January 12th, 2009 by Chris Eng

My grandpa passed away this morning. He died doing what he loved doing—sitting in his chair, reading a book.

In a blog about trying to figure out how to live a sustainable and environmentally sound life, it might not be immediately apparent why I’m discussing something so, well, personal. But it’s because my grandfather was inspirational to me.

He grew up on a farm in rural Alberta and came of age during the war. In fact, he lied about his age and enlisted the first chance he got, looking for a chance to get out of the Prairies. He got it—he was sent to the front lines of Europe where he served his tour, managing to make it out with nothing more serious than deafness in one ear from the falling bombs. He never talked about the war; that wasn’t something he liked to brag about—it was something he did because it had to be done. He honoured those he fought with later in his life, though, by mounting and displaying their medals. This past Remembrance Day, a selection of those he’d mounted belonging to female freedom fighters was displayed in the lobby of the Provincial Museum. He wanted to make sure they got their due.

And it was that kind of tenacity I hope will guide me through the rest of my life. His drive to do the right thing, embodied, in this case, by making sure the next generation appreciates the sacrifices of the previous ones. As well, he clung to his passions with an intensity I hope I will be able to match. He bicycled around New Zealand in his 70s and kept biking until his arthritis got too bad. His love of the outdoors never waned. And he never gave up his love of reading. Maybe that’s genetic.

Two months ago I got my first new tattoo in the better part of a decade. Its of a WWII-era pin-up girl with the motto “Touch not the cat bot a glove.” The motto is Clan McIntosh’s—my grandpa’s side of the family. The girl is based on the wartime tattoo my grandpa got on his forearm. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over the fact that he never got to see it before he died—I was planning a visit to show him at the end of the month—but I’m glad, at least, that my mom told him about it. It’s important that, although we never really shared that many heartfelt moments, at the end he knew I was proud of him.

Goodbye, grandpa. I miss you; I love you.

Colin McIntosh, R.I.P.