Condolence:
THE MEMORY BOX PROJECT
By Lillian Michiko Blakey
INSTALLATION #1 MEMORY BOX OF LOST LETTERS

Because writing was Joe’s passion and brilliance, I decided to use a letter writing box which my father had used to learn how to write all sorts of communication as the memory box for Joe. It also holds a deep connection to me. When Joe could no longer access his memories because of Lewy Body Dementia, I asked people who knew and loved him to remember for him in a letter. All that remains are other people’s memories of Joe. They tell his story. Perhaps, in moments of lucidity, some of the words might sneak past the plaque blocking the avenues of communication and trigger in Joe recollections of the moments which so many people had shared with him. That is my hope.

MEMORY BOX OF LOST LETTERS is meant to be interactive. Viewers become participants as they view the portraits of Joe from a young man full of promise to his final loss of self with Lewy Body Dementia. They are invited to look at the portraits and to read the letters opposite the portraits. Under the portraits and letters, the bottom of the box has miniature photos from Joe’s life, a visual reminder of who he once was. Pen and paper are available for viewers to add messages to Joe.
On the top of the box, I have drawn Joe’s eyes which reveal the inner turmoil he experiences daily as he tries to answer the letters. I use the image of a jigsaw puzzle to represent the pieces of memory which are merely lost, not gone as with Alzheimer’s Disease. The memories are still in his brain but inaccessible to him because the plaque has blocked the connections. Everything is a puzzle to Joe and he finds it difficult to fit the right pieces together. But, every once in a while they connect momentarily and memory returns fleetingly.
The medium is acrylic wash, pencil, and coloured pencil. Originally, I was going to draw on washi and glue it down but that would have produced an unpleasant unevenness of the finish on the box underneath, which would have shown through the thin paper. Joe desperately tries to answer the letters but he can’t remember the names. Sometimes he can’t remember his own name.
On the underside of the lid, I have drawn attention to his mouth which forms the words, “Do I know you? You sound so familiar?” words he recently spoke to long-time friend Carrie Gauvreau. His brain tries to place her but it can’t. Yet, at other times, he remembers briefly, Carrie, the horses and Innisfil farm.
The bottom of the inside of the box has a collage of photos from Joe’s rich and varied past. On top of the images is a portfolio of portraits showing Joe’s journey from a young man with a brilliant career ahead of him beginning with a scholarship to Oxford to his eventual dementia and final loss of memory. Opposite the portraits are letters from friends which tell Joe’s story as they remember him. The letters are tied with a purple ribbon for awareness of Lewy Body Dementia and Alzheimer’s Disease.


FOLDER OF PORTRAITS
The folder carries the words “My name is Joe Blakey” and documents the journey from a vibrant and brilliant young man to the final loss of identity as the words “My name is…” drift off into oblivion.
LETTERS
The letters are added to the Memory Box as they come in. I have also included past letters from his sister, Ella, which talk about his sister, Margaret’s, and brother, John’s, dementia over a period of time. Following are a few recent letters, beginning with mine:

My dearest Joe, my best friend and lifelong partner,
You are the best part of me. You taught me what love really means; it is greater than ourselves; it makes us want to care for others; it fills our lives with hope, forgiveness and joy; it means giving, not taking. You have been part of me for almost half a century. We have so many shared memories filled with unimaginable highs and lows. You are still my rock. You make me strong. Even when the odds are stacked against us.
Remember when we first met in teaching. You yelled at me with a booming voice, “Miss Yano, tell Mr. Mergler to buy a ditto machine for the Art Department.” I was a beginning teacher and everyone had told me how wonderful you were and you wouldn’t mind if I used the English Department’s machine. I nearly jumped out of my skin and I was scared of you for days. Then I gradually found out that you are the most generous person I could ever know and I loved you for your selflessness. You gave your last dollar to a student in need.
Remember when you taught Grade Thirteen King Lear in the room opposite my Art room. I used to hear you dramatize the play with such animation and love of language, again in a strong, booming voice. I thought to myself, “No wonder the students love your classes. You bring words to life.” You were an amazing teacher.
Remember when we held each other up when both our worlds fell apart and we were consumed by grief and sorrow. You gave me refuge where I could learn to be myself and asked for nothing in return. You gave me more than I gave to you, as I passed the days, sitting on the floor in a corner of your dingy apartment, listening to Beethoven’s Piano Concerto #3 over and over and over.
Remember our simple wedding in the only renovated room in our Dundas St. rooming house. There were just a handful of people, the minister and friend Ron Arkwright, my parents, your sons, Cindy, Tony Noxon who, at the time was living with us and his friend Jo-Anne Morphy, Ruth Simpson, a teacher from my school who invited herself, and the only friends who stuck by us for life– Glen and Susan Denyer. I’m sure some people thought it wasn’t a proper wedding but all we needed was each other, not the trappings. It was the happiest day of my life. But it was also the saddest day for me, as I couldn’t have Lisa and Jennifer with us.
Remember how you got your first Great Dane, Babe. My dad’s dog ,Mary, died of heartbreak when he went into palliative care in the hospital. We took her to the Humane Society and found a starved Great Dane who was so thin that she looked like a Greyhound with a big head. You were thrilled when I said that if you wanted her, you could have her. You had wanted a Great Dane all your life. After Babe, we had three others – Raffi, Arielle and Honey. They all brought tremendous joy to our lives. And they all loved you because you gave them a life all dogs can only dream of.
Remember how shocked you were to be a grandfather, when your first grandchild, Stephanie, was born. We all think we will be young forever and being grandparents for the first time is a sobering reality. You were fifty-four and I was thirty-nine!
Remember the antique furniture stores you and my mom ran on Queen and King Streets in Toronto. We used to go to the Old Fishmarket for supper every Friday night. You learned so much about the variety of styles of furniture. Great fun until the city decided to put interlocking brick on the sidewalk and rip up the streetcar tracks. That ruined the business for us as the construction took over a year. Too Bad!
Remember the best years of our lives on our horse farms when we both had our dreams of owning horses come true – you with your racing horses, me with my riding horses. We helped the mares with foaling, something we never imagined possible. The pride of all the babies was Duchess of Alba who was good enough to make it to Saratoga Race Track in New York. We put up 1200 bales of hay in the loft of the barn, much of it just the two of us. Lots of work but we loved it!
Remember the family get-togethers which grew and grew until we had over 30 people for every celebration. You loved having family visits.
Remember all the “firsts” you have seen in a lifetime – the invasion of England by Na** Germany in WWII when your hometown, Newcastle was bombed, the first jet planes breaking the sound barrier, the first stereos and television sets, the first home computers, the beginning of the internet, Google, Twitter and all of the Social media, the first rocket ships in space, Sputnick, the first man on the moon, the beginning of Rock and Roll, the first North American Beatles appearance on TV, Princess Elizabeth when she became Queen of England, the first black President of the United States, the first wireless phones, the golden age of Canadian hockey stars – Keon, Bauer, Gretzky, La Fleur, Mahovlich, and so many others, the first Grand Prix race in Canada, your digital newspaper for kids, “Poppa’s Paper”, your first website “Kidworld”, so loved by children all over the world.
I love you with all my heart. I will always be with you, my dearest Joe.
Your Lillian

Dear Joe,

"I didn't know you as a teacher but when I met you I knew you were a good one.
Your curiosity and ability to listen and understand are qualities so necessary to help students succeed.
Then, when I bought your painting, " The Atlantic Ocean- Cape Breton N.S. ", your curiosity was coupled with a strong sense of adventure and exploration.
It's what I call the Ulysses effect and I delight in sharing it with you.

The image I have in my mind now is Joe, smiling and showing his affection for the Great Dane dog (can't remember his name)
in your kitchen in Sunderland.
You may remember that I'm afraid of dogs, but Joe's attitude helped me feel comfortable. A small moment, a gift.”

Love to you both,
Agnes Chlebek

Joe- my favourite memory of you was watching you interact with my kids when they were very young at my house. You got down on the carpet with them and sprawled out at their level in order to interact with them. It was special watching the back and forth nature of your conversation and play-time with them. Thank you for loving my family so much!
Lisa

To Joe, My Joe,
We weren’t a bookish family. Apart from the Newcastle Evening Chronicle and the Sunday scandal-sheets, very few printed words entered our household. I was the designated reader of the family, and had been since gaining a library ticket at the age of seven. I’ve no idea what I was reading at that age, but by the time I reached my mid teens I favoured poetry, not the fare we were being taught at school – mainly tum-te-tum-te-tum rhymesters – but 20th century poetry, the more obscure and difficult the better. I had no hope of being able to communicate my enthusiasm to my parents and brother, so, within the family, I felt isolated. The same was true of school, at which encouragement to study anything that wasn’t on the curriculum was actively discouraged. But I was aware that my uncle Joe, who had emigrated to Canada the year I was born, had been to university and was now teaching, though I didn’t know what. So when he turned up at our flat, on a trip to the UK, I was curious. The whole family was sitting in the living room, drinking tea and eating cake, when, out of the polite but somewhat desultory conversation to which, as usual, I was contributing very little, he glanced over at me and said: “Brian, I hear you’re interested in poetry. Whose work do you like?” I could hardly believe my ears. Somewhat flustered, I launched in with a long (probably too long) list of Modernists, and concluded: “But at the moment I’m reading lots of Hart Crane.” So Joe and I had a conversation about Hart Crane while my parents and Aunt Margaret chatted amiably about other things. Those things didn’t matter to me; what mattered was that Joe and I were discussing Hart Crane. I mean: Hart Crane! It was a brief interlude but incredibly intense, packed full of meaningfulness for me, dizzying in its implications. Joe was a kindred spirit. I wasn’t as isolated as I’d thought. There were others like us in the world, and in the decades between then and now I’ve got to know many of them, to create a network of kindred spirits. Joe was, whether he realised it or not, the instigator, the person who, in an instant, turned my inwardness outward, and for that I’m eternally grateful to him.
With love,
Brian

Dear Joe,
My memories of you are of a very soft spoken, thoughtful and kind person. I remember you most on that wonderful farm where we came to paint in your kitchen. You were always there supporting Lillian and later on joining in. I was so impressed by your late interest in painting and that you worked at it so diligently creating great detail. I remember Lillian telling me that you had won an award for one of your paintings. Outstanding!!! My regret is that I did not get to know more of your accomplishments throughout your life as I am sure there were many. You always impressed me as being a supportive and loving husband and friend to Lillian. I loved seeing that because I too love her and count her in as one of the people that has impacted my life. I know right now you are struggling with life and that is never easy. I know too that even though you can no longer communicate as before that you are still Joe. I am honoured to add these few memories to be included in your Memory Box.

Shirley Stanton

Dear Joe,
To most modern families December 25th is merely a date on the calendar marked by exchanging gifts, travelling endlessly down empty and vacant roads, over-eating, and a flurry of hellos and goodbyes all just to say you spent time with your loved ones on a day that used to hold meaning. A meaning that now seems lost on most.

Like most, I fell directly into this category. Most of the time I couldn’t wait for the drudgery of the holidays to be over. That was until I was welcomed into your family just over 10 years ago. In your family, true excitement around the holidays was not about December 25th. It was made clear to me very early on that December 26th, Boxing Day, was the day that everyone in the Blakey family very much looked forward to.

My first Boxing Day with you was a very eye opening experience, as I come from a very small family unit of five, whose typical holiday celebration was very intimate and quiet, with your typical turkey dinner and all the trimmings. When I first arrived at your farm in Sunderland I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of people who had arrived. It was a gathering of kids, parents, grandparents, great grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, and extended family, a gathering where everyone was welcome. It wasn’t about presents and forced holiday traditions; it was a house of people laughing, children playing, and getting caught up on each other lives. I always remembered leaving your house with a full belly, a warmed-heart, plenty of memories, and a smile that seemed to last the whole ride home. I now understood why Boxing Day was so meaningful.

Thank you Joe for welcoming me into your home and showing me the true meaning of holiday spirit. Where the gathering of family and friends to share in love, laughter and conversation is a gift like no other.

All my love,

Stephen Morris





Dear Poppa,

Here’s my favourite memory of you on the farm, when I was a little girl with a vivid imagination:

We are in the cherry tree, my sister and I, competing for the highest branch. We argue about which one of us made it further to the sky as we reach the top. We sit amongst the branches and dare one another to eat the cherries. They are tart in our mouths and make our faces scrunch up. We know that these are not the same sweet, dark red cherries from the grocery store, but we eat them anyways. Our knees are knobby and our legs are skinny. The bark is rough against our skin. The tree is small, but it suits our little bodies as we spit seeds into the tall grass below.

We watch as a man emerges from the darkness into the bright summer sunshine. He is wearing a cap on his head, and “wellies" on his feet. We grow quiet at once.

A tenor voice floats across the yard, singing a jolly song:

“Horsey, Horsey don’t you stomp!
Just let your feet go clipity clop!
Your tail goes swish and the wheels go ‘round!
Giddy-up we’re homeward bound!”

We start to giggle and the small branches we are perched on start to shake. The man stops and turns towards the tree. The same voice booms across the yard, mock indignation playing in his tone:

“Lillian! Those chipmunks are in my cherry tree again”!

My sister and I dissolve into giggles as the man grins and turns back towards the old farm house. He starts singing again as he walks away, his voice booming, holding the last note:

“We ain’t in a hurry, we ain’t in a flurry so don’t go tearing up the road!”

He continues to whistle as he enters the house, and we scamper down the tree to join him.


With all my love,
Your granddaughter, Kristine Morris

Hi Joe,

Thank-you for sending your wonderful book filled with your very fine, sensitive watercolours and acrylics. Really amazing, especially considering you have only been painting for 10 years.

I was very interested in reading about your life and background because I have a son-in-law who grew up in North Yorkshire (Middlesbrough). Last year, he escorted Brian and I through the North York Moors and dales and seaside towns for a memorable holiday. We never made it as far north as Newcastle but your watercolours do capture the very bleak, but magnificent vistas that one finds in that part of England.

Well done! Your work surpasses Grandma Moses by far!

- Mary Morris

I Am

I am a puzzle piece
I wonder about the world
I hear about unsolved issues
I see the world as a puzzle and each person is a piece
I want to make the world a better place
I am a puzzle piece


I feel like a small part of a bigger picture
I worry if the world cannot change
I cry to think about problems without easy solutions
I think the world could be a better place if we try
I am a puzzle piece


I understand that the world is not perfect
I say it can never be perfect but we can try to make it better
I dream that one day people will be able to stand up for what is right
I try to do the right thing
I hope one day people will open their eyes and see what the world has become
I am a puzzle piece


by Karissa Hanna, age 11(now 13)



Hi Joe
I hope you are having a good day. All the sunshine of the past few days reminded me of the group of us riding in the early mornings.
You on Missy, Lillian on Sheera, Gail on Toby and me on Nishka. WOW the good old days.
Talk later

Carrie



Dear Dad,
Today is March 10, 2016 and you are well into the 86th year of your life. I’m sure that’s longer than you expected to live particularly since I’m not aware of any great longevity streak in the Blakey bloodline. I think about living to be your age sometimes. If I do it means I have already lived three quarters of my own life. It makes me wonder where the time has gone. I’m sure you have the same thought.
As you know, one of my favourite quotes about life is from the late John Lennon. He wrote, “Life is what happens to you while you are busy making other plans.” How very true!
Life is happening to you today in a way that none of us (you included) would ever have envisioned. As you said in your letter to me last week, you are in the grips of Alzheimer’s and aware of your own decline. It has been tough on all of us (especially Lillian) but I would imagine mostly on you. In your moments of clarity you must surely grieve for what you have lost.
I do not write to dwell on this sad state of affairs but rather to let you know, while you are still able to understand, that I am grateful to you for all that you have given me in the course of my life. You are and always will remain my mentor, my friend, my confidante and of course my father. You have played a very significant role in my personal and family life as well as my career at the TTC. I cannot adequately express how important your opinions, advice, comments and just being a sounding board for me have been, except to say that I try to model myself in your image to my own children.
I consider myself very lucky to have been raised a Canadian. It was only possible because of the sacrifices you and Mom made to leave all that you knew behind and strike out in a completely different world. I cannot envision myself doing the same courageous thing.
I had a very good childhood. I know that you worry that the divorce made things difficult for all of us. I suppose there is truth in that but to varying degrees in each of us. In some ways I think being the eldest helped me because my understanding of what was going on was greater than each of my brothers. I will say that while somewhat traumatic at that time I did not allow the event to shape me. For you, and ultimately, for us kids it was the right thing to do. Your steadfast approach of not belittling Mom earned my respect of you. You didn’t fail; you did what you had to do and saved yourself. Thank goodness you found Lillian and lived many happy years with her.
I have vague memories of Smooth Rock Falls which of course became a very significant place in our lives due to meeting the Aitchison family. Who could have imagined that they would still be intertwined in our lives today, nearly 60 years later? Who could have imagined the role that John Aitchison would play in my life as he too became a trusted friend and advisor? I miss him to this day. Like you, he always had my best interests at heart.
When I was very young I was of course a PK (Preacher’s Kid). I remember living in Port Robinson and going to school in Welland. I also remember sitting in church, sometimes through three Sunday services listening to you speak. I’m sure I didn’t understand everything that you were saying but I know I was always captivated by your voice and style of speaking. You carried this through many years as evidenced by the silence when you would speak at family gatherings. The children in the room reminded me of myself at that age. They were spellbound.
I remember breaking my arm at 5 and being rushed to hospital with my arm dangling. I remember the pain when it had to be reset 2 or 3 times. I remember the look on your’s and Mom’s faces as you watched me endure the pain.
I remember moving to Scarborough and going to Grade 1 at Livingstone Public School. I remember being put in the corner for whistling in class. I remember milk and bread being delivered to the door and the box on the side of the house where the milk would freeze in the winter. I remember the ice cream truck in the summer. I remember running in the fog of the mosquito truck. That seems so dangerous now as we were probably inhaling DDT.
I remember moving to the townhouse at Don Mills and Sheppard when I was in Grade 3. Shaughnessy Blvd P.S was not ready so Pete and I we were bused to different schools. I remember standing crying in the schoolyard because I was alone and scared.
Things got better when Shaughnessy opened and I was going to school in the neighborhood I lived in. And what a great neighbourhood it was; a pool right outside the door in the summer and lots of kids to play with in the complex. I met my lifelong friend, Steve Lintott who of course became another very significant person in my life. He is like a brother to me and I am blessed to have such a great friend. I hope he and I can grow old together; maybe we can become the two old grumpy men on the Muppets!
I remember Bruce was born while we lived there. We called him King Bounky for some reason. I was very proud of him and still shudder at the memory of falling down the stairs with him in my arms. He was unhurt but I was traumatized. I think you and Mom were too!
I began to play hockey when we lived there and as you know hockey grew into something you and I would share a love for over the years. It was there I learned that you never really played for the Leafs or skated with Frank Mahovlich. We built a small backyard rink and you donned skates for the first time in your life. I was only mildly disappointed that you couldn’t skate. I think I kind of knew all along that you couldn’t but the little boy in me wanted to believe your stories.
I remember you crashed the car into a post in the underground garage while taking me to or from hockey early one Saturday morning. You got in big trouble with Mom for that one! I have nothing but pleasant memories of that time in my life.
We weren’t poor but I know you struggled, teaching night and summer school for extra money. I may not have had everything I thought I wanted but I did not suffer.
I kind of breezed through school as I was quite bright and things came easily to me. Perhaps, in retrospect it was too easy. I changed schools every year from grade 6 until grade 11 and must admit that made things a bit difficult. I didn’t grow up in the same neighbourhood like so many kids I went to school with.
I was very disappointed when I was cut from the junior football team in grade 10 and vowed to myself it would never happen again. I went on to be a bit of a star at L’Amoreaux CI and played both offence and defence. I have great memories of that time but I must admit I got a little lost.
I struggled as a teenager as I think most kids do. I knew the importance of an education but Mom pushed me so hard in that direction that she actually turned me off going to university. I accept full responsibility for the decision and have no regrets and bear no ill will towards her for this.
I guess the problems between you and Mom really began in earnest when I was about 14 or 15. I remember the tension and the arguments but again I did not let these things shape me. It was actually a relief when you and Mom finally separated. I remember Pete and I telling you things were better when you were not there. I know that hurt you at the time but we were just kids and really just looking out for ourselves. It was unpleasant but not unbearable and was really becoming much more common among many families then.
I got my first car at about 16. You gave me your old, 66 Chevy Belair. It was a four door, plain jane, model but I loved that car. I drove it everywhere on about two dollars worth of gas. I even turned the cover on the air cleaner upside down so that it would make a bit of a throaty roar. It leaked oil like crazy and the body fell off due to rust but the engine never quit. I loved that car and if I had the money just might buy an old one just like it today!
I went to work for Loblaws at 16. Steve Lintott helped get me in there. The place was full of teenage kids and we had a wonderful social network. I met Cindy there when I was just 17. Little did I know where that would lead over the years!
Of course, Pete’s death in 1977 when I was barely 20 years old had a devastating effect on us all. You and Mom had taken Bruce and Phil to Florida for a holiday and to see if things could be worked out. Of course after that event things between you and Mom were irretrievably broken.
I was lucky on the night that Pete died that the Lintott family (Steve, sister Wendy and Mom Audrey) came to my rescue. They held me together for the few days that it took you to return home. I am eternally grateful to them for the kindness and compassion they showed me then. Pete was of course a fixture around their house as he and Wendy were very close friends. They grieved the loss of a family member too.
One of the two hardest things I ever had to do in my life was to tell you and Mom that Pete had died. (Telling Rob that Connie had died was the other). I can never forget that moment as it is seared in my memory. I am sorry that it happened…sorry because as a father myself I now understand your grief more than ever. I am glad that you did not see him as I did that last time in the hospital. You were in enough pain and did not need that.
I grew up when Pete died. I was determined not to let it drag me down. I recognized that any problems I might have had paled in comparison to what he was feeling. Of course none of us really knew the depth of his despair. How could we? I learned a great deal about myself through this experience and learned a valuable life lesson too. Whenever anything bad happens I always try to find the bright spot in the mess. That’s what gets me through things to this day.
Cindy and I of course found each other, got married and began our own family. The birth of our kids changed our lives for the better and made me appreciate my upbringing even more. It’s quite a shock when you find yourself repeating the same things your parents told you when you were growing up!
I went to work for the TTC at 25 years of age…a bus driver. It wasn’t what I wanted to do but at that point I still wasn’t sure what I really wanted to do. I think Mom was horrified that I was a common man!
The TTC turned out rather well for me and my family. Yes, I had some rough times, particularly in 1995 when I lost my job but on the whole I consider myself very lucky. How many other people retire with a full pension at age 57?
Although 1995 was very rough career wise it was you and you encouragement that helped me through. I was very nearly broken by the experience but again learned much about myself and my ability to handle negative things. You stuck by me through this and I leaned on you more than you know…thank you!
It’s kind of funny though that around this time you and I had a significant falling out. I was 38 years old and had borrowed some money from Mom. Phil went to her asking for a loan and she said she couldn’t help him as she had helped me. Somehow the whole thing got twisted (Mom!!!!) and you and I argued. You told me you didn’t want to see me but I drove down to the farm and we “had it out.” I like to think that was a significant event in my life because I think you and I reached a greater respect for each other as we sorted things out. I always felt in my own eyes that I became a real man that day in your eyes. I think perhaps you no longer saw me as your little boy. You and I never quarrelled again. As you know Phil and I have become great friends in the years since. He is truly one of my best friends and I’m da** lucky to have him for a brother.
One of the things Phil says to me nowadays that strikes me as quite funny is this. “Moe, if you die first and leave me with all this mess I will f***ing kill you.” I love it and take it in the spirit it was intended. That’s typical Phil; and his own unique way of paying me a compliment. He is a great guy and I love him dearly. I will kill him if he dies first!!!
Dad, I could write forever but there is a lot here for you to digest. Perhaps I will write more once you have processed this.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you!
I love you and will always cherish the many good times we have had. Not a lot of men get to become friends with their fathers…I have.
Please don’t be sad about your life. You have so much to proud of, so much that you have given to others. We don’t get to choose how it ends but by our actions in life we do get to choose how we will be remembered.
You will forever be my friend, my mentor, my confidante and the best dad a kid could ever ask for!
I have tremendous respect for you and will always love you. Nobody will ever knock Joe Blakey off a pedestal while I’m alive.
Your loving son, Moe

May 2017
Dear Joe,
Even though Glen isn’t with us anymore, I thought it would be nice to share some memories that Glen, Graham and I all enjoyed. The three of us shared many lovely meals and experiences on the farm(s) and we always enjoyed the lively conversation and activities. Graham enjoyed drawing and puzzles and of course, Glen and Joe would play chess or solve the cryptic crossword together. Lillian and I and Bachan would chime in with the occasional crossword suggestion. Bachan often made us sushi, cucumber salad, salmon , tempura and sukiyaki. What a feast ! I’m pretty sure Joe took special pleasure in those meals with friends and family.
Joe used to tell us about the “boys’ journals” he enjoyed in England. I think “ Noddy” and “The Beano” were children’s magazines that both Glen and Joe enjoyed. When Joe started to publish his own magazine called “ Poppa’s Paper” all the grandchildren got involved. Joe got them involved in reading and writing in a way that would later be replaced by social media. The kids didn’t have iPads or laptops then but we could receive emails on our desktop computer. Joe went a step further to personally send a brown envelope through the mail for each new issue. That was a big deal for Graham in our house! Joe made up crosswords , puzzles and told ongoing stories about animals ( horses, cats, dogs ) on the farm. There was often a colouring page and news about members of the family. Joe invited the kids to send him submissions with a drawing or a project from school. Graham felt so proud to see his work in the magazine!
I can’t really share my memories of Joe without reflecting on both Joe and Lillian. It was Joe and Lillian together that provided such warmth and adventure and encouragement for all their children and grandchildren. I remember the big dining room in Sunderland with chairs and tables set for well over twenty people. Both Joe and Lilian acknowledged the accomplishments of each and every young person in the room. Those days were very rich with family support and love. Glen, Graham and I were considered part of that family and still feel the same today. You both took such a genuine interest in everyone so that we all looked forward to the next get together. Even now, when I sit at the table with you both, I can still feel the warmth and generosity of spirit. When Glen passed away , it was Joe , battling dementia, who held my hands and offered words of comfort. I guess that his kind of character will always shine through. I wonder now, if Joe knows how many lives he has touched? I expect he has been holding the hands of others back in England, in the Church, at school and in the family for a very long time.
Friends forever Joe,
Susan

Dear Joe,

I want you to know that I have never stopped loving you as a Father in Law despite the marriage breakup with Bruce. I want you to know that you continued to make me feel welcome (you both did) and for that I will be forever thankful. I want you to know that I cherish all the wonderful memories at the farm with all of you. One of the first times I was at the farm, my Father joined us and we helped bail hay! What a lot of hard work. It made me appreciate the farm that much more. I loved the Christmas gatherings and the packages you both put together for Brittany and Michael. I still have those wonderful booklets you both made of each of the kids and one day I will pass them on to them. I also cherish the memories of both of you attending each of their hockey games and supporting them.

I love you and I think of you often.

Love,
Kelly


Dear Poppa Horsey,

It is unfortunate to be writing this, considering the circumstances, but I am more
than happy to share my wonderful memories with you and Lillian. I will always
remember being excited to come see the both of you on the farm or at one of the
newer houses, whether it was for Christmas or some other event. You two were
always able to provide a wonderful atmosphere for our family to be together and I
will always cherish those memories.

Some of these memories include sneaking the orange popsicles with out you knowing, although I’m sure now you probably knew the whole time and allowed us to believe we were being sneaky. I will always remember seeing Lillian’s and your new art and the works in progress. It was fascinating seeing the finished product at one of the next family gatherings. I will remember your speeches at Boxing Day dinners and how everyone was so intrigued to listen as you began speaking and how you could get the room’s attention so quickly, a wonderful sign of respect towards you. I will always remember feeding the horses and the countless gifts like telescopes, science kits, and model cars, which I played with on the black and grey two level coffee table. I really liked that old table!

As I reflect on these memories it becomes clear to me what a genuine and kind person you are, Poppa. It inspires me to be the kind of person you have been to your family and friends. I don’t think I can remember a time you did not have a smile on your face or were unhappy about something. You have always been so kind to all friends and family, and you have always been surrounded by a vast number of people who care about you and respect you greatly. To achieve such respect and love from so many people is a kind of richness that cannot be bought and to me that is very important. Whether you knew it or not you have shaped and molded this family and given every single one of us a person to look up to, and that is the greatest thing you could have given to any one of us. I will always appreciate you and be thankful for having you in my life. I will never forget you and will always push myself to be the kind of great family man and wonderful person I have seen you be.

I am so happy to have the chance to share and reflect on these memories with you and Lillian. I love you both so much.

Love Always,

Your Grandson,
Michael Blakey.

Condolence: My condolences to Lillian, a brave, strong woman, all heart, and to Joe’s family in Canada.

Of the four siblings on my Mother’s side of the family, Joe was the youngest. They were a disparate bunch, and they set out in life in markedly different ways, but a strong bond of affection remained between Joe and my mother, Ella. After he emigrated to Canada they saw each other rarely, but they spoke on the phone and the bond was unbroken. They were the family members I loved the most, and now they’re both gone. It breaks my heart. Goodbye, Joe.

Condolence: I am happy to know that Joe is no longer suffering from such a debilitating disease. I was fortunate that I had the opportunity to know him, such a gentle man, before he was ill.The love between Lillian & Joe is a gift they shared for many years and I felt lucky to be included in their circle of friends. Joe's love of animals was well known and animals loved him. His ability to paint was amazing; he was included in several exhibits in Sunderland. And Joe's writing and editing abilities were well above the average person. I did admire these exceptional qualities in him. MayJoe now rest in peace.
Carmel

Condolence: Joe is at peace now, and my thoughts are about your wonderful devotion and care for him for so long. You will surely miss him, but have many happy memories. My sincere sympathy to you and your family.

Condolence: Deepest Sympathies for the loss of Joe. Thoughts and prayers to everyone in the family.