Our family is steeped in sadness. My mother-in-law, Wynn passed away peacefully, drawing her last breath Sunday evening at the Whitecliff Nursing facility in British Columbia with her three sons and loved ones by her side.
As with her life, her death was distinctive; passing on her birthday. While some might think that is extra sad, it is actually amazing that she lasted long enough to reach 100, a pinnacle that few embrace. Gregg was already on his way to BC for a planned birthday celebration when he got word that she had taken ill. She had pneumonia and kidney infection and wasn’t responding to an aggressive antibiotic treatment. He arrived in time for her to be aware enough of her surroundings to smile at him. but she wasn't conversing more than mumbles, spending most of her time sleeping. In the next few days she became even less responsive and began the final decline Saturday October 20th, when she was put on palliative care, concentrating on keeping her pain free and comfortable.
I counted down each minute hoping she would make it to Sunday October 21st for her birthday. She no longer understood what was happening but to live that long she had to go the distance, allowing her sons to proudly boast that their mom reached a century old, to brag about family longevity and great genes. To fall short of 100 would have been like a novel without the last page, to run a marathon and collapse within inches of the finish line, so we are over the moon that she held on long enough to make it across the line. I think it’s a comfort to all that loved her that she reached that special crest, a final memory and story that we will all share.
There were several strange little moments surrounding her passing. The most extraordinary was the time of death pronounced at 7:47 pm. I wasn’t there but I can imagine a gasp from her loved ones. Jim, Gregg’s dad, exclusively flew the 747 airplanes for Air Canada during his 35 year career with them. Of all the hours and minutes of P.M. timing, this number was called. Coincidence? I like to think not. Gregg also said there was an amazing plane contrail around the moon that evening. Unfortunately he didn’t take a photo but that will be a memory he’ll not soon forgot.
Wynn was a fraternal twin, a close sibling bond few get to experience. In the photo above Wynn is on the right and her twin Lois is on the left. They made their beautiful, matching and flowing dresses for graduation. They also had an older sister Edith who lived well up into her nineties so longevity is a family trait. Unfortunately, their father died when Wynn was two years old so she grew up without a father, surviving the depression that she talked about and frequently blamed for being so frugal. She never wasted a thing or threw anything out because someday it might be needed. She wasn’t a hoarder, their home was very neat and tidy but her closets hid an obsessive collection of bed sheets and linens. She did however bulk purchase consumable necessities such as Kleenex, toilet paper and of course food. She loved when Costco opened!
Many a joke was told over their 18 cubic foot deep-freeze that held all manner of sale turkeys and meats, casseroles and pies, some of the latter were dated back so far they were referred to as mystery pies, you didn’t know what fruit they were until they came out of the oven, albeit still delicious with a crust to die for. Wynn was a good cook and baker well known for her pastries especially her butter tarts. Their beast of a freezer was big enough to hide a body, perhaps several stacked on top of one another but she usually kept it full and rotated stock so there was no fear of falling in with the cover banging down on top of us as we selected a frozen entree and dessert for dinner. Perhaps, doing without during the depression left a lasting impression, especially with a single mother that worked to put food on the table and doing the best she could to raise three daughters, perhaps all that made Wynn need the security of surplus in her own pantry. One day after a trip to the grocery store where there was a sale on tins of tuna, of which I purchased a dozen cans, I said proudly to Gregg, “See, you did marry your mom.” And he jokingly replied, “No, mom would have bought it all.”
Gregg’s dad was tall, handsome and broad of shoulder, an airline pilot entrusted with the 747’s during his career with Air Canada. It provided a great life for the Little clan, many vacations and opportunities that some only dream of and by his own account, Gregg had an idyllic childhood. Wynn, a tall and willowy looker caught Jim's eye, they fell in love and married July 5th, 1946. She had been working as a passenger agent for Trans-Canada Airlines but after they married she stayed home to care for her family while her husband was away on overseas flights but she volunteered more than her share, was physically active and said the secret to longevity was down to walking, swimming and keeping on the move. She collected a large circle of friends and was loved by all.
I have never seen such a social butterfly. Her gift of conversation was honed to perfection, and it wasn’t put on, she had a genuine interest in people. At Jim’s memorial gathering, I watched her move about the room engaging everyone, putting them at ease with their grief, while she stoically contained hers. I always joke that I wanted to be like her when I grew up. Social graces aren’t born they are learned and I’ve lacked the gift of gab, spending too much time in my own head as a child creating the perfect introvert. That’s why I like words, I’m not intimidated by paper and pen and words flow freely whereas my mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton in a crowd. Wynn was a natural communicator, always knew the perfect thing to say to draw the other person out, and I admired her to pieces.
As with her life, her death was distinctive; passing on her birthday. While some might think that is extra sad, it is actually amazing that she lasted long enough to reach 100, a pinnacle that few embrace. Gregg was already on his way to BC for a planned birthday celebration when he got word that she had taken ill. She had pneumonia and kidney infection and wasn’t responding to an aggressive antibiotic treatment. He arrived in time for her to be aware enough of her surroundings to smile at him. but she wasn't conversing more than mumbles, spending most of her time sleeping. In the next few days she became even less responsive and began the final decline Saturday October 20th, when she was put on palliative care, concentrating on keeping her pain free and comfortable.
I counted down each minute hoping she would make it to Sunday October 21st for her birthday. She no longer understood what was happening but to live that long she had to go the distance, allowing her sons to proudly boast that their mom reached a century old, to brag about family longevity and great genes. To fall short of 100 would have been like a novel without the last page, to run a marathon and collapse within inches of the finish line, so we are over the moon that she held on long enough to make it across the line. I think it’s a comfort to all that loved her that she reached that special crest, a final memory and story that we will all share.
There were several strange little moments surrounding her passing. The most extraordinary was the time of death pronounced at 7:47 pm. I wasn’t there but I can imagine a gasp from her loved ones. Jim, Gregg’s dad, exclusively flew the 747 airplanes for Air Canada during his 35 year career with them. Of all the hours and minutes of P.M. timing, this number was called. Coincidence? I like to think not. Gregg also said there was an amazing plane contrail around the moon that evening. Unfortunately he didn’t take a photo but that will be a memory he’ll not soon forgot.
Wynn was a fraternal twin, a close sibling bond few get to experience. In the photo above Wynn is on the right and her twin Lois is on the left. They made their beautiful, matching and flowing dresses for graduation. They also had an older sister Edith who lived well up into her nineties so longevity is a family trait. Unfortunately, their father died when Wynn was two years old so she grew up without a father, surviving the depression that she talked about and frequently blamed for being so frugal. She never wasted a thing or threw anything out because someday it might be needed. She wasn’t a hoarder, their home was very neat and tidy but her closets hid an obsessive collection of bed sheets and linens. She did however bulk purchase consumable necessities such as Kleenex, toilet paper and of course food. She loved when Costco opened!
Many a joke was told over their 18 cubic foot deep-freeze that held all manner of sale turkeys and meats, casseroles and pies, some of the latter were dated back so far they were referred to as mystery pies, you didn’t know what fruit they were until they came out of the oven, albeit still delicious with a crust to die for. Wynn was a good cook and baker well known for her pastries especially her butter tarts. Their beast of a freezer was big enough to hide a body, perhaps several stacked on top of one another but she usually kept it full and rotated stock so there was no fear of falling in with the cover banging down on top of us as we selected a frozen entree and dessert for dinner. Perhaps, doing without during the depression left a lasting impression, especially with a single mother that worked to put food on the table and doing the best she could to raise three daughters, perhaps all that made Wynn need the security of surplus in her own pantry. One day after a trip to the grocery store where there was a sale on tins of tuna, of which I purchased a dozen cans, I said proudly to Gregg, “See, you did marry your mom.” And he jokingly replied, “No, mom would have bought it all.”
Gregg’s dad was tall, handsome and broad of shoulder, an airline pilot entrusted with the 747’s during his career with Air Canada. It provided a great life for the Little clan, many vacations and opportunities that some only dream of and by his own account, Gregg had an idyllic childhood. Wynn, a tall and willowy looker caught Jim's eye, they fell in love and married July 5th, 1946. She had been working as a passenger agent for Trans-Canada Airlines but after they married she stayed home to care for her family while her husband was away on overseas flights but she volunteered more than her share, was physically active and said the secret to longevity was down to walking, swimming and keeping on the move. She collected a large circle of friends and was loved by all.
I have never seen such a social butterfly. Her gift of conversation was honed to perfection, and it wasn’t put on, she had a genuine interest in people. At Jim’s memorial gathering, I watched her move about the room engaging everyone, putting them at ease with their grief, while she stoically contained hers. I always joke that I wanted to be like her when I grew up. Social graces aren’t born they are learned and I’ve lacked the gift of gab, spending too much time in my own head as a child creating the perfect introvert. That’s why I like words, I’m not intimidated by paper and pen and words flow freely whereas my mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton in a crowd. Wynn was a natural communicator, always knew the perfect thing to say to draw the other person out, and I admired her to pieces.
 Wynn worked as a ticket agent before she married. |  No sure what year this was taken but a lovely photo. |
When I first met Jim and Wynn I loved them instantly. I always wanted to call them mom and dad, that’s the way I felt inside, but I was shy. I was like an adopted child of sorts, a daughter-in-law that is. Every time we visited them in White Rock, BC it only fueled more feeling. I made them a part of our life with constant emails, they experienced our lives through my stories, bridging the distance between us with words.
I would write paragraph after paragraph, short stories really, that made our mundane lives seem far more exciting and interesting than they actually were. I used to say I wrote a lot about nothing, I could take something like a simple apple and dress it up like a party. I cut my writing teeth with four or more emails a week, if something popped up my first thought was to share it and was at the computer relaying the hot of the press news. Once when I visited them I saw a tall stack of printed matter on Jim’s desk and discovered they were all my emails and was deeply touched. I suppose he printed them for Wynn to read at the kitchen table but never threw them away like yesterday’s news. Volumes of stories piled high, our life spelled out across sheets of paper, giving them a constant view into our comings and goings.
We phoned as well, if Gregg didn’t automatically connect every couple of weeks I’d remind him because I wanted to hear their voices. I can still hear his dad’s soft speech in my head, a melodic sound, warm and pleasant. Of course I was shy and tongue tied most of the time, conversations were difficult for me even on the phone, but Gregg filled in the gaps while I hung on the other line feeling soothed by their banter. Being the clown that I am, I’d manage to crack a few punch lines that would be rewarded by a chuckle and how I loved to hear them laugh. Since Jim's passing, Gregg and I kept Wynn smiling when we phoned her Sunday evenings although as she got closer to 100 we could tell she was failing a bit, not wanting to converse for long periods like before. There was a time I Skyped with her several hours an evening, every evening, she could chat endlessly, so the fact that she tired quickly and said we should let her go was a sign of things to come.
I’ve been thinking a lot about them. One of my fondest funnies with Jim was while looking out their kitchen window at a hedge trimmer working in their back yard clipping the over growth. He was there a couple of hours and I asked how much something like that service would cost here. Jim said $1000. My jaw dropped and after I picked it up off the table I commented, “Oh my god, I’d have chewed it off with my teeth for that much money!” I’ll never forget his chuckle. Everything grows twice as tall and fast in the more neutral temperatures and rain of the west. Landscaping is huge business out there because of the need to keep up with the Jack in the Beanstalk kind of vegetation growth.
By 1991 I was motherless; my mom was actually taken from us by infection, the same fate my mother-in-law succumbed too. Later when my father died in 2000, I was lost and felt like an orphan but Wynn and Jim filled the void so I was never really alone. In the statistical family, the parents go before the children, so with the passing of his mom, Gregg and I have both lost the last buffer between our lives and our own deaths. We are now one step higher on the ladder, making us the buffer for our children. The cycle of life and death keeps on grinding away.
After Jim died I shattered like a glass window. It was terribly painful for me and I flew out to BC to be with Wynn for the week while we waited for everyone to make it home. Gregg was in the field working and Wynn postponed the service until he could arrive. She was always about the work, it came first no matter what and said that many times. I had a week alone with her, a precious time for me that I will never forget. We polished silver and organized her closets, all those dozens of sheet sets that she’d buy and bring home from the Peace Arch Hospital Auxiliary Superfluity Thrift Store where she volunteered; second hand and still in the wrapper sheets, new and crisp while the ones on her bed could have been rotated right into the bin. There was nothing I could do to convince her to wash and use a new set. Something must have happened back in her childhood to worry about not having enough bed linens. Every time I went out to visit I organized the closets, the sheets that got disorganized over time while that drab old, olive green set on their bed got even more knobby and thread bare.
I listened while she reminisced, her memory as sharp as a pin. The fun, the dancing and wartime tales, once 18 dates in one summer, all the travel and family history, especially all the antics Gregg put her through with his devil may care spirit. He apparently caused a few more grey hairs than the others, being fearless as a small boy and out for adventure. I sat like a sponge absorbing her stories. It was a very special time for me.
She was a little stuck in her ways and at times curmudgeonly, but she was of a different generation and had seen and experienced so much in her lifetime she was allowed her idiosyncrasies. The one constant that was undeniable was her grand love for her boys that always shone through like a brilliant ray of sunshine; Terry the eldest, Gregg the middle and Dale the youngest. Any time someone snapped a photo of her with her boys her smile was just a wee bit bigger and the pride in her eye matched it.
I know she loved me although she wouldn’t verbalize her feelings, saying it was foolish to go around telling people you love them when they already know it, perhaps another miss planted idea from her youth. I have physical proof of her love for me in a card she sent a few years ago. She told me she appreciated all the contact and sharing of our lives with them and that she loved me for it. It makes me tear up every time I think of it, perhaps I’ll have the card framed.
Writing my adoptive parents was never a duty or a chore; I needed them more than they needed me. All the correspondence was done with love and respect for the two people that gave me the wonderful husband I have today. The man isn’t perfect, no one on this earth is, but by golly he’s darn near close. He’s been my saving grace since the day I met him, pulling me from an unhappy past while bringing a bright light to shine through the grey clouds. He is my rock and my anchor and I have his wonderful parents to thank for the grand life I love and live!
I would write paragraph after paragraph, short stories really, that made our mundane lives seem far more exciting and interesting than they actually were. I used to say I wrote a lot about nothing, I could take something like a simple apple and dress it up like a party. I cut my writing teeth with four or more emails a week, if something popped up my first thought was to share it and was at the computer relaying the hot of the press news. Once when I visited them I saw a tall stack of printed matter on Jim’s desk and discovered they were all my emails and was deeply touched. I suppose he printed them for Wynn to read at the kitchen table but never threw them away like yesterday’s news. Volumes of stories piled high, our life spelled out across sheets of paper, giving them a constant view into our comings and goings.
We phoned as well, if Gregg didn’t automatically connect every couple of weeks I’d remind him because I wanted to hear their voices. I can still hear his dad’s soft speech in my head, a melodic sound, warm and pleasant. Of course I was shy and tongue tied most of the time, conversations were difficult for me even on the phone, but Gregg filled in the gaps while I hung on the other line feeling soothed by their banter. Being the clown that I am, I’d manage to crack a few punch lines that would be rewarded by a chuckle and how I loved to hear them laugh. Since Jim's passing, Gregg and I kept Wynn smiling when we phoned her Sunday evenings although as she got closer to 100 we could tell she was failing a bit, not wanting to converse for long periods like before. There was a time I Skyped with her several hours an evening, every evening, she could chat endlessly, so the fact that she tired quickly and said we should let her go was a sign of things to come.
I’ve been thinking a lot about them. One of my fondest funnies with Jim was while looking out their kitchen window at a hedge trimmer working in their back yard clipping the over growth. He was there a couple of hours and I asked how much something like that service would cost here. Jim said $1000. My jaw dropped and after I picked it up off the table I commented, “Oh my god, I’d have chewed it off with my teeth for that much money!” I’ll never forget his chuckle. Everything grows twice as tall and fast in the more neutral temperatures and rain of the west. Landscaping is huge business out there because of the need to keep up with the Jack in the Beanstalk kind of vegetation growth.
By 1991 I was motherless; my mom was actually taken from us by infection, the same fate my mother-in-law succumbed too. Later when my father died in 2000, I was lost and felt like an orphan but Wynn and Jim filled the void so I was never really alone. In the statistical family, the parents go before the children, so with the passing of his mom, Gregg and I have both lost the last buffer between our lives and our own deaths. We are now one step higher on the ladder, making us the buffer for our children. The cycle of life and death keeps on grinding away.
After Jim died I shattered like a glass window. It was terribly painful for me and I flew out to BC to be with Wynn for the week while we waited for everyone to make it home. Gregg was in the field working and Wynn postponed the service until he could arrive. She was always about the work, it came first no matter what and said that many times. I had a week alone with her, a precious time for me that I will never forget. We polished silver and organized her closets, all those dozens of sheet sets that she’d buy and bring home from the Peace Arch Hospital Auxiliary Superfluity Thrift Store where she volunteered; second hand and still in the wrapper sheets, new and crisp while the ones on her bed could have been rotated right into the bin. There was nothing I could do to convince her to wash and use a new set. Something must have happened back in her childhood to worry about not having enough bed linens. Every time I went out to visit I organized the closets, the sheets that got disorganized over time while that drab old, olive green set on their bed got even more knobby and thread bare.
I listened while she reminisced, her memory as sharp as a pin. The fun, the dancing and wartime tales, once 18 dates in one summer, all the travel and family history, especially all the antics Gregg put her through with his devil may care spirit. He apparently caused a few more grey hairs than the others, being fearless as a small boy and out for adventure. I sat like a sponge absorbing her stories. It was a very special time for me.
She was a little stuck in her ways and at times curmudgeonly, but she was of a different generation and had seen and experienced so much in her lifetime she was allowed her idiosyncrasies. The one constant that was undeniable was her grand love for her boys that always shone through like a brilliant ray of sunshine; Terry the eldest, Gregg the middle and Dale the youngest. Any time someone snapped a photo of her with her boys her smile was just a wee bit bigger and the pride in her eye matched it.
I know she loved me although she wouldn’t verbalize her feelings, saying it was foolish to go around telling people you love them when they already know it, perhaps another miss planted idea from her youth. I have physical proof of her love for me in a card she sent a few years ago. She told me she appreciated all the contact and sharing of our lives with them and that she loved me for it. It makes me tear up every time I think of it, perhaps I’ll have the card framed.
Writing my adoptive parents was never a duty or a chore; I needed them more than they needed me. All the correspondence was done with love and respect for the two people that gave me the wonderful husband I have today. The man isn’t perfect, no one on this earth is, but by golly he’s darn near close. He’s been my saving grace since the day I met him, pulling me from an unhappy past while bringing a bright light to shine through the grey clouds. He is my rock and my anchor and I have his wonderful parents to thank for the grand life I love and live!
Winnifred Little,
Oct 21, 1918 – Oct 21, 2018
Born in Tuberose Saskatchewn, Winnifred Achurch
You and Jim are sadly missed and will be for the rest of our lives.
Oct 21, 1918 – Oct 21, 2018
Born in Tuberose Saskatchewn, Winnifred Achurch
You and Jim are sadly missed and will be for the rest of our lives.
Terry and Gregg on a recent visit.
From left to right, Gregg, Terry, Dale and Wynn all smiles with her boys.
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