Wendy Graffunder

Wendy passed away almost two weeks ago.  She was 43. Cancer took her life in a rapid and tragic way. Her funeral was one of the saddest and most emotional that I have ever been a part of.  Her passing has left many of us treasuring our moments and loved ones with a fresh intensity.  Here is the text of the eulogy that was written and courageously read by her husband Frank at the Memorial Service:

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3 weeks ago I could not imagine this scene. This is a tribute to Wendy, but also a story of love and loss.

Wendy was probably the most loving and compassionate person I have ever met. I think I fell for her on our very first trip to the mountains in 1986. Since then we have loved and learned, ran our little businesses, and had lots of fun times with friends. Wendy loved to entertain, and many of you have shared stories and food and glasses of wine with us. Wendy was always quick to help out friends in need, with flowers, soup or just contact. Many of you who have helped out in the last few weeks have yourselves been the recipients of “Wendy-aid”.

We never argued. Really. It was as if anything we didn’t agree on probably didn’t matter very much. She was diplomatic and patient, put up with my sarcasm and occasional ill-humour, and always responded with love. OK, love and occasionally stony silence.

A big part of our life was the outdoors. We had some great trips together, to peaks and passes and glaciers. We have scrambled dozens of peaks, and hundreds of kilometers of trials together, often with many long time friends that are here today. I hope we have inspired our kids with a love of the trail with our stories from trips in Turkey, Tanzania, Zanskar, Nepal, the Queen Charlottes, and of course the Rockies.

My life with Wendy has been full and amazing, never routine. We did almost everything together – we travelled the world before kids, and travelled Western Canada after kids. We lived in cool condos in Montreal, and cute houses in Calgary. We were preparing for a big trip with the kids to Europe when this monstrous thing struck her down.

Our greatest joy has been our children – the excitement and love of our first born Cayla, now 12, and the absolute fun of having twin boys, Brinton and Riley, now 10. Raising these children has been our first and foremost task in our lives, and Wendy’s love for these children is unwavering. We have had giggles and cuddles and games and fun all the way along. Their strength and courage today is a tribute to Wendy as a Mom.

I have learned much about her wonderful family from Vavenby and Clearwater in 22 years, and shared in some of their joys and fun and their own tragic losses. Wendy has a great and gentle family, here today and over the last 3 weeks. The love and compassion of these people is great to experience.

So there is love all around us today, for Wendy, for her family. There is Wendy’s love for her own children, her mom, her friends, and me.

But there is also great, great loss today, and it is hard to put a happy face on the events of the last three weeks. A mother has lost a daughter, 3 children have lost their mother, many people have lost a friend or cousin or brother or sister, and I have lost a friend, a wife, a lover, my partner in almost all things.

As it became apparent that Wendy was not going to make it, telling my children they were going to lose their mother was the hardest thing I have ever done.

The loss to our little family is devastating and huge. I have called it our trains wreck, and I cannot describe the ache in my heart. It’s a big hole in our lives that will always be there, but one around which we can build fences around and plants flowers. The blow will be softened by time and by wonderful memories, and we will carry on, bowed but not beaten.

There are too many people to thank. I have also called this last month a walk through hell, but with friendly people. Wendy called the nurses “angels” and everyone we dealt with was caring and compassionate. Family and friends have rallied around us as we looked for a new house to live in, and then helped us pack, move and unpack in the course of a week. And they fed us, too, although there is a LOT of banana bread in our house at the moment. Friends from Menno Simons, our local Lakeview schools, Oak Park and other churches, Cub friends and many others have been amazing.

But like most disasters, there is an end to them, and a rebuilding. Wendy left us surrounded by the love of friends and family, and knowing that her kids are safe and warm and surrounded by most of the same people. We have a new guardian angel, she is big and she has a lot of work to do.

I don’t think there is an answer to “why?”, nor am I angry. I can only hope that there is some good to come out this, and that Wendy’s life, experience, deep faith and death can somehow inspire us to do more or to be better people. In the midst of my trainwreck, I have been delighted to have some wonderful and deep conversations with people, and delighted to see strangers to each other unpacking my kids’ clothes together in our new house.

Wendy and I had some great conversations (and stolen kisses) in the 10 days that God gave back to us, about life and death, and faith and God. She feared dying but not death, and knew she was going to a better place. She knew her kids were OK and we all had a rare chance to say goodbye to each other.

I keep coming back to the kids. These aren’t my words, but a friend told me that Wendy will never leave us because we will see her in their eyes, in the way they move or laugh, in their kind words and their gentle demeanor, and in their great love of life and of learning.

Adios, my dear, and Godspeed in your journey.

Comments

[Rebecca McMillan]

Thanks for posting this.....I attended her funeral but did not get to hear all of Frank's tribute and words that day as I was occupied with my child in the nursery. A beautiful piece he wrote and spoke. Thanks for sharing it.

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[Calgary Condos]

That's a great speech. I wish I could have met her.