Good

Morning, thank you for being here.

For anybody who doesn't know me, my name is Michael McCleery, and I am Terrys

3rd (and favourite) son.

Id like to thank you all for joining us as we remember our father. Your kind words

expressed over the past few days are a source of comfort for us and are a constant

reminder of how special our father was. I would like to share with you the kind of

man he was, and the relationship I had with him.

My fathers parents immigrated from Ireland and England to Canada in 1922, getting

married in Toronto and moving to Montreal, Pointe St Charles specifically. He would

affectionately tell us stories about The Pointe, some of which I am able to repeat.

Life was tough in the Pointe, especially during the depression era and wartime

which lasted a decade and a half and through my Dads prime childhood years.

He would talk about the neighborhood boy who would pop his glass eye ou if he was

down to his last marble, being sent to the General store to buy a Cherry Blossom

candy and split it 6 ways, playing football for the Pointe St Charles Gravel Crushers

(on gravel!!), or having the mistaken belief that he could outleg a CFL lineman Bob

Geary. The resulting confrontation leaving him shall I say dentally insufficient.

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He was born on July 23, 1933. His father William was Irish Protestant Orangeman

from Belfast; fought with the British Army in China before going to World War 1. He

and his wife Peggy raised Ronald, Kathleen, Alan, Desmond, Sheila, Terry and

Brenda. Like most families during the depression, life was a struggle. Baby Desmond

died of pneumonia at age 3.

As a 9 year old, my Dad contracted a disease called St Vitus Dance, which is now

called Sydenhams chorea. A quick Google search states that symptoms include an

abrupt onset of neurological issues, which include violent tremors affecting all four

limbs, behavior changes, slurred speech, loss of fine and gross motor

control, headache, slowed cognition, facial grimacing, and fidgetiness. If that doesnt

sound depressing enough for you, he was placed in isolation in a Sanitarium 2 hours

outside of Montreal. His parents would take the train to visit him, waving outside of

the window in the snow. He would spend almost a year there.

Like most large families during that era, poverty compelled my Dad and many of his

siblings to enter the workforce at an early age to help support the household.

It is clear that these early struggles shaped his character and provided him with core

virtues of hard work, loyalty, sacrifice and commitment. These attributes would

remain with him through to his final days.

As a young adult, my father and his parents moved out of the Pointe to Otterburn

Park, about an hour north east of Montreal. This is where he discovered paddling

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and later met my mother. Dad and his brother really took to paddling, competing

nationally with his brother Alan in the war canoe. In November of this year, Alan

came to visit Dad and shared some very funny and engaging stories of those days.

It was about this time that my father took up a trade with Otis Elevators. He was a

dedicated and hard worker, but the economy worsened and the industry dried up.

He was laid off in 1982. Joblessness and record high interest rates served as a

perfect storm of financial despair for many families, including ours.

Despite his recent health issues and hardship experienced as a child, this era was

probably the most challenging period of his life. My father was a proud man who

above all else; identified himself as a provider. During this time, my mother and

father did everything possible to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table.

My mother babysat half of Kemptville, and my father did odd, at times grueling jobs

like, roofing, landscaping and painting.

A few years later, Dad got a job as a maintenance worker at Carleton University. In

many ways, this was a step back, not only in pay but also in status. It was not a

stimulating work environment for him. But, he made the best of it. Whether it was

shenanigans in his carpool van, or famously convincing workmates that he was the

mayor of Kemptville. The key was getting the support of the local bakery. The job

at Carleton was a stable, unionized job providing a steady income, security and a

pension. But what Dad talked about most was free tuition for his children. I should

say it was free to us; but taxable income for him.

He would later say with great pride that his children collectively obtained 6 degrees

from Carleton University.

One of my champion moments for my Dad was the multiple graduation ceremonies

he would attend. One of my fathers jobs was to assist with the set up of graduation

ceremonies, including the bringing in of thousands of chairs. For at least 6 of

ceremonies; he would not be the helper, he would be an invitee.

The hard work was not confined to Otis Elevators or Carleton University. My father

loved a project, and there was none bigger than our house on 311 Joseph Street. He

built additions, patios and decks, largely by himself.

Then he built a shed. It was a grand shed and the first of many. It is the shed that

would become Dads sanctuary, where he would go to escape. As he got older, the

projects became less ambitious, but the puttering the desire to do things -

remained constant.

Even though we did not have much money growing up as kids, we never felt poor.

For sure, other kids had newer, shinier things but exciting stuff happened in our

household. Many of those kids came to our house, and would sit in our kitchen;

spend the night, or longer. Mom would put another bag of pasta in the pot and feed

them all.

My Dad enjoyed a full house, feeding off the energy and exuberance of the people

who came over. He was social, engaging and his enthusiasm endeared so many

people to him. To those who knew him well, he was a larger than life, a good man

with a big personality and strong sense of humour. For Kevin, Bobby, Alyson, Scott

and I, he was our measure of a man; he was our dad. He was father figure to many of

our friends.

My Dad loved being a grandfather and was very proud of their accomplishments. He

loved playing little pranks and puns, often saying to his grand daughters I used to

have that dress when I was a little girl. As with his own kids, he lived his life

through his grandchildren and step-grandchildren. Every one of them had a special

place in his heart.

My Dad was never an overtly affectionate man. He communicated his love through

actions, like providing for his family, demonstrating the value of hard work, and an

ongoing commitment to community involvement.

When I think about my Dad, I remember all the funny stories and the big belly

laughs, but underlying it all was a theme of unspoken sacrifice. Not only did he

endure a challenging childhood, he consistently advanced his childrens interest

over his own. Both of my parents did this.

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I never realized the extent of this until the year 2000. Its the year I go married. My

soon to be wife Adele had was considering then accepted a job in Wellington New

Zealand. When it was initially a possibility, I looked it up on the map and did my

research as you do. When I told my parents that we were getting married and

moving to Wellington, they congratulated us and then my Dad paused and said,

Wellington, southern tip of the North Island? He was spot on, but the only reason I

knew this was because I looked it up.

I realized at this point, that my father was a traveller who had never travelled, and

although his formal schooling was limited to Lorne Academy, he read books, poetry

and was a lifelong student of history and geography. So he knew all the places, not

just where they were but their context and their history. For years, he travelled

through the pages and volumes of books; yet for all this, he never saw the ocean.

Aside from meeting my wife and creating my beautiful family, my greatest

accomplishment in life was being a participant of a plan to get my parents to travel

to Ireland, where Kevin and his family; Adele and I were living in 2002. When my

Parents, Alyson and Sarah landed, the first item on the agenda was to take Dad to

the ocean and throw him in! While we were there, we did the usual sight seeing, and

then Kevin and I brought Dad to his fathers regimental museum in Inniskilling

Northern Ireland. The trip culminated in a visit to Belfast, where Dad for the first

time ever met paternal relatives; his cousin Betty McMaster and her son Robin.

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As I look back, I think retirement was tough on my Dad. He developed a spinal

condition that limited his ability to use his hands for basic tasks; eventually he

slowed down considerably and lost his ability to putter. This had an impact on his

mood and presented all of us with challenges, not least of which my mother. As a

family, we made the difficult decision to put him on a waitlist for a Long Term Care

facility. I can speak for everyone by saying that the last thing my father would want

is to be put in a home, especially given his experience in a Sanitarium as a child.

If there is a silver lining to this past week, its that my father lived his 83 years at

home surrounded by people he loved, and who loved him.

Toward the end, this was no small achievement. To start, we need to acknowledge

Dads stubborn determination and will to live his life to the fullest. Followed by the

efforts of Dr Greg Leonard and the cardiology team at The Ottawa Heart Institute,

who did a wonderful job caring for Dad. However, at the end of the day, it was really

the efforts of my mother that made home a reality for him. I want to take this

moment to thank you Mom for being there for Dad in every possible way.

It gives me great pleasure to say that over this last year my father was more at ease

with what was happening to him and around him, being his happiest when he was

with his family and with his people at Tim Hortons.

My dad was unwell for a long time and I think we were all sort of preparing this day

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 in our own way. Even a few days ago the cardiologist was surprised based on

imaging when he was last at the Heart Institute in 2014 - that he did not come back

sooner. Quite simply, he defied the odds.

So, when something like this happens, you realize that you can never truly prepare

for it. The pain that one endures when a child loses a parent is deep and profound,

and even though it is one of those life events that most people go through, it feels

exquisitely unique when it happens to you.

I look back at my life with Mom and Dad and I realize the all those strong values he

demonstrated were preparation for things that truly matter in life, like being a good

husband, a role model father, a loyal brother and of course, the value of a hard days

work. It also prepares me for this day, this moment, when a son loses his father.

In conclusion, Id like to quote the final verse of a Rudyard Kipling Kipling poem, If.

When I was a child, it hung on a wall in our home. I believe it used to belong to my

Dads father.

If Rudyard Kipling

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kingsnor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything thats in it,
Andwhich is moreyoull be a Man, my son!