Words from Anna Proctor
on Death, Love, and Everything in Between
—Anna Proctor
Not to be a downer in this beautiful summertime, but I have been to two funerals in the last two weeks. There would have been more, but I wasn’t invited to Alice Munro’s.
Also, my father died last weekend.
It’s been a time.
But it is this time. The reality is, our beloved enormous horde of Baby Boomers, those born after World War II, the largest cohort in recorded history, those that have been making history and making life just a little more complicated for everyone else…they are coming to an end.
Baby Boomers, those still alive, are anywhere from 79 to 60 years old this year. They are our parents, our grandparents, us. Their numbers are growing smaller. That’s the way life, and death is.
My father was actually a pre-Baby Boomer. He was born in 1937, a child of the Depression. He, thanks to the wonders of modern medicine, lived much longer that HIS father, who died at the age of 56. When my father was 56, he had a triple bypass that gave him over 30 more years of life. We are all very grateful for that.
He might have been a child of the Depression, but, especially in his later years, he wasn’t depressed. He grew more and more cheerful as his infirmities added up, spinal stenosis, a stroke which put him in a wheelchair, dementia, then Alzheimer’s. He spent just over his last year in a long-term care home in Fergus, where he was beloved by staff for his quiet and kindly nature.
He was a quiet and kindly man and father. He taught English and Creative Writing at York University. He wrote and published several books. He lived in the city and in the country. He had two wives, not at the same time. He had three children and two stepchildren. He had ten grandchildren. He was beloved especially by his shyer and quieter students, friends, relatives.
He loved when we came to visit, he loved his Timmie’s coffee, Timbits, chocolate cake. He loved photos of animals, especially giraffes. Just two weeks before his death, staff caught he and another resident, while watching a show on boxing, mimicking the boxing movements with their arms, in their wheelchairs.
He had a riotous 87th birthday in April, with his riotous family present. After his cake had been eaten, he looked around the room where everyone was enjoying each other’s company, and said to me, “It’s very loud in here. These people are very loud.”
As my daughter said, Thanks for putting up with all of us very loud folks for so many years.
Thanks Dad, for all the great memories and your sweetness. You will be missed.