My Dad, George Sawatzky, passed away peacefully in his sleep this morning. He was ninety-four years old. He’s been a huge influence throughout my life. He loved to boast to any who would listen about his kids’ achievements and has often asked me where I learned to do the things we do. Each time, I proudly told him that I had learned much of it from him. He doubted my words, but it is very true. My dad was not an artist, nor did he weld and fabricate. He didn’t create fanciful sculptures. But he taught by example early on that anything I could imagine was possible if I worked hard and long enough. As a kid, I often watched him draw a rudimentary plan on a scrap of paper, then break out his hammer and saw and build a building from scratch. He could trowel cement and build anything he imagined. When I was young, he decided we needed a swimming pool, although it seemed to be an impossible dream. We dug the excavation by hand with shovels and picks, built the forms and mixed the concrete in a small portable mixer. That pool and the fun times we enjoyed there are wonderful memories. I fondly recall the giant toboggan run he fashioned from scrap lumber in our yard one winter. And there were countless other projects, each more outlandish than the previous.
When Janis and I started our business after I left home, he would often help out, offering encouragement, advice, and labour as he could. We also made many more great memories in those years.
After we moved to Yarrow, my dad would often pop by our shop for a quick visit. He would always bring a box of donuts for our crew to enjoy. When he visited, I would call it coffee time, and as we enjoyed the donuts, he would relate stories of our early projects and adventures together.
In his last seven years, he was forced to slow down as he recovered from a broken hip and was later diagnosed with dementia. He lived in a care home. Janis & I would do our best to visit at least three times each week. We became his vital connection to the outside world. My Dad and I enjoyed long drives each Saturday morning as he directed me around the countryside, visiting projects he had done many, many decades earlier. As we cruised around, he would tell me wonderful stories of his many adventures from his youth. Even as he slowly slipped away from us, he still looked forward to our visits, eager to hear of our latest projects, adventures and travels. Our grandchildren (his great-grandchildren) always brightened his day when they visited with us. Although his world became confusing at times, and he couldn’t remember many things, he never forgot those he loved - right to the end. And we will never forget him.
