Condolences
What a lovely photo of Uncle Ben! While most of my memories of him are from a child’s perspective, his warm smile and the obvious love he had for Auntie Heather and both of his children was very sweet and sincere. Rest in peace, Uncle Ben.
We want to express our deepest condolences to Heather, Timon and Janis.
We never had the opportunity to meet Ben until he began attending the day program at Signal Pointe and eventually resided there. We would have enjoyed meeting him in his younger years. Even in his 80's Ben had an incredible voice. The memory we will always hold will be that of the love and devotion that Ben and Heather always showed to each other. They were meant for each other and it was very apparent. We pray for peace and comfort for all the family at this time.
Charlie and Carol Sorenson.
My memories of Ben - as the youngest in the family, I always looked up to him; listened to his stories and admired him; I was proud of him - rest in peace.
Dan
Heather, Janis and Tim
Benson was a great Mentor and Friend. He was my manager on my first job and he helped me throughout my career. Benson was also a friend and he elevated my game of squash and was the founding member of PMAC (Pigeon Mountain Athletic Club) our satiric response to the private club establishments. Many Ski and Golf trips and he became good friends with my father. Always full of wit and great observations, including a standard I repeat often when asked what the situations is and Benson's answer was "Critical but Normal".
Stephen and Theresa Daub
It’s difficult for me to think about Dad being gone. I feel like my memories are starkly divided, between the time before he got sick and afterward. His Parkinson’s and dementia robbed him of so much that he was. But there was a time before that, and those are the memories that come back to me.
Dad had a passion for so many things, and I was blessed to share some of those with him. Music was probably the earliest. I remember listening to him sing at church when I was little, and then attending concerts when he sang with the Calgary Philharmonic. (I also remember when he decided to quit, in part because he was so upset by the way the conductor treated the young members of the Calgary Boys’ Choir.) Because Bach was one of Dad’s favourite composers, I developed an early and lasting fondness for Baroque music. I never had Dad’s vocal talents, but he encouraged my musical education, driving me to weekly piano lessons when I was in high school.
Sports was probably the next thing Dad and I bonded over, although his athletic prowess (like his singing) was far better than mine. He taught me how to hold a tennis racket, how to putt, how to catch a baseball, even how to hit a pitch to the opposite field. When he was younger, Dad played racket sports, he golfed and downhill skied, and later he became an avid runner. I remember the first and only half marathon he ran, and how proud he was. I was living in Toronto at the time so I didn’t get to see it, but he told me they had volunteers at the end of the race who stayed until every participant was done, and they cheered him on as he crossed the finish line with some of the last runners.
What I lacked in ability, I more than made up for as an enthusiastic spectator, and Dad supported me in that as well. Growing up, we only had one television, and on the weekends, it was generally tuned to a sports broadcast. Dad and I watched football, baseball, hockey, golf, tennis – whatever was on. But he always explained the rules and strategies so I could understand what was happening. When I moved to Ottawa and was living with Win and Martha, Win and I watched Sunday NFL games together and I got to share some of that education with Sue, explaining how the four-down game works, just like Dad had explained it to me. Dad also introduced me to sports gambling, paying my weekly fee for a football pool when I was teenager. I remember how we’d talk about stats and odds and upsets as I made my picks. I’m pretty sure my soft spot for Dan Marino and the Miami Dolphins had a lot to do with his influence.
What I remember most, though, is how much Dad loved to go to baseball games. I’d buy a pack of tickets for his birthday, and we’d attend maybe a dozen AAA games at Foothills Stadium during the season. We always sat on the third base side, Dad opting for the bleacher seats because he said you got the best view from there. He taught me how to look at the whole field, how to anticipate a pitcher’s next throw. “Watch,” he’d say, “the next one he throws is gonna be garbage.” We never left before the end of a game.
Dad also loved his food and his wine. The photo here is from one of the last road trips Dad took, when he and Mum and Corinne went to British Columbia. There’s another photo from this trip that I love, with Dad two-fisting a glass of BC wine, enjoying every last drop. Dad always looked forward to our excursions to Chinatown but as long as the food was good and plentiful, he was all in. And I could always rely on him to eat whatever food I didn’t like, scooping it off my plate or letting me pile it onto his.
There are so many memories. I remember Dad taking me to Vancouver and Whistler when I was in high school. I remember how proud he was when he started his own business. I remember him reassuring me that everything was going to be okay when I phoned him from Montreal when the market crashed in 1987. Once I was back in Calgary, I remember him driving me to school or to work when transit wasn’t running. He drove me to my interview for a job at a bookstore when I was 20 years old and told me my first day working there was auspicious because it was August 8, 1988 (8/8/88), the luckiest day of the millennium.
I remember Dad’s smile and how he’d laugh at a good joke – I especially remember this at the Lee family gatherings. I remember him teaching me how to play mah-jongg and cribbage and gin rummy. I remember him buying me my first beer at the racket club (a green one, because it was St. Patrick’s Day).
I remember Dad’s fierce loyalty, and his big-hearted generosity. When I left Calgary and we’d chat on the phone, he’d always end our conversations with the same question. “Do you need any money?” he’d ask me. “That’s okay, Dad, I’m good,” I’d say. It was our shorthand for “goodbye” and “I love you”.
I remember holding Dad’s hand. And I remember him holding mine.
I am heartbroken that Dad is gone. But these memories are the gifts that he gave me. And I am so thankful that I have them.
Dear Heather & family,
We are sorry to hear of the passing of Benson. We'll treasure the memories of our families getting together - especially for Dim Sum on Sundays, outings at the Cultural Centre, a school event, or simply enjoying an evening of your wonderful hospitality.
Sending love and our deepest condolences,
Shelley, Dan & Scott Charles
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