Gentlemen,
Thank you for your heartfelt posts here. I quietly read and absorb this information and although I don't usually post up, I do appreciate your courage.
This past summer we lost a very important member of the family to cancer. My wife's uncle Ray was 60 years old in September of 2016 when he was packaged out from Nexen. He wasn't sure that he was quite ready to retire, but decided that he would like to take a couple of months off to do some hunting and scratch a fine buck and a bull moose off his bucket list. While traversing the woods with his new Tikka T3 in hand and his best hunting pal, he twisted his ankle and fell, hurting his back. His doctor told him it was a slipped disc, and that he needed to rest. After four weeks in bed, he was still in a great deal of pain and was having a lot of difficulty walking. He elected to spend his own money to get an MRI to try to find out some results instead of waiting for the reluctant doctor to get something done. He was brought back into the hospital when they found a tumor on his spine. Further testing found that the cancer had spread to his lungs. He was given three to six months.
We visited him every week in the hospital, and it was very difficult watching him slip away. Trying to explain to our five-year-old son what was going on and what was going to happen was hard too. I took a lot of new responsibilities in helping him and his wife to finalize some things that needed to be taken care of such as his property in Ontario, his truck, and his guns and ammunition. I am still that man-on-call when BettyAnn needs things done around the house that just need a man to do.
Once we got him moved to a hostel, it was short time. I got the call early in the morning on June 22, and I pulled the boy out of daycare and my wife out of work, and we spent all day with his family at his bedside. In the evening I had to leave to take the boy home, and I will never forget standing there at his bed with my hand on his, so overwhelmed that I couldn't even speak. I knew it would be the last time I would see him or speak to him, and I couldn't make a sound.
The next morning, I wrote this:
Goodbye Raymond C. Adams.
Thank you for letting me be a part of your family. You taught me that nothing is more important than surrounding ourselves with family and friends, not just during the holidays, but any time that we can.
You were the first person on my wife's side of the family to give me that firm handshake - the one where you hold my hand a little bit tighter for a little bit longer, and glare into my soul to ensure that there would be no way that I would ever do anything to hurt this precious young girl.
You were a big part of our decision to move to Calgary, and I am very thankful for that choice. Family has never meant as much to me as it does since you gave the word definition and meaning.
You were there for our wedding. You were there when our son was born. You were there when we needed a night out.
To raise a glass of home-made beer, and to see your eyes light up when I bring turkey and gravy. To fight with you over who gets the last biscuit, and then both give in and let Drew take it instead. That silly paper crown is going to be extra special to me now, but I will be there to wear it with pride because of you.
Thanks to everyone here who has the courage to share their stories.
