Author Archives: hdavies

Heather’s Note: I found this piece of Dad’s writing in a binder humbly titled (on yellow sticky note taped to the front) “Who was Dad” on September 7, 2024. Dad had not shared this with me previously, but it was … Continue reading →

The last two days have been excruciating in terms of notifying utility and credit card companies of my father’s passing. How many times does one need to say “He’s dead. He’s passed away. My father is gone, dead. No, it’s … Continue reading →

“Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird” – Ode to a Nightingale, John Keats Dad felt a deep kinship with nature and was very close to his feathered friends and squirrels. He would would head out donned in robe … Continue reading →

“A bird in the house means a death in the house” – A Bird in the House, Margaret Laurence While not superstitious to any significant extent, this portent from Margaret Laurence’s story has haunted me ever since I encountered it … Continue reading →

A Bird in the House*is an extraordinary novel (series of short stories) by Canadian writer Margaret Laurence. I was first introduced to the book in Senior High School English during a particularly coming of age time. The short stories, themes … Continue reading →

Below is the complete (unproofed) version of the Eulogy Scott and I read at Dad’s Celebration of Life service. Richard Davies Eulogy – Part 1 (Heather Davies) Hi, I’m Heather, Richard Davies’ daughter and older sister to Scott, and I’d … Continue reading →

Mom and Dad began a newlywed adventure when Dad secured his first senior high english teaching job in Grand Centre and moved to Cold Lake. As food choices were scarce in the small town, they soon purchased a freezer to … Continue reading →

Armed with proof of life for Dad (am I not the ultimate proof of life? and loss, for that matter?), we headed back to the Funeral Home today to sort out some more paperwork. Nine minutes early in the parking … Continue reading →

We are gathering documentation today to prove who Dad was and that he is gone. The irony leaves me breathless. I am tempted to write so very much more here, but I must refrain. I am too tired, for I … Continue reading →

Outside of card (the double-sided paper was folded): Dad heard a song of Phil Ochs around the time of listening to other folk artists such as Joan Baez and Ian and Sylvia in the mid 1960s. He identified it as … Continue reading →