116SMALL PONDSsmall town compared with the
other places you have lived?
My dad was always an
outdoorsman, so much of my
childhood was spent out on the
boat or bumping down logging
roads. When he was diagnosed
with Parkinson’s disease in 1998,
his biggest worry was being
trapped inside. We were lucky that
his PD progressed slowly, so we
had almost a decade where the
PD didn’t impact his life too much.
But towards the end, Mom and I
split his caretaking and he’d stay
at their house for a few nights and
then at my apartment.
By this point, I lived two blocks
from my parents. On good days,
Dad was able to use his walker to
come for morning coffee. I always
knew when he left the house
because my notifications would
start to ping. Everyone in his cul-
de-sac knew Dad and they’d watch
him as he walked to my place. If he
had a moment of confusion, one
of our neighbours would ask him
if he needed a ride to my place.
We’d have coffee and watch the
news. When he was young he was
a bundle of energy, and he found
it enormously frustrating to not
be able to pick up and go when
the mood struck him. We’d try to
curb his restlessness by spending
the afternoon going on drives
and would end up at the Keno in
the City Centre Mall, or the Esso
station. He’d chat with old co-
workers or fishing buddies or just
people-watch. Those who knew him
when he was young looked past his
gait and his tremors to see Dad, and
they talked to him, not around him.
As his PD began to involve
hallucinations, it became more
challenging to find people who
could help Mom watch him while I
went on book tours or readings or
residencies. Some of my cousins
were caretaking their parents and
raising their children and had full-
time jobs. People in town, whether
they were white or Portuguese or
Sikh, looked after their parents the
same way I did.
Dad always loved his community.
He liked to help people, and when
he was still strong he’d chop wood
for elders or take children with
no fathers out fishing or berry
picking. The last year he was alive
was rough. The people he’d helped
brought us soup, sandwiches and
pies. They brought fish, dried
salmon, jarred salmon, fresh
salmon, oolichan grease. Seal fat
helped him think clearly, so his
nephews would bring seal. Oh, and
cookies. Lots and lots of cookies.
He had a sweet tooth. All the foods
that would bring him comfort found
their way into our kitchen.
We wouldn’t have these kinds
of connections anywhere else. I
wouldn’t have made it through that
last year without my people.
What else do you want people
to know about this place? We have
slightly less rain than Prince Rupert.
Last words?
If you love community-based ski
hills, Shames Mountain is the place
to check out.