I don’t know how to start this. The thing is that I’m in Maddox Cove right now with an ocean between me and Stellarton. Just a few minutes ago, I realized that getting back to Stellarton in time to pay my respects to John wouldn’t be able to work.
Nobody here knows him. I wish they did. All I want to do is tell people about him. To let them know how much he meant to me.
His beautiful obituary talks about the wonderful man he was. A family man, someone who loved hockey, and one of the most devoted grandfathers I ever met. I knew and witnessed all these things about John. but I saw a side of him very few people knew— John as a boss.
John was my boss on paper.
You know how they talk about people at work being your family? There is great discussion about whether this is true. I know it’s not actually real for many, but it was true for me. For three years we worked in the little office on Foord Street and I got to know John as a boss. But through those years, he also grew to be like a second father to me.
It was a tiny office. When I started, I was working with John and Alexka, his daughter. We were a great team. John would come in every morning with my coffee and lay it on my desk at reception. His bright smile and and tap of his hand as he walked by into the office. A few minutes later, I would walk in with my faxes or start the filing. If I remembered a leafs game was on the night before, I’d ask him about it— or if there was a particular bit of interesting news, I would ask his opinion. I respected him so much. But sometimes I would file in silence as he got things ready for the bank. We were comfortable in the early morning quiet and I found it relaxing as we worked with ease.
He had a big family. His son and daughters were all married with happy families of their own and would often pop in the office. By all accounts he shouldn’t have had time to take interest in my life— but in John I found a cheerleader. An unwavering support even when I would tell him I was wrong.
During those years I was dating long distance. It was an up and down relationship. No matter where it was, John supported me. When Red showed up to the office as a surprise, John was delighted and let me go home early. He’d tease me about marriage and talk about me leaving them to move away to the States. When Red and I were on the rocks. John would loudly proclaim that he was a jerk and even though I’d protest and say it was my fault, he’d insist I was a keeper and that all men were terrible. I wasn’t used to the unwavering support. The truth was, I WAS a piece of work, and people knew it. John knew it too, but he never let on. Instead, he would repeat that I was keeper and if a man didn’t see that, it was his loss. When I look back on that time of my life, I think of John with a grateful heart. Very few people would be so understanding of a messy romance and heartbreak.
But it didn’t stop there. During that time, I battled long dizzy spells. John was patient. When I started my blog featuring people of Pictou County, he was fine with me chattering about it, and even interviewing customers. When my book came out, he displayed it on the magazine table proudly. It stayed there even after I left.
I wasn’t supposed to get paid time off, but every time my week off would come— John would write out the cheque and slip it to me anyway.
From John I learned to read messy handwriting, and from John I learned a little bit about the kind of person I wanted to be at work. He was the exact opposite of most people when it came to customers, and I respected how much he cared about them. When their insurance was going to lapse for non-pay. He would get the numbers of each person and call them right until closing time on the lapse date.. Not because of the money, but because he knew many of them by name and that they needed a reminder. It would become my job to call those customers, and there were many times he’d cover the payment for customers for a day or two so they would make it in. He bent over backwards to make sure his customers were treated right. Often going to bat for them on the phone to underwriters and making phone calls that he really didn’t have to do. He answered my endless questions and showed patience when I made mistakes.
I took great delight in trying to find him tickets to a sold out games or coupons for an upcoming trips. He was appreciative, and I had fun doing it.
I also loved hearing him talk to Alexka and watching him slowly leave the work to her. She carried the business with him on her shoulders. As he got older he would duck out to go take photos, or watch his grand kids play hockey, and she would stay back, slowly taking over the files that had always been his. His son Joseph started working there and together him and Alexka began taking on more and more. John deserved the break.
When I packed up my life and moved to St. John’s. I felt so guilty for leaving. I was worried he wouldn’t know how much he meant to me. I remember awkwardly standing in the office trying to tell him, but feeling as though I’d failed miserably. As well as we got along, he didn’t show a lot of emotion, and I knew that. But the thing is that I never doubted John loved me. I doubt so many people’s love for me, but I never doubted that John cared. It’s very rare to feel secure in how someone feels, but I felt secure there. A few years later I would write him to try and explain more clearly.
I’ve been working in St. John’s for six years and even though I’m incredibly grateful for my current job, I still miss that little office. I miss John coming in each morning with coffee, I miss bringing one back from lunch for him. I miss watching him take his tums from behind his desk. I miss him looking out the window as he passed by my desk on the way to Alexka’s office. I miss him hearing him say “It’s another day above ground, buddy” to his friends that would stop in for a chat. I miss the days between Christmas and New Year’s Day that we would work alone. The town felt homey and magical and we would be some of the only ones working. I didn’t mind. I miss so many things about him that seem tiny and insignificant. I miss him tapping the desk on the way out with his “Good bye, hunny” as he closed the door. Nothing about it was condescending when he called me that.
All but one of my photos with him are on a broken laptop that suddenly needs to make an urgent visit to the computer shop. I feel a desperation to see those few shots he allowed me to take. He hated the spotlight. But as I was hunting through it all, I came across one from a long ago blog post. Him sitting at his desk, just as I remember— sorting the filing for another day.
This blog post is shared under the tab called ‘Matters of the Heart.’
That term came from John. I was in the office one day and was upset about something. I didn’t really want to talk about it, but John had an idea what it was about. We didn’t have emotional conversations,. but he knew something was up. He just looked at me quietly and said— “It’s all matters of the heart.” with a knowing and comforting tone.
The matter of my heart today is that I miss a man who helped me through three rollarcoaster years. A man who was a steady rock in my life when I was undiagnosed and very unsteady.
I love you, John Kay. Thanks for finding room to make me feel loved even though you had a giant family of your own.