Dr. Kenneth Charles Wilson
Seeing it there, in it’s entirety, makes me both proud and very, very sad. I loved my father, so much, so deeply and so abidingly. Not just the kind of love that a small, wide eyed girl has for her daddy, but the kind a grown woman feels for a father who has unconditionally loved and supported her for all of her life. I am talking the deep emotional connection that goes beyond blood ties and shared experiences. He is a part of me, and as such, a part of me has died.
Because just over two weeks ago, on May 14th at 11:14 pm, he died.
He was in excruciating pain at the end, so in many ways it was a blessing. But that doesn’t make my heart hurt less, or my tears flow less generously. He died less than 6 hours after I had arrived in Victoria to spend this weekend with him and try to bring him comfort. Knowing that he waited for me, in spite of all that pain, so that I could be there when he died, so we could see each other one last time, and he could grin his mischievous grin at me one last time, and twinkle his knowing-eyed look at me one last time … it makes those last few hours that much more poignant, precious and rich.
He had many gifts:
- His ability to tell a story in such a way that you felt like you were right there in it, with him on the journey; to bring it fully alive, whether it was a travel story, a tale from his youth (like the time as Lighting Director that he darkened the stage at Kits High so as to make the point that the Crew needs to be invited to the after-party too), or a bedtime reading – me snuggled under his left arm (Winnie the Pooh, The Just So Stories, or Asterix and Obelix come to mind most readily).
- He kindly choose to forgive transgressions. To let them go, to never mention them again. In fact in general he was a kind man.
- He was generous: with money, with time, with ideas.
- His mental agility. His humour was mostly centred around wit.
- He loved words (like most of the Wilson’s) and languages (I sometimes wondered if he would have been just as happy a Linguist as he was an Engineer), learning all sorts of them, from the obvious French, to the more obscure Latin and Ancient Greek, and everything in between. And of course, he learned to speak Icelandic so as to better understand his wife, my mother, and her culture, and so that we could be raised speaking Icelandic. Takk fyrir Pabbi.
- He liked to stand out. Whether pursuing and achieving Summa Cum Laude status, or having a wife and kids with such unusual names as Vilborg, Bjarni and Signy – ensuring they always needed to be spelled out.
- He was committed to and took a stand for excellence in his profession. He marked hard (and our little secret was that I helped, starting at the tender age of about 12, to mark his engineering exams), never suffering fools gladly, and took on intellectual battles that he deemed important. He insisted on being an engaging lecturer, always dressing in his academic robes (hmmm, one more way he stood out), thus earning himself the nickname of “Batman”.
- He was a life long learner. Even after retiring and moving to Victoria he signed up for Gaelic lessons, in which he was definitely at the bottom of the class, not a comfortable place for him, but he persisted.
- The easiest summation? He was a character who loved his family (immediate and extended), cats, learning and travel. What’s not to love!?
While he was many things to many people (professor, only male in his generation of Wilsons, thesis supervisor, colleague, mentor – to name a few), I was his only little girl, and I have specific memories as such.
I will remember him, not as he was these last few hard years, but in his prime (although I will remember how much softer he became in these hard years, grateful for the smallest things, almost gentle):
- Going for his evening stroll (he loved to walk – one of the biggest heartbreaks of these last few years was seeing him unable to walk freely), so as to visit with the neighbourhood cats. And they came running when they saw him, for a scratch under the chin or a piece of contraband cheese smuggled out of the house for them.
- Lecturing to a room full of unruly engineering undergrads, whose names he had learned by heart, using Alice in Wonderland or Winnie the Pooh to make his points more interesting. Or at a conference filled with erudite colleagues, some of those also unruly, which he had to tame with verbal witticisms and theatrics (stories of him play hooking someone who was going on and on and on when my dad was chairing a session was often told).
- Playing Santa Claus (how perfect, right?). First for the “Civil Kids” (the children of the Queen’s Civil Engineering department professors), and we were anything but, still he mesmerized us by speaking in our many different mother tongues, all the while entertaining the adults with his double entendre. Then for all the Civil Students, breaking their candy canes if they had been naughty (for things like partying too hard at Homecoming, or particularly egregious April Fool’s Day pranks).
- At the cottage on Green Bay. Letting his brain rest and getting sweaty and dirty building a porch, launching a laser, fighting off porcupines and felling trees (remember he was a BC boy, so trees just get in the way of the view).
- Taking me to Canadian Tire right after I bought my new place and getting me every single tool (including things I have never heard of and never used since) that a homeowner ought to have (somehow this is something that only works with a father and daughter), and then proceeding to help me replace all the broken sash cords in my 1930’s home. It was a labour of love. In so many ways. It felt good to work side by side with him, on something that will hopefully outlast us both.
- Giving a tradesman, who had buggered up the job of building us kitchen cupboards and cheated us to boot, what for, while we hid from the raised voices in the attic. Later bounding up the stairs to tell us it was all over, to recount his victory (as if we couldn’t hear it, he had one of the naturally loudest voices I have known – students commented that they had found his lecture particularly interesting that day, then revealed that they were in a different classroom as he was giving it), and remember times when he had cowered when his father has given tradesmen hell.
- Partying hard, drinking late into the night, with the Icelanders, with the Luke’s, with friends and colleagues who were over for dinner parties.
- Taking me to riding lessons, every Wednesday night for about 5 years, even through some tricky teenage years. Eventually taking up riding himself to stave off the cold of the winter arena. Him on Scarlett, me on Tojoe. Our special time together.
- The many, many travels together as a family. Including a trip through Europe when I was about 7. The sabbatical year when I was 10, taking the boat from Iceland through the Faroes to the tip of Scotland. And most recently the many trips organized by my brother. I tear up remembering the “Farewell Tour” to England, Cyprus, Egypt and Malta. Those three and a half weeks of special memories created, while returning to some important places that we knew would be the last time we’d be there as a family (specifically South Kensington where my parents met, and Cyprus where we lived 18 months when I was a baby).
- Walking me to grade school, during the winter months in Ontario, my tiny uncovered hand in his. Uncovered because his hands were so warm that I didn’t need a mitten when I had him. Besides I would rather be cold and feel his skin on my skin, than be warm in a mitten. I am reminded of this slice from Winnie the Pooh:
“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. “Pooh?” he whispered.
“Yes, Piglet?”
“Nothing,” said Piglet, taking Pooh’s hand. “I just wanted to be sure of you.” 
He gave me his curls, his wit and humour, his smile, Vancouver as my city, his ability to hold a room, his mischievousness, his love of cats, and his kind and generous heart. I am grateful for that, for him, and to have had him as my father, my teacher, and my friend.
So what can I give to him?
How can I keep his memory alive? How can I share his legacy?
- By telling the special people in my life that they are special to me.
- By playing with words, whenever possible.
- By continuing to learn, until the day I die, and fostering that love of learning in others, particularly my godchildren.
- By picking a mate that sees all of me, that knows me – down into my soul and values, who I am and all that I bring, asking me to bring it out further, to turn up the volume louder.
- By learning to love more fully, more out loud, than I currently let myself (not that he modelled this, but this is what he inspired in me now).
- By learning to fly a plane.
- By travelling more, now that I am freed up from not wanting to go too far away from him while he was sick.
- By taking a stand when things are not working for me or don’t feel right (he didn’t do it often enough, but when he did, boy was it memorable).
- By taking the time to let my brain rest. My body too.
- By learning to speak Icelandic again.
- By visiting the neighbourhood cats.
In the meantime….how to grieve a parent?
This is a new path for me, I have no idea how to navigate it. I apologize ahead of time if I blunder, or make mistakes. Already I notice that my concentration is lessened; everything is slower, whether I like it or not, like I am moving in molasses; I don’t care as much about the little things (read: there are a bunch of emails just not getting responded too – sorry if that’s you). Bottom line is that I don’t know how to be in a world without him. I have not had (nor ever wanted) the experience. I don’t know how to do this, and there is a gaping hole, in my life and my heart. Instead of going to my father to ask advise, as I would have in the past, I must find my own way. And the door in… is through my feelings.
I can’t help but turn to A.A. Milne for inspiration, especially during this particular hard time. And as always he doesn’t fail me, so I will contemplate this:
“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”
― A.A. Milne
To help me in that process, I would love to hear your stories of him, your memories or the qualities in him that shone the brightest for you. To honour him by remembering him, who he was, what he brought, what he contributed … bring on the stories!
Please know grief is a path unique to each of us. There is no right way, no time limit Grief is the pain and price we pay for Love.
I don’t know if you remember me but we were in the Landmark Forum and Advanced together. I lost my sister to cancer Fathers Day 2013 and my mom passed away just one month later. I am still grieving and always will. It is not the deep mind numbing soul wrenching grief it was but I still feel lost without them. My mind is flooded daily with moments and memories, smiles and tears. I loved them so and in my heart I will never let them go. If the eyes had not tears the soul would have no rainbows…your dad is now the rainbow of your life. My deepest sympathies.
Lori,
Well said. And yes, I wouldn’t want to not have loved him this much, and this is the price. The love lives on.
XO
Your tribute, your memories and your list of how to honour him, is extraordinary. And as always, you impact me and my way of looking at things profoundly. I am deeply sorry for your loss.
Ah sweet Signy, I’m so sorry to hear about your dad’s passing. Your incredible tribute a) made me feel as if I’d met the man myself, b) brought me fond memories of my own dear, sweet father who passed away in 1998, and c) pulled more than a few tears from my eyes for your loss.
In honor of your father, I will pay extra attention to wordplay and learning in the next period of my life, and when I have the good fortune of seeing you in person next, I’ll hug you and we can shed some more tears for our dearly departed dads.
Love,
Jeff
Jeff!
I love that you (and others) have come to feel they know/have met my dad through reading what I wrote. It reminds me that his gift of story telling came down to me, and I get to carry it forward.
Thank you for finding your way to honour him. We will wordplay it up when we are next together. Looking forward to it.
XOXO
Thank you Heather! Both for the condolences and for the reminder of the impact I have, just by being me.
OX
This is so moving Signy. What an amazing and wonderful tribute for a large, generous, loud, witty, unique, inspiring and loving man. I tear up reading about your hand in his warm one, not needing a mitten, and at your intended ways to honour and remember him. And at your heartfelt words about being in this world without him now. And of course at the final A. A. Milne quote.
I didn’t actually know Ken very well, but I have heard about your love for him, and his for you, ever since I got to know you nearly 25 years ago. I know you will always miss him. My love and thoughts are with you now and forever, my dear friend.
Lisa, yes, you got to know him through me and my stories of him. It is a good way to know him. And you are right, I will always miss him. Thanks for knowing that, and for letting me know what it was in what I said that impacted you!
OXOX
I am so sorry that I never got to meet this wonderful man. I feel like I get a glimpse of him in your writing and in you. I’m sure he was incredibly proud of you – your spirit, your special gifts, the way you choose to see the world. I hope you’ll lean on others, including me, the way we have on you. Xoxo
Denise.
Thank you! And, yes I need the reminder to lean. It is not always what I do, but if ever there was a time… now is definitely it.
XOX
Signy such a beautiful tribute to your dad. I met your fabulous father at one of your birthday party. We were all there to have the Lioness hold court and ring in a new year of fabulousness. I also saw your parents again at a party at your house. Delightful. I have absolutely no doubt that you will walk this new path of grieving your father as you do everything – with depth, with sincerity, and with an open heart. You wouldn’t be walking it alone. You will walk it with all of us who have lost a parent and you will be walking it with your father but just in a new & different way with him. Much love to you my dear, dear friend. Kathleen
Thanks Kathleen, I remember both of those events. And your comments following them. And I will bring my open heart to this, knowing it will be cracked open even further by this experience, the loss, but more to the point the gifts of this man, and through remembering all that he was and how that lives on in me. It helps to know I am not alone.
OXXO
Dear Signy,
What a beautiful tribute to your Dad who sounds like a Great Man who was serious about his work and loved his family without bounds.
I lost my Mom and brother in December, 2010 and found that the more I respected their lives the more complete I became, the more grief was healed and the more I could feel my Heart opening. From what you have revealed here you are well on your way to even greater Bigness in your own life, and all the clients, colleagues and loved ones who come to you will be fortunate to have known you. You definitely Rock!
Craig. Thank you for this. I feel honoured in your words, and known. I am inspired to keep going on my path of feeling deeply into this experience and this relationship.
XO
All you can do is remember your dad the way you have – trudge on and know that you will learn lessons even through the grief – he is here with you in spirit and would want you to live with joy. You will know when that time is.
So true Pamela!
I just stepped out for a moment into the light rain of a Vancouver spring day… and I was reminded how much my dad liked the raging thunderstorms of Ontario. When we could feel one coming in (and you SOOO could feel one coming in), he would get ready on the porch, with a book and a beer, and then when it arrived he would just sit and watch it, and listen and smell and be totally present with the experience of the storm as it crashed around him while he was safe on the porch, but inches away from the downpour.
On the very rare occasions that Vancouver tries to produce a proper thunderstorm I open up the back door, sit on the porch, feel the weather’s “bigness” and think of him. I plan to keep this tradition alive for a very long time.
Signy, my condolences to you for your father’s passing. You wrote so beautifully about him through your memories of him. What a tribute to him! I can tell he knew he was loved and honored by you.
Both my parents are in their 80s and after reading your words of wisdom, I am reminded what a huge blessing it is to have them still here with us. Just tonight I was visiting with them and noticing how much I am beginning to really like them.
I envy the closeness you and your parents had. It has literally taken me half a century to understand that as immigrant parents, they really did do the best they knew how. That helped me to let go of the anger, the abandonment, and finally forgive them.
Thank you for showing us how to to love and honor our parents!
Ah yes, they grow better with age, or we do, or something. Like everyone I have had the rough spots with my parents. What has made my relationships with them so great is that we have done our best to work though those pain points.
I wish you luck on the journey!
I’m very sorry for your loss Signy. I have not lost one of my parents but my dad has also played Santa and has a white beard and is fighting prostate cancer at the moment so I related a lot to this.
We don’t know each other and I didn’t know your dad, but I was touched by your words and the lovely photos of him particularly those of you both together at different stages of your lives. He sounds like a great dad and person in general.
Milo, thanks for commenting!
I wish your Santa father strength in the fight. Knowing the love of his family will carry him through. Enjoy every moment of time you have with him. Those are precious. Don’t forget to find things to laugh about. Those are even more precious.
Sending you love.
Thanks Signy that is extremely kind of you
Hi Signy,
Thank you for sharing your beautiful memories of your father. The picture of him petting the white pony really speaks to the energy of a kind, connected man and I love that there are dark clouds in the picture after reading your comment about his love of thunderstorms.
And your commitment to living for him with the list that you’ve created is deeply touching and inspiring. It’s encouraged to treat this very day with more reverence and gratitude.
Seka,
Thanks for your thoughtful comment!
Every day lived with more reverence and gratitude is powerful!
Signy
As I read your wonderful words of love for your father, I enjoyed the moments that my memories about my father would come to mind. My father has been physically absent from this life since 1989 however everyday I kn;ow he is right beside men enjoying my experience and watching his grand daughters and great grand daughters grow into incredibly warm, loving and strong women. Thank you so much for sharing.
Thank you so much for hearing and appreciating my sharing!
Hello,
I found this post about your father while doing geneology research on the stones that I photograph in the local cemetery. I often try to find more information to post about the person rather than just the photo on findagrave or canadianheadstones. I have read a lot of obits and tributes and I wanted to say that this was certainly unique and beautiful. I don’t think that I would have been able to write like this 2 weeks after my father passed, in fact, I don’t think that I can write some thing like this even 13 years later.
Thanks for this glimpse of him and the wonderful photos.
Hi Kathryn, Thanks for your comment. And thanks for wanting to know more about the people that you research, I often feel sad that the memories of him will fade after we, his children, die, with no next generation to carry them.
And thanks for appreciating my tribute. It took a lot to write it, and it was so powerful to do so. Our combined enjoyment of words and phrases made it that much more fun to honour him that way… one last shared experience!
If you want more information about him, or the rest of the family that are at that gravesite, I am happy to share what I know with you!
Signy