eulogy

My Mother, Camille

Posted by Eden

My mother passed away on June 29, 2019 in Collingwood Hospital at the age of 75. This is the eulogy that I read at her Celebration of Life at Alpine Ski Club on July 12th.

Camille Perry was born in 1943 at Toronto Western Hospital.  Her mother Jean Earle Perry Thompson, from Newfoundland came to Toronto for nurse’s training.  Camille’s father, Wib Perry, was disappointed when he was ineligible for military service due to his affliction with polio as a child.  Jean and Wib had a whirlwind courtship, married and had four daughters, first Camille and then Jane, Patti, and Suzie.  Wib worked in Radio and Advertising, leading the family to move to Vermont and California where Patti and Suzie were born, eventually settling back in Toronto.

Some of the events of her early years affected who Camille would become.  She often chuckled at the irony of a father who always wanted a son and ended up with 5 daughters.  He left her mother at a time when divorce was infrequent, remarried and had another daughter, Anita, Camille’s half-sister who lives in BC.  Camille was 12 when they were left to pick up the pieces with a despondent mother.  Camille took her role as eldest seriously and had a strong sense of responsibility for her mother and sisters.  When their father left, Jean packed her girls up to spend time in Newfoundland with her family.  Our mother often referenced her memories of Fogo Island, playing bridge with her grandparents, bonding with her relatives there.  She always felt a connection to Newfoundland and visited again later in life.

The family returned to Toronto where Camille was a gifted student at Alderwood High School near the Lakeshore.  Ola, who was student council president, recalls the night they got together, a Sadie Hawkins dance where she picked him out of a line-up of young men.  Once together, they were inseparable.  Camille loved to sew clothes and made them shirts from the same fabric which led to teasing of Ola but he still wore the shirts.  They were the nicest ones he owned.

Ola and Camille were in love, discovered they were expecting a child in Grade 13.  Both had planned to go to university.  This caused great consternation with the school and with Ola’s family.  They married on March 9, 1962 at a Salvation Army chapel and began their life together in a small apartment in Etobicoke, both leaving school after Ola completed Grade 13.  I was born four months later in July 1962.  Randy was born 15 months later in October, 1963.

Our parents were young so sometimes I thought they were growing up along with us, especially my dad. 🙂  Ola worked hard and built a career for himself in sales and soon had his own businesses.  Camille was a stay at home mother who was determined to go to university.  Once Randy and I started school, she enrolled at York University where she earned her Bachelor of Arts in Economics.  My parents had their ups and downs in those years, as so many couples do, but ultimately, they chose each other and recommitted to their life together with a new baby.  Rebecca was born in 1973.

As a child, I remember mom creating special memories for my brother and I, unexpected days off school just to do fun things, making cookies, buying and decorating our very own Christmas trees, making plastic mold creatures, trips to the Ex, mini shopping sprees.  Ten years later, I saw mom create special interests and activities that she shared with my sister.  And when grandchildren came along, she planned days with them, took some of them to Disney World in Florida, spoiled them with attention and wonderful gifts or cash to spend on their birthdays and Christmas. 

My mother helped my dad with accounting work for his businesses but as they grew, she stepped away.  It wasn’t what she loved to do.  She always had a sewing machine and often would make clothes for us. She explored other crafts: knitting and crochet, macramé, jewellery making, weaving – for a time she had a huge weaving loom and even dyed the yarn.  She owned a craft store, the Stich N Post in Markham and I remember we would sometimes have a booth at craft shows and fairs.  She’d get us all into her latest interest. I remember macramé owls everywhere and jars of beads, sitting together, making necklaces or working with polymer clay.

We had a cottage in Huntsville and enjoyed weekends and family gatherings there.  As a family, we started skiing at Curlew Ski Club but eventually moved to the Collingwood area, first at the Toronto Ski Club and then Alpine Ski Club. My mother skied in the early years but preferred to stay home with her sewing machine while the rest of the family enjoyed the winter sports.  She never wanted to go faster than snowplowing.

When I became a mother, our relationship grew and I turned to her for help with my boys so many times, I couldn’t possibly count. Jordan was born while Doug and I were in 3rdyear at the University of Waterloo and she would drive up to take Jordan for a week over exams or anytime we needed.  When we started our careers and both had to travel, she was a short call away. She would come and stay at our house or take the kids home with her.  She never said no when I asked for help, and she always worked out what would make my life easier.

My mother discovered the art of quilting around 1985.  She’d found the ultimate artistic outlet for her, combining her mathematical skills with her years of sewing and crafts with her strong creative sensibilities and aptitude for colour.  Once captivated, she worked night and day on her quilts, attended classes and conferences, eventually developed her own designs and went on to write six books on quilting.  As her expertise grew, she loved to share her knowledge and enthusiasm with others, by teaching at special events and conferences, as far away as Australia, and as president of the York Heritage Quilt Guild and member of the Mad & Noisy Quilters in the Georgian Triangle. Camille was also on the board of the Ontario Crafts Council.

Camille and Ola have seven grandchildren, my three sons Jordan, Perry and Tyler, Randy’s three, Ryley, Roni, and Austen, and Rebecca’s son, Jasper.  Camille loved spending time with her grandchildren and had a special relationship with each of them.

Mom was always seeking answers to life’s greater questions.  Everything from self-help books and workshops (if she believed it would make a difference, she enrolled everyone in the family) to eastern philosophies and religions and meditation, new age tapes and events involving speakers like Deepak Chopra, Wayne Dyer, and Louise Hay.  She was concerned with quieting the mind, maintaining positive energy, believed in karma and reincarnation.  Words mattered.  She often commented on my stress level and ‘busy mind’, wanted me to ‘relax’.  She collected little books with wisdom quotes, often sharing insights she thought were helpful.  

Camille and Ola enjoyed travel and had many special trips together and with family, including Norway, a tour of the UK, an adventure in China, the youth Olympics in Austria with family to see her granddaughter win a silver medal, Egypt, a family trip to Lake Louise on her 70thbirthday and many other fun times.  My parents have a winter home in Florida near St Pete’s beach where they have been members at Isla Del Sol Golf Club.  They were early, “Eagle” members at Osler Brook Golf club, involved in the building of the club house and we appreciate so many from the club who have come to honour her.  She enjoyed golfing and regularly attended the weekly ladies golf days and life at the club for many years but she has been unable to golf for a couple of years now.

Everyone is aware that my mother’s last few years took a sad and unexpected turn.  We trace the beginnings of her dementia to an unfortunate episode with pancreatitis in late 2014.  She was in extreme pain and spent days in hospital on morphine.  That fall and winter, as she recovered, there were a few odd incidents of hallucinations and forgetfulness.   Ola started to notice some uncharacteristic mistakes with their finances and assumed control in late 2015.

In 2016, it was becoming apparent that something was wrong.  Finally we got her to a specialist appointment.  The first diagnosis in August 2016 was Alzheimer’s, middle stages. Devastating shockwaves went around the family.  The doctor said nothing could be done, no prescriptions that would help.

But then Camille’s symptoms became increasingly bizarre – including constant hallucinations.  Based on this, the doctor changed her diagnosis to suspected Lewy Body Dementia. In this case, medication could help for a while.  She went on it and we also began to research.  So much is unknown about the causes for dementia which is becoming epidemic. Many of you have shared with us incidents within your own family and there are many new studies and information. My dad was committed to helping her and got her on supplements, adjusted her diet, enrolled her in a special program.  

Mom started to improve dramatically with these treatments and her constant hallucinations all but stopped by the end of 2016.  We had a reprieve.  She wasn’t fully back to being the old Camille but she was still with us and we had some better times for a couple of years.  My father has really stepped up throughout all of this, although it’s taken a toll on him.  I could not be more impressed or proud of Ola for how he cared for my mother but it wasn’t about duty for him, it was about love.

Sadly, her decline was evident in the past 6 months and we worried about the inevitable next step for her, a nursing home. She would have hated that and what was happening to her. I believe her spirit intervened.  She had inner reserves of strength and wisdom that are hard to describe.  Just a month ago, she shared her desire to move on from this life in a surprisingly succinct voice.  I think some part of her figured it out.  In the end, however, it was severe rapid-onset pneumonia that brought her to the hospital on father’s day and she passed a couple of weeks later.  

Although her final years were tragic while we slowly lost pieces of the woman we’d loved, Camille was sweet most of the time and knew her family.  She still carried herself with the grace and dignity that was inherent to her character. Her great sense of humour prevailed and she could still laugh to the point of tears.  We will miss her constant presence in our lives.

But now it’s time to remember Camille for who she was her whole life, not just in the last years when she was unwell.

Camille was a beautiful woman inside and out, strong and dignified, reserved, sensitive, private, full of heart, creative, inquisitive, a searcher for spiritual wisdom, she appreciated simple pleasures and the beauty of nature, she was smart, practical and organized, committed to her family and loyal.  She could be somewhat of a loner with an artist’s temperament yet also socially engaging, friendly, outgoing, even the life of the party at times.  She could be stubborn and had strong opinions.  Doug used to say “your mother has the gift of clarity” and it was true.  She loved to share the wisdom she was gaining in her studies of new age philosophies and insights into the human condition. 

She had a unique sense of humour. If she found something funny, she would laugh until she cried, most notably at the adorable things that children would share. She had strong morals, was always clear on what was right and wrong, common courtesy and decency were critical, was always kind and considerate.  She was generous with her time and gifts, especially of money. Her grandchildren will remember all the $50 bills tucked into the Kinder surprises.  She knew the importance of family and community.

For me, she will always be the voice in my head that coaches me to be my best self, to stop stressing, to be kind to myself and others, to follow my creative urges.  Now that she is at peace, I can see her in all her stages of life, as a beautiful young mother and wife, as a talented artisan, writer, and teacher, as a loving grandmother and someone who worked hard to create positive energy in the world.  

Eulogy for My Father

Posted by Doug Watt

This eulogy for George B Watt was written and delivered by his youngest son, Doug at his funeral on October 10, 2013 in Simcoe, Ontario.

Childhood

George  Watt was born on July 27th, 1925 in Crossett, Arkansas.  His father, James Watt, was a construction engineer by trade, and his mother, Maude, born Eva Maude Moser was a nurse, who served in the front lines during World War 1.  Dad has an older brother of 2 years, Jim, who like dad served in the ministry, spending his life on the west coast of the US.  Jim is not well, and our thoughts and prayers are with him and Marie today, as I know theirs are with us. He also had an older half-brother, Ken, who passed away in the early 1990’s.

At the age of four, following the Stock Market crash of 1929, work in Arkansas dried up and dad’s parents moved them back to the west coast, eventually settling just outside the Vancouver area, where his dad found odd jobs to provide for his family during the difficult years of the depression.  Dad and his brother Jim spent many, many hours on the farm of Grandpa Gordon, their step-grandfather, in Langley Prairie, BC.  Although money was scarce, these were some of the best times of dad’s young life.  While down with dad this past weekend, we found an autobiography that he worked on back in the early 90’s.  It has been wonderful to read through it and learn more about dad during his childhood.

As the depression neared its end, Grampa Watt found work at the saw mill in Port, now known as Port Alberni, on Vancouver Island, and moved the family there, where dad spent his teenage years, eventually graduating from Port Alberni High School in 1943.  He always talked with such fond memory of his friends from that time, especially his closest buddy Doug Cronk or Cronkie.  Mom and dad were back 10 years ago for the 60th Anniversary of his high school graduation and they had a great time.

Armed Forces

After graduation, dad enrolled in the Royal Canadian Air Force, along with many of his classmates and was off to training at a base in Alberta, followed by some time in Saskatchewan, eventually being transferred and stationed in Quebec.  During the Quebec Conference of September, 1944, codenamed Octagon, between Churchill and Roosevelt, dad served in the Honour Guard and at one point, as he described it was close enough to take the cigar out of Churchill’s mouth, a man that he always spoke of with great respect.  As hostilities in Europe ended, dad was furloughed and, dare I say thankfully, never deployed overseas.
Upon his discharge from the armed forces, at the end of the war in 1945, he returned to Port Alberni, and earned his living as both a truck driver and taxi driver.  But during this time, dad also struggled with direction and purpose in his life and began drinking, at times heavily.

Conversion

At the age of 25, during the Labour Day Weekend, dad rowed his boat out to the middle of Sproat Lake late one night, with the intention of ending it all, when he had what he refers to as his “Road to Damascus” experience, a time when God called him to the Ministry.  Dad turned his life completely over to God that night, and he honoured his commitment to Him right up to the day he passed.  He loved his work on God’s behalf.  Amazing Grace was always a special song to dad, because it had such personal meaning for him.

Amazing Grace, How sweet the sound; That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost, but now am found; Was blind but now I see.

We sang that together in dad’s room on Sunday afternoon.

Courtship, Marriage and kids

He responded to his calling by enrolling in Northern Seminary in Chicago in the fall of 1951.  He left Seminary after first year and went to Vancouver, where he worked in a funeral home as an usher (yes, can you imagine someone as bright and chipper as dad welcoming you to a funeral?  At one point, as he tells us it, he was asked to tone down the smiling a little bit).  Regaining his purpose, he returned to Northern in the fall of 1953, and this is where the fun part starts.  In the spring of 1954, once dad discovered that his good friend Herbie Cassels was not going to ask a beautiful young nursing student that dad had first met the previous fall by the name of Helen Rae Gaines, from Paw Paw, Illinois to the spring banquet, dad made his move (after taking his sweet time getting his courage up).  They had their first date on March 28, 1954.

George and HelenFollowing a brief (very brief) courtship, they were engaged and then married in mom’s hometown of Paw Paw on August 21, 1954, having just celebrated their 59th wedding Anniversary.  Dad graduated from Northern in May of 1957, along with good friends Bob Vaughn – he and his wife became Uncle Bob and Aunt Joyce to us, and Bill Brantingham, who along with his wife became Uncle Bill and Aunt Bert.  Before graduating  and leaving Chicago however, they had their first son, Bill, followed, over the next nine years by Dave and Gord in Trail, BC, home of dad’s first church for four years, and Mary, Bob and yours truly in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, where he served for five years.  From Moose Jaw, it was further east to Fort William Baptist Church for five years, and then on to Heron Park Baptist Church in West Hill, where mom and dad became grandparents for the first time, as Bill had his first son Ken.  Fifteen additional grandchildren followed, along with two great-grandchildren.  As many of you know, Madeleine, following a fight full of grace, dignity, and strength, not unlike her granddad’s left us in April of 2004, and I hope that Madeleine and dad are now together and both here with us today.  Churches followed in Ingersoll for ten years, and then Mississauga and Ignace and finally in Vittoria for semi-retirement, before dad ended his formal pastoral years in 2004 when he and mom settled in Simcoe where they have lived happily until dad’s passing on Sunday.

Pastoral Record

Dad kept a Pastoral Record through the years of his Ministry, recording among other things every Baptism, Wedding and Funeral he presided over.  Some of you may be in here.   And every Sermon he delivered, from his first on September 8, 1957 entitled “Emmanuel – God with Us”, with the text of Matthew 1:23; right through to his final sermon, 122 pages and 47 years later, on April 25, 2004, entitled “You’re Great, Because He is – Jesus Christ”, drawing on the text of Collosians 1:1-18.

For those of you from the church here, I can’t tell you how much it means to me and my brothers and sister, how much George and Helen are loved here.  They think so much of all of you.  Your kindness and generosity during dad’s physical struggles over the past years have been awesome and we thank you sincerely for it.

Vacations

Dad loved to travel and to drive.  He even kept a record of all of our and their vacations beginning in 1958 through to 2001 in his Pastoral Record. He was at home behind the wheel.  He recalled fondly his days driving truck or taxi, or even driving the miners up to the mine on the bus when he is was in Ignace.  But for me, when I think of dad and driving, I think of our summer vacations.  We would climb in the car and we would go… and go… and go.

Toronto to Thunder Bay was a common first day.  It usually only took about 20 hours or so, with a stop in Wawa for a five minute bathroom break of course.  Station wagons were pretty much the only option available for a family of eight.  That would be dad and two of us in the front seat, mom refereeing with two of us in the middle, and then two of us lying down in the back, along with all of the luggage.  This was before the seat belt laws of course.  Good thing, as summer vacations are some of my favourite childhood memories.  Growing up, we didn’t have a lot of money, so hotels for eight were out of the question.  Picture this if you will.  You look out your front window and a station wagon pulls in the driveway; and out pour the Watts… eight of them.  “Oh Good!  The Watts are here… for the next four days”; and so it went, usually for anywhere from four to six weeks just about every summer.  The Trendiaks in Thunder Bay; Grandma House and Grace in Moose Jaw;  The Rapleys in Trail; Uncle Bob and Aunt Joyce in Mill Bay and Sproat Lake; our newfound cousins the Mosers in Moser River, Nova Scotia; Uncle Bill and Aunt Bert in Marion, Ohio and of course Uncle Russ, Uncle Chet and Aunt Sarah  (bless their souls) along with Connie and Cheryl ( our buzzin’ cousins who are thankfully here with us today) and Chet Jr. in mom’s hometown of Paw Paw; Aunt Mary and Uncle Earl with Mark and Earl in Morrisville, Vt;  the last 2 feeling like second childhood homes to me.  There are more – many more kind, generous people that “took us in”; opened up their homes and their lives and made us feel welcome.  For me, summer vacations provided some of the best, longest-lasting memories of my life.  And while there will be different memories for my siblings because of our ages, I know they have similar feelings.

Dad never met someone that he didn’t consider a potential future friend for life.  Often on our trips, we would pull in to a rest stop for a picnic lunch.  Dad would conveniently “forget” the salt and pepper in the car, simply for the opportunity to make the acquaintance of the people at a nearby table, so he could hear their life story and share some laughs with a new friend, then come back and join us 10 minutes later so we could climb back in the car and be on our way.  That happened more than once.

Visiting
Meeting people and talking to people was what he loved most about being a Minister.  Yes he loved being in the pulpit, and yes he generally enjoyed the workings of the church (at least some of it), but where dad was most comfortable and where I believe God most used dad’s service, was when he was out visiting and sharing with people.  He loved it.  He lived for it. He fed off it.  He would have loved yesterday – a chance to visit with so many people that meant so much to him.  When we were all younger, we had the privilege of accompanying dad as he made his rounds, whether it was Trail, Moose Jaw or Thunder Bay.  My brothers and Mary and I had access to toys and cookies and candies in houses throughout the church family.  I think dad knew that children helped put people at ease and were a way of helping them open up during dad’s visits them.  It was also his way of giving mom a much-needed break at home but of course the real reason is it meant that he didn’t have to come right out and ask for a cookie himself.   A friend from Ingersoll recently shared with my brother and sister that the reason they attended the Baptist Church is because shortly after moving to Ingersoll, they made the rounds to several of the churches, and Pastor Watt came out to visit them immediately following the week they attended.  He made them feel wanted and welcome.  Dad made sure he did that with every person that turned up in his church for the first time.

Long after he retired, dad would still tirelessly go out and make the rounds at nursing homes and the hospital, offering kind words, comfort and optimism to many, many people.  Pastor Raymond shared a wonderful story with me at the hospital this past weekend.  He said that while he was out doing his visitation over the last several years, he would sometimes ask people if others had been in to see them over the past week, and people would tell him “Pastor George”.  Pastor Raymond, it has been great spending time with you and sharing with you.  You are a special person to my mom and dad, and I am glad that you have agreed to share at dad’s service today.  You remind me of my dad…

Letter Writing

Dad loved to write letters.  A lot. Seriously, a lot. He viewed it as part of his job as a minister.  Correspondence with literally hundreds of people, dare I say thousands, for years hand-written and later on, on his ultra-modern electronic typewriter.  Christmas letters went out each year, sharing with everyone the events of the past year in the Watt House.  I remember being on stamp or envelope duty early on.  It was quite an assembly line getting letters folded, stuffed (and licked,  yuck) and stamped and then  shipped out.  Starting in the early 90’s, he began the monthly family epistles.  Early every month, without fail, we would receive a letter from dad.  In it was a one-page type written letter, with brief summaries of each of the six of us and our families and our news they had gleaned through phone calls or visits along with a summary of their month.  This carried on right up until dad’s shoulder injury back in January 2011, and it always included a short hand-written note from mom or dad, or often both, and more often than not pictures of cats from one of his latest daily cat calendars.

How many of you received a postcard from dad?… that took, oh I don’t know, ten minutes to read… in part because you couldn’t actually read it without a magnifying glass, but mostly because there was the equivalent of two pages of writing on it.  Not a lot of “Wish you Were Here” cards where dad was concerned.  Between his scotsman blood and his growing up through the depression, he made sure he got his money’s worth out of everything.

Sayings

As we all know, dad had a lot to say… and a very special, uniquely George way of saying it.  I’m not sure which dictionary he used, because it was one that I’ve never seen before.  And he had a never-ending supply of special sayings, some of which he offered up free of charge to his grandkids to use in their dating pursuits.  One of my kids’ favourites was “Hubba, hubba ding, ding; baby you’ve got everything”.

He had one for just about every occasion.  At least one.  Some of my and my family’s other favourites:

For dinner time:  “Apple pie without cheese, is like a kiss without a squeeze”.  He had a slice of cheese, preferably old cheddar with every piece of mom’s delicious apple pies.

Or “I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream”.  That went pretty well with the pie too.

Or if he were upset about the outcome of something:  “wouldn’t that rot your socks”.

I’m sure everyone has their own personal favourite. With dad it was never just the words, it was the delivery.  He had a twinkle in his eye and a happy, earnest way that he delivered these lines, with the possible exception of “I’ll give you something to cry for”.  With six kids in nine years, it wasn’t always just smiles and happiness.

Closing

In closing, I leave you with who my dad was to me.  He was an incredibly loving and giving person, not in your face loving, not just “let me tell you how much I love you” loving, but more “let me show you how much I love you”.

He was a dad who always made time for his kids and grandkids.  He came to my hockey games, just about all of them, and there were lots.  For out of town games, he would often make sure he was available to help drive.  My teammates and their fathers thought dad was the greatest, as I heard from many of them when I was older.  He sat out there with the other dads, never preachy, never pushy, but they recalled that there something unique and special about him and the way he carried himself.

He was a Minister, who in his own words said “I loved the Ministry”.  Because there was very little distinction between George the man and George the Minister, his approach was the same, as he delivered a message of love and generosity, not one of judgment.  He walked a fine line sometimes of doing what he felt some in the church expected of him as their Minister, and what he knew God expected of him.  In his wake he left thousands of people who all agree there is no one else quite like Pastor George.

He was a husband who loved his wife, dearly.  I had the pleasure of sitting with dad last Tuesday after he had been admitted for the final time. I knew that I would probably not have much more time with him, so I brought a voice recorder to capture some of his final thoughts.  He told me, with his voice breaking that “I had the best pastor’s wife a man could ever have… and a great mom too”.  He was right on both counts. We are privileged to have our mom.

He was a man who cared about others and what they were up to, more than himself.  He never complained about his own problems.  Whenever I talked to him, he would recall from our previous conversations, anyone that was sick or had a problem, or was facing some kind of upcoming event, and he would ask about them, without fail.  On Friday night when my wife Eden and I went to see him in the hospital, his last words to her, when he could barely talk were “How’s your dad?”

He was a man that appreciated his life and felt blessed.  Gord and I were down in early September, and I think dad knew the end was not far off.  He kept telling us how lucky he was to have such a great family, to have such wonderful kids and grandkids, such great friends, to have such a great wife.  I was blown away by the state he was in, despite what was happening to his body.

He was Dad, Granddad, Mr. Watt, he was Pastor George, sometimes just George.  He was a humble, yet oh so effective servant for God.  He was my dad, and I loved him, and I will miss him.

 

Note: A sentence I wrote and wished I had included:  Dad’s greatness was defined not by the big things that he did, but by the huge number of little things that he did.