Roots

The Calgary visit allowed me to visit with my grandparents for the first time in years, and in one instance, the first time ever.

Both my parents are from Calgary, born and raised. They arrived in Ottawa in the 1970s via Toronto, the White Dog Ojibway Reserve, and Pembroke. Their Calgary roots run deep. On my father’s side, it goes back through to the Mercers on his father’s side and the Williams on his mother’s side. This is the grave of my grandmother, Elma, who I never met because she died before I was born. I didn’t get to stay too long with her, but I was able to introduce myself and say a quick hello.




On my mother’s side, the Pashaks are as Calgary as can be. There are pictures at my parents house of the Pashak general store when it ran in the Mission district of the city at the turn of the last century. My grandparents are Harvey and Anne, two wonderful people who lived a good life. I inherited my manic competitiveness from my grandmother, whose intense card playing manner is the stuff of family lore.




It seems to be truism that at a certain age a person becomes more interested in their family history. Perhaps as death becomes more tangible, we seek comfort in the eternity of our genes; for me, at least, graveyard visits help provide context for my own life.