bryden. And the first great grandchild, Rory, arrived just five years after Carmen.
As a teen still living at home I got to witness the loving care they provided for their first grandchildren, taking them in for weekly babysitting sessions. I still remember Dad gently walking a fussy baby through the yard to calm them down and Mum telling me he used to do that with his own kids too. When we get to the slide show you will see many photos of Grandpa being affectionate with little kids. Grandma was known for patiently playing card and board games with her grandkids, and taking them for excursions to the park.
Empty nest life
In 1989 they moved to their “empty nest” home in Ocean Park, the house where they lived until their final days.
Mum created a beautiful new garden that continues to flourish today. Let’s hope the new owners enjoy it.
When not travelling, they filled their days with dog walks at Blackie Spit, morning coffee on the deck, watching pre-recorded soccer games and TV shows, evenings out at the movies and theatre, and time spent quietly reading the newspaper and doing crosswords or Suduko side by side.
They continued to see their friends of many decades, going out for dinners and lunches with the Johnstons, the Parker Suttons, the Glasses, the Martins, the Yellands and the Kirkpatricks.
Mum was a very loyal friend, continuing to visit her good friend Marjorie Kirkpatrick even when Marjorie’s dementia made it so that she did not recognize her friend. And Dad would bring Alfie along much to the delight of all the residents in the home.
Once Mum decided she liked you, the relationship could continue for decades. She insisted that Dad drive her to our old neighbourhood in Coquitlam to pick up items from the same Avon Lady she had for 40 years. And she made friends with Terri, who was a cook on one of her wilderness trips. Terri lives in a very isolated cabin in northern BC, and Mum would ship her books every year and they had a very long letter-writing friendship and one memorable trip where Mum and Dad drove to see her.
They continued to have special relationships with each of their children and their families, traveling to Williams Lake, Kamloops, and Australia, and heading over to the Coquitlam and Chilliwack families for afternoon excursions and barbecues. I especially appreciated how Mum would come over and work on my garden while I was busy juggling my job and raising little kids. And they welcomed us all to their Ocean Park home for afternoon visits or overnight stays. They especially liked taking the grandchildren to the pantomime at Christmas. And some of the older grandchildren were lucky enough to be taken on nature-focused trips.
They had a really great couple of decades of empty nest and the freedom to enjoy their active lifestyle.
But, as happens to us all, age and health concerns began to catch up to them as they hit their mid-70s ad early 80s.
Later years
For years, it seemed as if Dad was the one with more health challenges. He took a proactive approach to this, choosing to have prostate surgery, a hip replacement, surgery for spinal stenosis, and eventually a quadruple bypass in 2009. He also was very lucky that when he did have a sudden heart incident, he was in hospital for a hip replacement, so they were able to get a pacemaker in right away. This was the same week that Sean was born! By the time they were done with him he was practically bionic! Thus, it is IRONIC that he was the first to pass because of his unfortunate household accident.
Dad spent his retirement years doing what he’d loved to do all along: taking care of Mum. And as her health began to decline, that got to be a major challenge and almost a fulltime job. One he did with love and tenderness.
Mum’s big double health whammy was a combination of swallowing issues and breathing issues. For the last decade or so of her life, the Barrett’s esophagus syndrome she developed prevented her from eating. She wanted to continue her life at home with Dad, so she opted for a feeding tube, which he lovingly administered five times per day, despite the challenges of arthritis in his hands.
And she also developed a rare non-infectious tuberculosis-type disease called macro avian complex, which made breathing difficult and plagued her with awful and exhausting coughing fits. Then macular degeneration began to rob her of her eyesight and she had to give up reading, one of her passions. Plus, she couldn’t hear so well anymore, although a hearing aid helped that.
But they carried on together in their stoic way, not complaining much and doing as much as they could to enjoy their life together. I especially enjoyed when they would drive out to Chilliwack on a weekday to have lunch with me at a little bistro near the campus where I work. Dad would always have the mussels and Mum would just say “nothing for me thanks” when the waitress inquired. And then Dad and I would share cheesecake for dessert. Mum would then insist that Dad drive her across town to our bookstore and shoe store, even though she really didn’t need any more books or shoes.
The hardest part
Then came the big change. On February 4, 2020, Dad was doing what he always did: taking care of his home. We think he was trying to change a lightbulb when he had his fall. His sudden passing was a shock to us all and changed everything immediately.
My brothers and sisters-in-law and I had never had to cooperate on anything difficult together before. We spent decades just laughing and joking around at family dinners. Now we faced a very difficult journey together.
I suddenly learned how to tube-feed (and no, I was not very good at it) as the Coquitlam, Williams Lake, Kamloops, and Chilliwack families worked together to take care of Mum in shifts those first few weeks. Colin flew in as well and pitched in.
Mum wanted to remain in her home and this was a big challenge. We couldn’t do it without outside help, so we enlisted Harmony Home Health to provide caregivers.
Mum’s new life with caregivers coming to tube-feed and care for her four times a day started March 16, 2020, just in time for the launch of the global pandemic, which made traveling to see her even more challenging for the distant families.
She got to know and rely on caregivers such as Susan, Minda, Mandy, Shelley, Wanda, Dorothy, and Carmelita, all of whom handled her with loving professional care.
I was honoured to be able to help her as much as I could. My specialty was procuring copious amounts of audiobook CDs for her to listen to. This was a real challenge early in the pandemic when the libraries closed temporarily, but through my friend at the local used bookstore and a call out to everyone I knew, I was able to keep her supplied.
I also enjoyed my visits with her when we would take long journeys down memory lane. She had nothing left but love, us, her cats, her mind and memories, so she would spend days thinking or wondering about something from the past and then we’d discuss it when I got there for my visit and we’d google about it or just talk about it. Or she would discuss it with her brother John on the phone from New Zealand.
Those of us who could visited as much as we could during the pandemic. Poor Colin was barred from entering the country for 16 months but finally made it over again in November 2021. It is a blessing that Mum was in her own home rather than long-term care over that time, although it was very hard to sustain and placed a difficult burden on those most involved.
I want to send a special shout-out to Dave and Lisa, who lived the closest and held the power of attorney (Dave). They kept Mum supplied with everything she needed, handled household emergencies such as floods on the floor and wasps in the drywall, paid her bills, took her to medical appointments, liaised with her extensive staff of caregivers, gardeners, hairdressers, and yard men, and were her most frequent visitors. Lisa and Mum enjoyed many days and hours of visits together and got to know one another better than they ever h
Mum also cherished the company of her two cats, Neko and Lucy, who were great companions and comfort to her.
Everything changed on July 29, 2022. Mum fell on the way to the bathroom in the night and broke her arm, her humerus bone.
What followed was a very difficult seven weeks.
I had some beautiful conversations with Mum during this time and also some very difficult nights struggling to care for her when she was in extreme pain.
It was her wish to remain at home as long as possible and we worked to accommodate that wish. I want to thank all of my sisters-in-laws and brothers (note I said sisters-in-law first!) for the care we worked together to provide in those final two and half years and those final seven weeks.
We spent time with her at home and in hospital and at home again and eventually in hospice.
And then we lost her.
She declined over those seven weeks and eventually passed on September 18, 2022.
And here we are.
Sorrowful that they are both gone but joyful that we got to spend so many decades with them.
And their legacy is US. Here we are all, with our loving partners and beloved children and grandchildren, living healthy lives modeled on them. They raised us well and prepared us for our legacy of raising our families well. And for that we are very grateful.
We LOVE you, Mum and Dad.
I’m going to repeat some words for the grandchildren and great-grandchildren that I wrote shortly after Mum passed.
We may not have Grandma and Grandpa with us any longer, but you can remember and honour them this way, doing the things they loved: Appreciate nature. Take a hike. Read a book. Plant a garden. Plan an adventure. Travel. Learn to kayak, ski, or river raft, or take it up again. Visit with each other. Sit in the sunshine. Cherish your pets. Love and hug your children and spouses. And stay connected with all of us.
Thank you for listening to my very long love story about two very beautiful people.
Rosedale Annie 