I will remember the conversation vividly for the rest of my days.

My sisters, brother and I were on a video chat, planning the care and closure following our Mom’s passing on July 5. We really hadn’t had much time to process everything. Mom’s passing wasn’t sudden, but it hurt. I suppose we all had time to prepare for the inevitable, but you’re never really prepared.

After many of us checked our busy summer calendars we were able to agree on the funeral date and some of the other details. When we were ready to end the call, my sister Deb chimed in.

“Before we go, we have some news.”

Something in her tone told us it wasn’t good news.

It wasn’t.

A mere few days earlier, Rick, her husband of 52 years, had been told by doctors that they had found incredibly aggressive tumours growing unforgivingly on several major organs.

Poof.

And just like that.

He’d been a relatively healthy 75-year-old man. Sure, he’d had a few scares over the years, as many of us do. But nothing like this.

So now what?

We were shocked. For a brief moment, we even discussed moving Mom’s funeral plans we’d just made until we could get a better handle on Rick’s prognosis.

Rick wanted nothing to do with that.

From across the room, he jumped in and made it clear that Mom’s plans were going ahead. In fact, that was one of the reasons he hadn’t wanted to tell us yet. He didn’t want what was happening to him to disrupt things.

That’s the kind of guy Rick was.

While we forged ahead with Mom’s arrangements, Debbie and Rick went into action.

The plan was simple: fight like hell with whatever could be done. Use all the resources available to aid in the process.

And they did.

Of course they did.

It was challenging. Debbie’s updates read almost like strategic battle plans — appointments, treatments, test results, next steps. All the current status details.

It was heartbreaking.

We all got to see one another at Mom’s funeral on July 16, and that was comforting. But somewhere inside, I knew there was a pretty good chance it would be the last time I ever saw Rick.

Sadly, it was.

A mere nine weeks after the discovery, on August 29, Rick passed away peacefully, by his request, with the benefit of MAID and with his family by his side.

Needless to say, it has been an unsettling summer.

The Cool Guy

I can’t remember the exact moment I first met Rick, but by 1973 he was my sister’s new boyfriend.

I was 14 years old.

And Rick was a cool guy.

I considered him a mentor in a lot of ways.

Now, don’t get me wrong. He was not exactly a great “straight and narrow” influence on me during my teenage years. Often asking if I really needed to go to school that afternoon when we could go golfing instead. Fore!!!!!

He knew that.

I loved the guy.

He had a place to live. He had a job. He had a car.

And he wasn’t a biker.

Mom and Dad loved him too — even when they discovered Deb was with child.

That pretty much sealed the deal.

Deb and Rick were married in September 1974, with the reception held at our house. The whole thing was new and exciting to all of us.

We were going to be uncles and aunts!

Mom and Dad were going to be grandparents!

As the cheesy and grossly overused meme prompt sez:

Wow. Just wow.

I don’t have 52 years of stories about Rick.

But I have many.

Rick and Dad

Much was said and can be read here in Rick’s obituary about his kindness and his willingness to be there for others.

All true.

There were very few occasions when Rick didn’t help my Dad with one of his endless DIY obsessions and necessities.

Those two took on so many projects it was insane.

New shingles on the house. Homemade solar tubing for the swimming pool. Cement work. Brick work. Home improvements. Electrical work.

And, of course, loading the empty beer bottles into the trunk, taking them in for the refund and restocking the Pilsner fridge.

Important work.

Rick and Dad were cut from the same cloth in many ways.

Waste nothing.

And why pay someone else to do a job when we can probably do it ourselves, do it better and do it cheaper?

One memory that has stuck with me for more than 50 years involves Rick working on the brakes of his old Pontiac four-door “tank” in front of our house.

He took off the brake drums and put them on the public sidewalk.

I don’t know if you know how much residue asbestos brake shoes left behind, but I will bet good money that the large circular stain is still on that sidewalk 50-plus years later.

Dad was not into auto repair.

The Mystery Machine

Being from Saskatchewan, Rick bled Green and White when it came to the CFL.

That was a problem in our house.

We bled Green and Gold.

The rivalry between Edmonton and Saskatchewan was crazy. But Rick did comply with the “when in Rome” philosophy and wisely cheered for the Eskimos whenever the Riders weren’t involved.

To give you an idea of how nuts we all were about the CFL, in the fall of 1975 — September 6, to be exact — Deb, Rick, my seven-month-old niece Marie and I took a road trip to Regina to watch Edmonton play Saskatchewan.

Rick had his own version of the Mystery Machine from Scooby Doo!

It was sort of a piece of crap, but he was proud of it.

It had been somewhat converted with homemade beds, some kind of carpet and a table in the back for camping, I think. I remember the white custom-painted roof and the dark maroon body.

It was one of those flat-front vans where you accessed the engine from inside. The engine sat between the driver and passenger seats under a cover.

I’m pretty sure it was a 1969 Ford. I Googled some photos.

We left Edmonton fairly late on Friday night and took our time on the normally eight-hour drive. Deb was in the back mostly with baby Marie, while Rick and I were up front.

Everything was uneventful until sometime after midnight.

We weren’t far outside Regina when we started hearing a clicking sound coming from the engine.

The engine right beside us.

The clicking got progressively louder.

And faster.

Before we could even pull over to figure out what the hell was happening…

BOOM.

It blew.

Holy cow.

The engine was gone.

It had run out of oil and must have had a pretty serious leak. Captain Obvious here.

Which, by the way, further proves that the van was a piece of crap.

Shouldn’t the oil light have come on?

Anyhow.

There we were.

Stranded after midnight on a highway in Saskatchewan with a seven-month-old baby.

No cell phones in 1975.

It wasn’t freezing cold, thankfully, but it was pitch black.

So what does Rick do?

He gets out, puts his thumb up, and before long a trucker pulls over and kindly gives us a lift so we can get help.

The next part is a little fuzzy for me. Maybe it was the traumatic stress.

But somehow we got to a pay phone, where Rick called his stepdad and Mom, who were waiting for us in Regina.

They arranged for a tow truck to go back, find the Mystery Machine and tow it into the city.

The diagnosis?

Complete engine replacement.

Of course.

The good news was that we were well looked after for the rest of the weekend by Maureen and Ivan and we still made it to Taylor Field for the game.

What an atmosphere!

Edmonton won.

Poor Rick.

Then came another first for me.

Rather than renting a car, we decided to fly home to Edmonton on Monday.

It was the first time I had ever been on an airplane. True!!!

Honestly, I have no idea what that entire weekend ended up costing, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t cheap. I have no idea what I would have been on the hook for all toll but…..I was making $3 an hour part time in a restaurant so I could afford it.

What an adventure.

What a life lesson.

And what a great example of Rick becoming the white knight when he was needed.

It wouldn’t be the last time he played that role.

Football, Family and Fort Mac

Rick, Dad and I also went to a few Eskimo games at Clark Stadium.

Always a shit show, honestly.

Rye and Coke smuggled in using thermoses or whatever other vessels were up to the task of holding our booze.

Whatever we brought, it was gone by halftime.

Every time. It’s so wrong, but it’s so right!!!

Deb and Rick were living in a rented house on Fort Road in Edmonton, and I remember babysitting Marie a few times.

I remember some other fun times there too.

I guess. Contact lenses left in teaspoons one night for example.

Eventually Rick went to work for Alberta Government Telephones.

My Dad wasn’t responsible for hiring him, but Dad had a little pull and knew the right people to talk to.

Rick apprenticed as a cable splicer and, I believe, earned his Journeyman’s ticket while working there.

Then an opportunity opened up with AGT in Fort McMurray.

In 1976, Rick and Debbie packed up the family and moved north. Their second daughter, Ricci, had been born in Edmonton just weeks before they headed to what, at the time, was pretty much crazy town.

Fort McMurray was wild in the ’70s with the Tar Sands developing.

Real estate pricing was ridiculous. Companies sometimes had to subsidize mortgages and living costs just to convince people to move there.

Money was being made — and plenty of it was being wasted — by people coming from all over Canada and the world looking to make some quick cash.

AGT didn’t pay like Syncrude, but Rick had a great job and a great opportunity.

They made lifelong friends there, although I don’t think they ever really loved Fort Mac. Hard to believe it was a family town.

I visited a few times making the 4 hour drive in my Camaro before I was married and again after Dawn and I were married in the early ’80s.

It was always an eye-opening visit.

Kamloops — and Life Getting in the Way

After nine years in Fort McMurray, Rick and Deb decided in 1985 that lifestyle and climate were worth more than living in relative isolation.

They moved to Kamloops, B.C.

And that’s where they built the rest of their life together. Both Rick and Debbie found careers they really loved and were very happy there.

Forty-one years.

I think it’s fair to say that after they moved, we drifted apart somewhat.

We moved too.

Winnipeg. Toronto. Ottawa.

Those places are a long way from Kamloops, and regretfully, Dawn and I never made it out there during all those years.

We did see Rick and Deb many times in Edmonton at family events and other gatherings, and that had to suffice.

Then in 1993, Debbie had business in Toronto and she and Rick came out east for a visit.

Rick gave himself a guided tour of Toronto and was blown away.

This ain’t Kamloops.

I showed them around Q107 and AM 640, the stations where I was working at the time.

They were pretty impressed.

Well, it WAS impressive.

We even took an evening cruise around Toronto Harbour on the station’s 42-foot Sea Ray. Thanks Captain Dave!!!

Those were the days in radio!!!

When we got back to our place in Burlington, Rick had a question.

Did we have any weed?

That was Rick.

Ah…no.

But I knew a friend down the street who might.

She and her husband did a little gardening at home — long before it was legal.

Too funny.

That visit was magical, really.

We had a blast and, in many ways, it rekindled our relationship with Rick and Deb.

There had been a lot of years to make up for.

Showing Up

Technology eventually made all of us better at staying connected — electronically, at least.

One of the things I’ve enjoyed immensely over the past three or four years has been our monthly siblings’ video call.

Spouses weren’t technically part of the calls.

But they hovered.

They jumped in.

They said hi.

Lots of grandkids did too.

Rick was often there somewhere.

And now he won’t be.

After 41 years of Rick and Debbie building their life in Kamloops, I will finally make my first trip there on September 26 for Rick’s memorial service.

I only wish the circumstances were different.

Rick lived those 41 years well.

He was as devoted a husband, father, grandfather, uncle, in-law and friend as anyone could hope to be.

His reputation was simple.

If someone needed help, Rick was there.

And maybe that’s what I will remember most about him.

Whether it was helping Dad with yet another crazy project, taking charge when the Mystery Machine blew up on a dark Saskatchewan highway, looking after his family, helping a friend, or just being there when somebody needed him…

Rick showed up.

He did it his entire life.

So rest well, Rick.

You made a huge impact here.

And you can rest easy knowing that the people you loved — and looked after for all those years — will look after one another.

Thanks for everything Buddy.