The game

The sky this morning is as heavy as clay. The sullen quiet beyond my hotel window defies the traffic of a Monday morning in the nation’s capital. The dampness of the Ottawa Valley is evidenced in the drifting bits of snow squeezed from the heavens. For those who are fans of football, or even those who felt a civic duty to support the Ottawa home team in Sunday’s Grey Cup game, the mood here seems to match the sky. The spirited rivalry between east and west in football; of Montreal and Toronto in hockey, is tied into a playful tension that makes us who we are.

When my dad signed up to take residence at the Perley and Rideau Veterans’ Health Centre—the Elder Village in daily speak—in Ottawa, it was important to me that the dayto- day patterns he enjoyed find a continuance. His barber of choice of many years is one example; also Friday lunches with friends; add to that a grocery store run, even though most of his food needs were looked after at the Perley. It was more about circulating in the world he knew, rather than maintaining habit. Anyone knows that the loss of a spouse and companion of decades thenthe decision a few years later to sell a residence of 50 years is a turn that requires a certain outlook on life to help navigate the shifting sands.

As the process evolves for my father, I have learned from the experience. Letting go of possessions and recognizing patterns that no longer serve us offers inner freeing. Re-inventing, or rather re-creating, ourselves is more than just spiritually uplifting. It offers newness to the reality of us. I have also been reminded of how a house is only a house and that we make our home where we land.

So at the Perley, we installed bird feeders outside of Dad’s ground floor window that overlooks a courtyard garden. Watching the chickadees and a family of sparrows raised in one of the birdhouses made by residents is a poignant life reminder. The garden itself is a place of solitude where my father and I have had many a talk about decisions concerning this particular time in his life.

Come the fall season, with the help of Dad’s devoted personal care worker, Yvonne, he decorated his room with faux autumn leaves in a style he was accustomed to. And to maintain one tradition he has long enjoyed, we booked a room at the Perley so that Dad could host a Grey Cup party. The room came with a largescreen television, a fridge for beer and a stove for warming pot-luck dishes that included chili and pizza and it held a serving counter to accommodate 20 invitees.

I know little about football and, for what it’s worth neither, does my dad. What I remember most over the past years is the upbeat telephone conversations with him about similar gatherings where he described the team that was chosen to root for in the annual ritual of the Grey Cup. It was always clear to me how the event was about friends.

So at the Perley, there were new friends from down the hall of dad’s quarters of recent. There were longterm friends and colleagues. Dad’s close friend, Jack Bray, was there too. Jack recently received the government of France’s highest award, the Legion of Honour. As a man 20 years old, Jack flew 36 bombing missions over occupied France, helping to liberate that country and defeat the Nazi regime during WWII. As for the reunion at the Perley, it was a party, a bolster of the spirit for all in that room.

On the highway, driving back to the County is a chance to ponder the experiences of recent days. Most poignant of all the moments is this one. I invited my son, Luc, to accompany me on this trip, skipping his grade four classroom for a few days. On various visits with me to the Perley, Luc has made a few elderly friends. One of them, John Parr, would be filled with joy to see Luc and often gave him a small memento of his visit. Upon our arrival at the Perley this time, when we visited the dining room where lunch was being served, John’s table place was vacant. Luc wanted to know his whereabouts. We would ask. When we came to John’s room, the door was closed. Still, Luc wanted to inquire. His knock on the door was answered by a friendly female voice on the other side inviting us to enter. The voice belonged to Susan, a youthful palliative nurse caring for John in his final days. She invited us in to pay our greetings. While John was not conscious we felt it important, Luc felt it important to thank him for his generosity to others in life. We took the time to study the mementoes around the room. There were few. You see, John had no children or family of his own. A medic having served in three theatres of war, for John, those in need became his family. It was about friends, about camaraderie. John understood the game, the real purpose of all. John passed away the next morning. He will be missed.