Day 80 - Fred C. Oickle

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Day 80 – August 9, 2011

I’m writing this on the airplane heading to Moncton from Winnipeg. This was an unexpected trip, one that is very unfortunate. Tomorrow is my grandfather’s funeral.

Though I’ve always prepared for the approaching passing of my grandfather, Fred Oickle, the feelings can never be simulated or imagined. Despair is inaccurate because my recent true acceptance of the impermanence of life, so I’ll describe it as helplessness. It’s a shocking revelation to consider a man of such stature and of whom I respect so much can simply be gone in a moment. Despair seems to be a word of the past for me. Inner peace has replaced the emptiness one feels in times like this.

Fred C. Oickle was born on December 4, 1928. He had humble beginnings which included tireless farm work while growing up. Though he had thick skin from working for CN rail for 43 years there was no sign of this from his mild manner and light hearted demeanour. He’d tell us stories at the dinner table of his childhood and always seemed to get a kick out of the inconveniences of “the olden days”.

Not even a month before I left for this trip across Canada he piped up while enjoying his rum and ginger ale I had mixed for him, which I usually tried to do when him and Nanny arrived at our place for dinner.

“I drove across Canada once when I was your age”, he said.
“What??” said my Dad.
“Myself, a friend and my brother Clyde took the ’38 Chev to BC and back when I was Rye’s age”, said Gampie.

My Dad had literally no idea that this trip had ever taken place, and after some prying he got enough information to conclude he was never told because Fred had no interest in talking him down from going on a trip like this himself.

The way the story went was in 1948 or 49 at the age of 20 they basically jumped in the vehicle with the clothes on their backs and something like $135 for expenses with the plan of working on the railway along the way. This was probably within the first few years he had started with CN and I have a feeling his presence demanded enough respect even at that age to walk into a job site and work out the arrangements for the work week or day with men much older than him.

Back then virtually no one knew how to swim so they didn’t dare go near water to bathe or go for a dip. When we asked where they slept during their trek as far as Victoria (I’m quite sure he said he ended up crossing to Vancouver Island) he laughed and replied matter-of-factly, “In the car.” He even admitted to skipping out on any type of railway work, though like I said they were planning on working originally. hahah

The reason I decided to briefly mention this story rather than the countless times he took us to the driving range, Crystal Palace or out for dinner is not because these memories are any less important to me. It’s because I’m comparing the absurd number of conveniences I’ve been exposed to while on the road across Canada to those that my Grandfather would have had, and realizing how much character would be built from his experience. This has been on my mind since earlier on in the trip, but reflecting on it after his passing makes me realize his immeasurable level of grit.

Fast forwarding to his last years on this planet it’s now apparent where his determination to live and love for as long as possible came from. I feel so privileged to have been able to frequently be his presence for 23 years and it pushes me to live more like him now he’s gone. Things change...whether you choose to interpret it to be bad or good. A great quote from the song In the Twilight by Alexander Ebert captures this well:

“I said the earth is turnin’ round you know, the wind is changing also, don’t you think the same laws might apply to life?”

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Comments

[Kent & Suzanne Jodrey]

remarks upon reading Fred C. Oickle entry
Ryan you have beautifully captured your love and admiration for your grandfather in a well written piece that certainly portrays a mature young man with his whole life ahead of him to be lived to the fullest while aware that at any moment it can change - knowing that in misfortune or even death a new adventure begins. You have grown to be much like your grandfather.