Eulogy

I once stumbled across this quote: “There are friends, there is family, and there are friends that become family.” Although she wasn’t related to my wife and me, Janet was our family.

I first met Janet in the fall of 1966 when we ended up in grade 7 together at what was then called Hants West Rural High. Like so many other things over the years, that school has gone through several changes and is now Hants West Middle School. It’s heartening to know, though, that there are some things that never change, and one of them was Janet. We were friends for 58 years, and during that whole time, she always remained the person I first came to know. She was fiercely independent, which explains how she became a veterinarian when women were often discouraged from entering that profession. And she loved to travel, which explains how she ended up living and working in Australia and, later, in England. I never lived more than an hour’s drive from where I grew up, but she forged a life for herself on the other side of the world.

I always admired her courage to try new things, like changing careers when she grew disillusioned with veterinary medicine. She loved working with animals, but she didn’t much care for their owners, many of whom were obnoxious and demanding and believed they knew far more than any doctor. Janet did not suffer fools lightly. In fact, she was one of the most honest people I’ve ever met—sometimes brutally honest, and I loved that about her. If she didn’t like you, you knew it. And if she did like you, you knew that, too. I was glad that she liked me. Of all the people in my Hants West 7th grade class, she was the one person who, despite where she lived in the world, always kept in contact and always visited whenever she returned to Canada.

So Janet left veterinary medicine and became an environmental scientist working in civic planning, and it was during this time that she met the love of her life at, of all places, a dance class. My wife and I were fortunate to meet Glynn, and it was easy to see they were meant for each other. Both shared the same quirky sense of humour, and both were incredibly creative—a former teacher, Glynn was an accomplished photographer and woodworker, and Janet’s passions were sewing and gardening. I wish I could show you some of the quilts that she made—they were works of art that I always thought should be displayed on walls rather than lying on beds or in blanket boxes. She and Glynn made their home in a lovely Southwold cottage, where they often entertained Glynn’s grown daughters, Hannah and Naomi, and their families. As the years unfurled, they eventually began making plans to retire together in Nova Scotia but, tragically, that didn’t happen. A heart attack took Glynn and he died in her arms on their kitchen floor.

Janet never fully recovered from losing Glynn, mourning him until the day she died. But she drew on that seemingly unlimited strength of hers and continued working and living in that cottage and spending time with friends like Louise Moore and Mark West and the members of her beloved sewing circle. And she continued making her own plans for retirement. But it was around this time that she began to experience pain in her back. After a cursory examination, her doctor told her that aches and pains were to be expected at her age and he prescribed Tylenol. Despite the pain, she went ahead with her plans to return to Nova Scotia, and after retiring and selling her Southwold cottage, she packed up and came home, eventually purchasing a house in Bedford only minutes from where my wife and I lived. And she undertook the gargantuan task of renovating it. But her pain was becoming increasingly severe, so she went to a doctor and was eventually diagnosed with terminal bone cancer. With her characteristic no-nonsense attitude, she asked the physician how much time she had left, and he replied, “I wouldn’t make any long-term plans.” That callous comment might have destroyed other people, but Janet didn’t let it stop her. She continued the renovations from her hospital bed, and I FaceTimed her from building supply stores so she could pick out via video her kitchen cabinets and flooring and paint and tiles and door handles and everything else that she needed to drag her 1950s bungalow into the 21st century.

The oncologist who eventually treated her gave her two years, but Janet was nothing if not stoic, and she stretched that into five. Hospital visits and chemotherapy became routine, and she always hated the intake process when she would be asked the same questions over and over again. What annoyed her most was the disbelief on administrators’ faces when they learned she had no children of her own. With her usual deadpan humour, she once threatened to get a t-shirt printed with the words, “Yes, I’m a woman, and no, I don’t have children. Deal with it.”

Janet’s final wish was to enjoy the summer in her beloved garden. When she became unable to care for her property, she hired Mac Thomas to be her landscaper. When I informed him about Janet’s passing, Mac responded with this text, which I’d like to share with you: “Thank you for the message, Don. This is sad news. Janet and I had become friends and we spent many uplifting hours building her vision of the garden and landscape around the house. I was always happy that I was able to provide for her the help she needed. A good friend of mine lives across the street from Janet, our children are friends, and it was me that approached Janet about offering my services. And although she was reluctant at first, being the fierce English soul that she was, I was happy to be available as her illness progressed. We worked well together and shared many stories and enjoyed many laughs. She was always honest about her situation and I was always receptive to the hardships she was facing. Such a brave woman with politeness and respect at the heart of her personality. It was a joy to have known her.” I had to smile at Mac’s description of Janet as an English soul but I understood it because, after living in Britain for so many years, she’d acquired a delightful English accent. And she was fierce. She had to be to endure all that life had thrown at her.

I wish I could thank here all of the people whom Janet was grateful to during her illness, but I know I’ll forget some so I won’t try. However, I feel I must mention two, her cousin Bob and his wife Brenda. They gave Janet the most precious gift of all this summer—they took her on a trip to PEI, a place she’d always wanted to go but had never been, and she spoke about it often afterwards. They gave her a memory in her final weeks that she absolutely treasured.

Several years ago, a colleague of mine developed cancer, and although my wife and I visited him often during his illness, I couldn’t bring myself to speak about the inevitable with him. In fact, the last time I saw him, he told me, “Don, it won’t be long now. I can feel myself slipping away.” I didn’t know what to say to him, didn’t know if there was anything I could say, so I mumbled something that I don’t even remember. Not long after he passed, I was speaking with a friend about that moment and telling her how helpless I’d felt. Her husband is an oncologist, and she shared with me something he’d once told her. “When a person is dying,” he said, “they want to hear three things. One of them is, ‘I forgive you’.” There was nothing I had to forgive Janet for, with the possible exception of dying far too soon. The other two things that terminal patients need to hear are “I love you, and I’ll miss you.” I’m grateful that I had the opportunity to tell Janet both of these things in her final hours.

Our last get together

What would Janet do? What would Louise do? Between the two of us we always managed to work it out! Remembering the fun times (and hard work) and our love of fabric that we shared over the years. Take it easy, Janet.

Janet will be so missed! She made our Dad so happy and I'm glad they found each other for the time they had together.

Sending my condolences to all of Janet's friends and family in Canada.

Love,

Hannah (Sheppard)

You will be truly missed Janet but I know your suffering has ended.You fought a very brave battle that was a tough one to win.

I have lots of fond memories of our days at A.C. and of our year as room mates.We learned a lot together not only academically but also about leaving home for the first time and about getting along with others. I was so happy you fulfilled your dream of becoming a vet-you worked very long and hard to get there.

I will truly miss you my dear friend.