ERINN OXFORD

It is almost October 12th. The 12th is important to me because it was the day my dad was born. We don’t get to celebrate in the same kind of way anymore because my dad died suddenly and unexpectedly on March 3rd, 2008. The grief has changed since that time, though it admittedly never goes away. A wise counsellor once said to me, “you don’t get over it, you make your way through it”. The truth of that rings in my ears every time I am hit by a wave of grief, often when I least expect it. Sometimes it is a smell or a look that seems familiar in my Cate’s face or seeing the kind of car he drove go by. I can’t even watch golf on TV without thinking of him.

I’ve mentioned my Dad in my writing here. I often wonder what he would have thought of this venture of mine. I suspect he would have quietly read everything, maybe only occasionally alluding to the fact that he had. I imagine that I would somehow, deep inside, know he was proud of me. Or that’s my hope.

In honour of him, here is the eulogy I spoke the first week he was gone.

To me and Logan, Barry was simply Dad. I want to honour him today by remembering the way our lives were entwined with his. Without him we would not be here today. I have so many memories, and am aware that this is a feeble attempt to capture but a few.

Dad was a man with many sides. He carried himself with confidence and yet could be very shy. He loved fine food and was an absolute gourmet, but at the same time could crave grilled cheese (made with white bread and cheese slices), a tall glass of chocolate milk and red jello. He was as happy wandering the streets of Italy as he was sitting on a rustic dock in Northern Ontario. Dad in many ways was a dichotomy.

Dad loved to read. He got through about eight books in less than a week at a cottage we vacationed at as a family a few summers ago. He looked happy as he went from hammock to lawn chair to dock, always with a book in his hand. I think it also made him happy that we were all buzzing around him as he did this. He liked being with his family.

When Dad inherited his childhood home on Parker Avenue, he decided to transform it into the house he had always wanted. He, along with Susan, made what I like to call, a “party house”. The house is made for entertaining, something Dad loved to do. He was always in his element when cooking in the beautiful kitchen. He could position himself right in the centre of all the action, while preparing interesting, delicious food. I think he took a great deal of pride in his self-taught culinary prowess.

Christmas Eve was always the piece de resistance for Dad. He took great pains to plan the perfect menu (always printed just so and posted on the wall) and find the perfect gift for everyone in attendance (even if he didn’t know them well). He wrapped everything meticulously. He used a ruler.

It is this attention to detail that made Dad the kind of person who was always sure to take a bottle of wine to both his butcher and his mechanic (among others) every Christmas. Dad’s wife Susan has mentioned this frequently over the last few days, that he was the only person she knew who did this. He noticed people, was respectful of their work, and truly cared about getting to know them. Dad had a very generous spirit.

Dad also loved his new children by marriage: my husband Dion and Logan’s wife Amanda. I will always remember how he enfolded them more and more, year by year. When my daughter Cate was born, Dad became “GB” (short for Grandpa Barry). He loved being GB- more than I ever thought possible. He even began signing GB on birthday cards to me…a mistake he never noticed until I pointed it out. It was like he had a whole new role in life. I will cherish the memories of him playing with Cate on his lap, making her “special food” (the hamburgers and French fries and bacon and French toast that he knew she desired), rubbing her back when she was sad and even playing the occasional game of Buckaroo. I am truly sorry that Dad will never get to meet the child that Logan and Amanda are about to have.

Dad had a great laugh. If he found something funny, his laugh would be contagious. And he could be funny too. He could tell a mean joke when he wanted to. We have laughed this week about how he referred to his hair as “executive blonde”. Only Dad would get away with saying “I’m not going gray, I’m going blonde”.

Dad, thank you for remaining faithful to us even though we didn’t get to grow up in the same house, for supporting Mom (Elaine) the best way you knew how, for listening to me whenever I got my heart broken, for allowing Logan to work for you and learn the business, for growing to respect the work that Dion and I do close to the streets, for always teasing Amanda, for being at all of Cate’s birthday parties, and for loving Susan.

I am so glad that Cate had a last sleepover with both her GB and GG just two Saturdays ago, and that we had our monthly family night- a fun time watching the Oscar’s. I think it is fitting that Dad won the Oscar pool and gained bragging rights. He would never have let us forget that, and now fittingly, we truly never will.

You were loved Dad.

War Resister.

*Please Note: This is a letter that I have been working on for a while. I am excited to share it here and plan to send it out in various forms- I invite you to do the same!

Just six months ago Parkdale Neighbourhood Church began a new adventure. Faced with a financial crisis we decided to begin the process of “reboot”. Today we have extinguished many of our expenses, most notably those associated with our living quarters: we gave notice at 201 Cowan Avenue and have effectively spilled out into the neighbourhood, relying on various partners to house our ongoing programming. There is a beautiful resiliency to this community. We have been through much and have so many reasons to celebrate and continue to hope.

Our Monday Drop-In now meets at Bonar-Parkdale Presbyterian Church, located just one block from our previous home. Remarkably we are seeing our record of 120 people in the drop-in broken! Over the summer we held art workshops in the Masaryk Park, though with the cooling temperatures we are looking for an alternate location. I love sitting at a desk in the Sketch Administrative Office at 180 Sudbury Street and gathering on Sundays for a joint church service with The Jeremiah Community, our friends have so graciously welcomed me/us and offer constant support and encouragement. A street outreach team wanders the neighbourhood at various times during the week.

Though it is challenging to not have a space of our own, we are most certainly a community that exists outside of any single building. We are truly transitioning together while earning the “neighbourhood” in our name. We have made countless meals and pieces of art; sung songs and shared our needs; prayed and wept; packed boxes and cleaned floors; danced and laughed. We need one another.

Together we have nurtured PNC’s desire to be a place where those who are vulnerable and broken are deeply valued and all people are welcome. We invite people into full participation of the community, in the ways that they are able. For some, PNC is one of the few (if only) places they feel accepted and loved. When I asked my nine-year old daughter Cate to describe what it is that PNC does, she said simply “you let people in”. Yes, that is indeed what we do.

One of the people who has decided to “come in” is Joanna Moon. I am thrilled to announce that Joanna felt the call to PNC and has joined me on staff. She will be supporting our programming, building and caring for relationships and assisting me in rebuilding the structure of PNC. While I have felt far from alone, the weight of my responsibility as the sole staff has been heavy. I am grateful on so many levels to work with Joanna. She is my friend AND now colleague.

Mixed in with all these good things are continued challenges. An important part of what I need to do is find the funds for PNC, including my own salary. I am so grateful to the many people who are making it possible that I get paid for this work. The truth is, I still need help. This is not easy to talk about, however, I’m learning to. Please hear this as an invitation to invest in me and PNC with whatever resources you might have available to do so. One of the most helpful ways to give financially is through monthly giving (this is made easy online at CanadaHelps or through our Pre-Authorized Remittance system).

Of course investing in this work can look different for each person. Please consider becoming a part of the PNC story, either by checking out a Monday drop-in, joining us on street outreach, engaging in our worship on a Sunday afternoon, praying for us, encouraging us from afar or making a financial contribution. Good things are happening here; lives are being changed, including my own. For some this means making the choice to take a small step toward sobriety; or learning to believe they are loved; or choosing to get out of bed even though the depression is thick; or having the opportunity to not just receive, but to give.

PNC is one precious place. Please come on in.

“So what is it exactly that you do?”

I have been asked this a lot lately in regard to PNC. It’s a fair question. You ready? Here goes…

PNC stands for Parkdale Neighbourhood Church. I am the Director and only staff (though that is about to change- stay tuned!). PNC exists to create a safe, welcoming space in which all people are welcome. We value people who are vulnerable and broken. Everyone is invited into full participation of the community to the best of their abilities and to journey toward a deeper experience of the life God has given us. Many members of our community are under-housed and unwaged. Substance addiction and mental health issues are common. If you are looking for a place that is real and very raw, than PNC is that.

While I hold responsibility as staff, am housed and waged, I really am no different than anybody else at PNC. I too am invited to share my own vulnerabilities and brokenness on the journey. PNC is a home that we are creating together.

An average week for me looks like this:

On Sunday afternoons I, along with some volunteers, receive our Second Harvest donation at our Drop-In location. We assess the food, put it away and plan the Monday meal accordingly.

We have a church service. Over the last number of months this has been done in partnership with our friends at the Jeremiah Community. Am I ever grateful to those folks.

On Monday mornings I buy any additional groceries we need and head to the Drop-In. There we set up the room and cook for what is often a group of at least 120 people.

I encourage people to create art, lately in the park, but hopefully soon in an indoor space.

I do administration (you name it, I do it).

I fundraise. I write grant applications. I meet potential donors.

I spend time outside on the streets, both during the day and one night a week.

I visit people in the hospital. I accompany people to detox.

I listen and offer pastoral care. I carefully work at telling people they are loved, regardless of what they do or don’t do. I humbly attempt to speak about love, mercy and justice. I build relationships.

The list doesn’t really end there, though I think this is a good place to stop. Because the truth is, the foundation of what I “do” is relationships. It is beautiful, messy, sometimes exhausting, occasionally painful, deeply good work.

Well, I hope my answer is clearer than mud.

This friends, is what I do.

“Lily” is a woman who doesn’t know her own birthday, though upon estimation is likely in her fifties. While she has lived a number of decades, Lily is very child-like. She longs for direction and needs help making what for most adults would be straightforward decisions. Right from the beginning of PNC’s community arts project, Lily was present. She even arrived on time, a feat uncommon to her. Lily would sit and paint, always asking for feedback about whether or not her “art was good”. She sought instruction, eagerly wanting to become more and more of an artist. Over time it was easy to see how Lily’s art was developing. Her work, though unmistakably Lily-like, matured.

When we announced that PNC would participate in an Art Auction with The Gateway, Lily immediately wanted to participate. She was excited about showing her art and possibly even selling it. The day before the auction I gave Lily a map and TTC tokens to get to the event. She was decidedly unsure about her ability to get there on her own. We went over and over the route (which involved only one streetcar and a short walk). To my amazement, Lily arrived early, flush with anxiety and pride. She positioned herself at a table and sat through the entire evening. I was thrilled at the end to be able to tell Lily that one of her pieces sold. With a huge smile on her face she simply said, “did I do good? I think I did good! Am I an artist?”

Yes Lily, you did good. And most definitely, you are an artist.