Camp Dad

When I was in my teens, we went camping at Seeley lake park near Hazelton. Jacob was older and had graduated or was about to. We were playing at the campground and one morning he told us this may be one of the last times we would be able to be all together as a family. He explained that it was hard to believe as a child, but when we grow up, our lives would take us in different directions and it would be difficult for us to find the time to get together. 

That was half a lifetime ago. In the second half of my life he worked very hard to prove himself wrong.  Nearly every summer from 2002 until now, him and Wendy put on a campaign weekend in Parksville. The reservations would open in march and he would call first thing in the morning to have a double site reserved for the year. He bribed the park workers with gifts of hanging baskets so they would remember him and ensure we had a spot in the high demand camp ground. He set up his 20m x 20m tarp with and intricate system of ladders, rope, electrical conduit, hose clamps and a home made lever and pulley assembly made from front bicycle forks. He had 2 large tents set up on site for anyone who wanted to drop in and stay a while. His tent was on top of the truck. 

It wasn’t his hard work and constant preparedness, but his love for all which earned him the moniker camp dad. When we were young, we swam in the ocean, built sand castles and played games on the sand. We would have played music long into the night if quiet time wasn't ten. One year I remember getting permission from the neighbours to keep playing and they said they loved hearing the music. He learned to cook everything on the barbecue. Pancakes, bacon and even pie. As we got older, we swam in the ocean, built sand castles and played games on the sand. 

Last night Jacob, me and our families went to the rocky point near the Tsartlip first nation and swam in the ocean together. Grateful for the wonderful man who taught us to live and love completely.

"I wish you could stay"

I was looking through photos on my laptop again last night, for the second time, trying to find photos of Dad I might have missed during my first scan through early Friday morning. We all left in such a rush that we forgot to gather up photos and memories of dad when we came over to the island. 

I found some photos I missed from a couple years ago when we lived in Vancouver. He could only stay for one night that visit, and then had to leave in the morning. This was typical - as a hard worker, Dad was often busy and we'd lament that one could have time or money but rarely both at the same time. Looking at this photo I could see immense love in his eyes, and sadness that he had to leave. I distinctly remember knowing that he had to leave, and that it would have been unfair to ask him to stay longer.. but I desperately wanted more time with him. His grandkids wanted more time with him. He wanted more time. So all I said was "Dad, I wish you could stay," knowing that he had to go.

When I talked to Marny the night he died, I talked about how well Dad was aging and how loving, kind, and generous he was. She said her biggest regret was that he wouldn't be able to "enjoy the retirement he worked so hard for." I realized acutely that in the last few months, since we moved back up north to Hazelton, I'd been fantasizing about him coming and enjoying some of his retirement with us and the kids. I would envision him relaxed, not needing to leave so soon. I envisioned him leaned back in a chair, playing music and smiling at his grandkids as they played. I envisioned him standing beside us as we struggled to fix something or build something, wisely giving us tips and instruction pulled from his deep well of experience.

The last time I heard his voice was when Noah and I were rebuilding a near-WWII vintage tablesaw that Noah had selected from the dump. I'd gone as far as I could with the project - not very far - and couldn't decipher the wiring. I looked at Noah with a frustrated look and said "I don't know how this works. But you know who would know? Daddio! I'm going to call him right now." I took my cell out of my pocket, dialed Dad, and put him on speakerphone as he walked me through the engine rebuild. He was on the phone when we tested the motor and zoooom! It worked first try. I was wishing for many more of those patient, loving, caring coaching sessions.

Last night as I was looking at this photo - the one of him with his grandkids wrapped around him - and I remembered saying to him, knowing he had to go - "I wish you could stay." I know Dad you had to leave us, but Dad, 

I really wish you could have stayed.

Love, Jacob

...and the last video we made for dad, about the motor:

Dad singing by the river

Dad was always singing - if not out loud then definitely inside. At times in his life his song was dulled or quieted but never extinguished. His song got louder as he got older, and he touched and reached so many people through music. He was aging so well, and I am sorry he died so young. We remember him with song.


And here's a video of Dad and Peter Ouellette jamming

Peanut butter on pancakes and waffles

Dad was a father to many more kids than just us biological children. His love and acceptance helped shape many lives. Below are a couple tributes from a couple ladies who remember Dad as their father too... and they also remember learning how to put peanut butter on their pancakes and waffles! Us kids all had a good cry and then laugh thinking about his legacy... lots of love and peanut butter on pancakes!

~~~~

RIP Roderick Beaton.. i can not express how upset i am that you have passed.. you were like a father to me from the moment i met you. you accepted me in to the beaton clan without a second thought, took me to the okanagan to your moms farm in the summer. 

you helped teach me right from wrong well being loving and patient with me.. you showed me to put peanut butter on my waffles and make homemade syrup. i remember going to ur house well u were at work making food leaving a mess with a note that said i love you and u never got mad. 

you where the camping dad and taught me how to hang a tarp and cook an apple pie on the bbq and hanging round the fire well u play your mandolin and sing your funny songs. i loved your baking and i hope one day my rhubarb crisp will be as good as your was. i love you roderick and i always will! thank you for being apart of my life and helping me become the person i am today. 

Rip my friend and father xoxo
- Kayla

~~~~

Dear Jacob,

I was very sad to learn about your dad, and I’m really, really sorry. I have very fond memories of your dad. The two times I came to visit you and your family he made me feel so welcome and treated me as part of the family – I called him “dad” then because I genuinely felt at home because of his warmth and kindness.

I remember his amazing pancakes with peanut butter and maple syrup to which he treated us once when we all went camping together. I also remember how you all worked on a gingerbread house at Christmas, and how he made "Sex in a pan" for me on my birthday! I loved his music and his songs; I wrote the texts of some songs down because I liked them so much! Wasn’t there a song about a chicken in a yard? Gosh, I can still remember his voice after all these years. Also his poetry was very special. Do you remember the poem he wrote about us, I think he called it “First love”? Beautiful words. I think I might still have it, in one of my old diaries from back then.

He told me once that he didn’t write in his diary often, only on special occasions, but that he wrote about me. He was a very special man, and he gave me fatherly love at a time when I really needed it. He will always be in my heart, like all of you. I don’t know whether your siblings or your mum remember me, but I always enjoy catching a glimpse of their happy moments in the pictures you post. My heart goes out to all of you.

With all my love for you all,
Anne

Visited Dad and Marny's

Dad died on Thursday night. On Friday I headed over to the island to join my brother Jonathan, Rebekah joined later Friday and Sophia arrived Saturday night. Yesterday (Sunday) all four of us kids drove up to join Marny, on the anniversary of her and Dad's wedding, of all days.

Walking in one of the first things we saw was Dad's mandolin, laying on the chair as if waiting for him to walk in any minute, pick it up and sit down. We've all been in a haze since he died and yesterday was some more of the same as it felt like shuffling with a big lump in my throat from one memory to another. We all cried again but honestly after so much crying it became more of a slow stream of tears.

Friends of Dad and Marny were there and dropped by throughout the afternoon. Queen bee came by and brought extra chairs and a patio umbrella for the kids. We sat down on the deck dad built, under the wood beams he bought straight from the mill "to save a few bucks," enjoyed his lawn and garden and got down to the business of planning his funeral.

It turns out there is not much worse than trying to cope with a sudden, unexpected, untimely death of someone so dearly loved. We are truly blessed to be surrounded by loving family and friends. Dad was at peace in his last few years and we are all so happy that he and Marny found each other. It was comforting to be sitting beside Marny as we went through the rough sketch agenda we threw together and started planning a goodbye process that would honour Dad's spirit and memory.

At my request Marny brought out Dad's bible and us kids thumbed through Psalms and found our favourites. When we were little Dad and Mom would sing Psalms as we drove long distances in the car. Listening them sing while I looked at the stars through the window is one of my favourite childhood memories. At Dad and Marny's we sang together - all four kids - and this was one of my favourite moments of the day.

It is too bad that we only seem to all come together for weddings and funerals, but we're determined to make the best of this time together. Dad was a wonderful, incredibly loving being and we're going to do our best to remember him in the best ways this week. Thank you everyone for all your love - and support - it is helping to hold us up in this difficult time.

Jacob

This is my old bike - which dad has kept operational since I was about 8

The daddy-wagon - which dad made for me many many years ago

The old truck that he loved so much

So much as he left it

One of the spaces he created and where we met on sunday to plan


His mandolin

Keep in touch!

Hi everyone,

We've been overwhelmed with all the outpouring of love and support since Dad unexpectedly passed away Thursday evening. We're planning the funeral and memorial and want to make sure we keep in touch with everyone. We also want to capture and share your stories here.

Please do fill in our form here and share your memories - we love to hear them and we love to share them. We'll be sure to email or call if any plans change.

Thanks,

Jacob