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In memory of those who have Crossed the Bar
CHILDERHOSE, Raymond John - Ninety years ago, when Ray was born in Cobalt, Ontario, it was a bit of an odd event. His mother Helen had miscarried his twin early in the pregnancy, and was certain the whole business was over, - even as labour began. As a result of this breathtaking stubbornness, the story goes that Ray was born oxygen deprived, blue-faced and gasping for air, fighting hard to be in this world.
It was a fitting start for a man who lived life so fully..
For a military chap born in a mining town on the heels of the great depression, Ray wasn’t the kind of fella you might expect. While often a tremendous pain in the ass, with a near pathological desire to needle people, Ray wasn’t afraid to show emotions, even cry and he possessed a deeply kind heart, ever ready to help others. He was surprisingly forward thinking and actually grew more open minded as he aged - even when he didn’t have the most genteel way of expressing it.
He spent 27 years in the navy and had the stories to match - from being in his skivvies on the docks in the UK whilst anchored there for the Queen’s coronation, to prank building a plywood coffin around a rum moochin’ drunken sailor who’d passed out (The poor guy thought he’d been buried alive). After Ray retired from the navy he worked as a civilian in the military's Instructional Television (ITV) department at CFB Stadacona. Ray was shooting video and editing on computers before it was popular.
While he enjoyed his adventures life as a sailor, when he met his wife Lillian - everything changed. When he saw her jiving at Halifax’s Olympic Dance hall in 1956 it was love at first sight. He loved her fiercely - and she, him (though if you ever took a road trip with them you’d swear they could bicker for Canada in the Olympics.) They were married for 60 years, raised six children, and through all the hardships they faced, including the loss of their eldest child Rodney, nothing could tear them apart.
Though ever confident in his own opinion, Dad wasn’t one to dole out unwanted patrician wisdom. When asked for advice by one child - he aggressively declined, saying, “Like hell I’m going to tell you what to do. Only you know what you need. Besides, you're not actually looking for advice - you're looking for someone to blame when things go wrong.”
He wasn’t wrong.
An agnostic who claimed to have astral projected in his youth - it was hard to categorize Ray’s belief system - even for him. Yet the spiritual beliefs that clung to him were matched and bettered by his devout pragmatism. When once asked if he was afraid of death, he replied - “Being afraid of death is like being afraid of rain.” He was also the foxy sort who’d invite Jehovah’s Witnesses into his home, just so HE could trap THEM in conversation.
Poor souls..
On the last night of his life, he played cribbage in his home with one daughter, busted the chops of another and told a wild story about drinking with Dizzy Gillispie in a jazz club in the 50s. It was his parting tale before docking his earthy vessel and heading into truly uncharted waters.
He is predeceased by his son Rodney and his wife, Lillian. He is survived by his children Dawn, Mark (Valerie ), Tracey, Andrea and Buffy, as well as his grandchildren Andrew, (Vanesaa) Iain, Sara and Chris, and his great grandchild, Wren.
We readied him for cremation with pictures of his family, and one of him with his childhood dog Skippy As a man who spent much of his life elsewhere, we armed him with his passport with some American money tucked inside. (For as every traveler knows, cash is better than plastic when you’re in a far off land.)
In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the Muscular Dystrophy Association, or in lieu of that, please go do something unexpected and wonderful for someone who needs your love.
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