He was my father. As of this year, he’s been gone for 32 years. Next October will be the 100th anniversary of his birth in Prince Rupert. There’s a lot to remember, to rejoice, and to regret with him. Maybe his pulse still can be heard in the waves rhythmically washing the Prince Rupert shoreline.

If I could talk to him, openly, honestly, and gently, I would tell him that I love him, I forgive him, and I would ask him to forgive himself. We were very different people, and he might not have understood me as much as I’d liked, but he did try.

His biggest gifts to me must have been his stories. A lot of them are still tucked away in my memories, waiting to be unfolded again. In his storytelling, he told me who he was. The successes, the failures, and the hopes are all there to be found again. He is infinite and unbounded now, long ago released back into the world.

She was my mother. As of this year, she’s been gone for 25 years. This June was the 90th anniversary of her birth in Victoria. She remains enigmatic to me, but I can imagine her singing voice entwined among the sounds of morning birdsong and ringing church bells in her hometown.

If I could talk to her, openly, honestly, and gently, I would tell her that I love her, I miss her, and I would ask her to let go of any regrets, and to take joy in the happy lives of her descendants. She really never got to know her offspring, but we still feel like we carry resonant pieces of her inside us.

Her biggest gifts to me might have been her laughter and her moments of joy and playfulness. These were rare and precious things. A lot of her is probably tucked away in my cells, waiting to be revealed and reused. In her creativity and beauty, she showed me who she was, and who I might become. All the joy to be found in a free, untethered, and unaddicted spirit is there for me to explore. She is infinite and unbounded now, long ago released back into the world.