Remembering Merle

My mother's sister, Merle Janet Dean (Keachie), is 3 years older than her, so I cannot remember a time when she was not a part of my life. When my family moved to Barrie from Toronto, buying a side-split on Varden Cr and I became a Johnson Street PS Spitfire, my Aunt Merle and Uncle Peter were already here, so our two families shared the year's annual celebrations together. IMHO, my Nana and Papa did a great job of raising two very different girls in my mom and my aunt, but their core values were more than similar and I vividly recall having a very deep appreciation for my Aunt Merle. Her recent passing was a blessing, considering the ravages of dementia, but it still leaves a significant hole in my soul.

My Nana, Papa, aunt and mom grew up in Toronto, with both girls attending East York Collegiate. I have very fond memories of my grandparent's home on Parkdale Rd, but it always seemed that when the extended family got together, it was in Barrie at my aunt's home on Berzy St or our home, first on Varden, then on Sunnidale. Merle and Peter had my 3 cousins starting their family just prior to my mom and dad with the oldest of the 7 being my cousin Warren who was born in 1962. I came next in '63, then my cousin Bryan in '64, my cousin Margot in '66, my brother Dave in '67, and my brothers Rob and Mike rounding out the horde in '69 and '71. This meant that for my entire younger life, I regularly shared the thrills of childhood with my 3 cousins and 3 brothers, often amid a host of special trips adorned in matching t-shirts so our moms could easily keep track of us because the dads were busy working. Most of you know my father was an Orthopedic surgeon, but you may not know that my Uncle Peter was a dentist. Whether it was summers at Wasaga Beach, trips to Toronto Island, days spent in the pool on Sunnidale, or escapades in the large number of parks of Simcoe County, we 7 kept my mom and aunt very, very busy.

I have boatloads of images stored deep in the crevices of my neural tissue that include the laughter and joy shared with my cousins as we circumvented our younger years under the watchful eyes of my mother and aunt. In all of those memories, I can still see Merle's smiling, loving face as they managed the inevitable squabbles of 7 kids under 10. My poor cousin Margot was adrift in a sea of boyish testosterone and bore the brunt of the roughhousing of 6 exuberant boys, but looking back now, I would venture that adequately prepared her for the life she now shares with her beau Tim Burtch and his regular antics. Through all of that, the only negative memories I have of my aunt was her choice to serve squash at Christmas dinner much to the dismay of my adolescent taste buds ... a personal first world problem, I admit.

My Aunt Merle was a very loving person, but she was also blessed with a sarcastic wit, and upon delivering a choice barb at your expense, she'd have a glint in her eye that shone brighter than a star. From where I stood, she loved being a mom, even if it meant dealing with the 4 Porter warts, and I truly felt blessed to have such a close family. I can vividly recall how much her eventual divorce from my uncle showed on her face, and even though she still smiled widely around us, I know now that it was a tough time for her. 

It was around this time that my aunt embraced the comfort of the church. Both our families had raised their children by including a religious component, the Deans attending Collier United, the Porters Central United, but Merle found greater comfort in the community church called Bethel, and it became a major force in her life. As we grew out of our adolescence, I have memories of conversations I was apart of, or over heard, where Merle would be talking about her church life and I recognized that familiar sparkle in her eye I had seen in my younger years. Hers was a very strong sense of faith, and judging by the number of people who reached out to me after seeing her passing, she touched a lot of people's hearts.

As the years passed, and the inevitable consequence of age took hold, the 7 brats matured into quite the handsome lot ... if I do say so myself ... discovered their significant others, and fled the safety of the childhood nests. We didn't gather communally as often as those early years, but still managed a couple of special events, despite our swollen ranks of 24 bodies. Most of those later gatherings were at our place on Sunnidale, partly because of the space our home provided plus the pool, but also because Merle's place on Penetang was not large enough to accommodate our horde. 

The ravages of time spare no one. For some it manifests as diminishing physical abilities, while others find their mental competence impaired ... or both, unfortunately. It was a source of profound angst that Merle's sparkling eyes slowly faded in her final years, compromised by the effects of dementia. Sadly, this retched pandemic stole her family's ability to regularly comfort her in the those last days, hours and minutes, but despite her declining condition, I cling to the hope that her affliction also spared her the heartache of missing her loved ones. My last personal memory of Merle will be of the day that my mom, Joyce and I took Merle's FAV meal of Swiss Chalet into Victoria Village and we shared a meal on the patio in the sunshine. Merle loved Swiss Chalet's chicken, but their fries stood no chance what-so-ever as she devoured more than her fair share with a memorable grin.

I will certainly miss Merle. They say all we are is imprinted during our years from age 8 to 10, so I am forever grateful to my mother and aunt for making those years as rich, fulfilling, and happy as any young person could wish for. We really are together in this game called life, a fact that was reinforced when I posted on Facebook about her passing, and a host of friends and acquaintances shared that their lives had also been touched by my aunt's good graces, expressing they too would miss her presence. 

Sadly, with Merle's passing, the Keeper of Memories for the Parkdale Keachies will fall on my mother. I can see the hurt behind her eyes, both from losing her sister, but also from not being able to comfort her in that final part of her life due to the restrictions in place at Victoria Village. It's inevitable that someone remains the last light, but that doesn't make it an easy thing to endure.

I take solace in the fact that Merle is exactly where she wishes to be after so patiently, carefully and completely giving her life to Jesus. I will choose to "see" her as smiling widely as possible, a look of extreme contentment in her eyes, the love she so regularly showered on those around her emanating from her like the glow of a million candles. 

I'd say God Bless you Merle, but I strongly suspect that he already has.
Rest in Peace.
You've earned it.