Obituary of Mr. Douglas "Soupy" Campbell

Over the course of the past three years, time had lost all sense of meaning. Minutes folded into hours. Hours unravelled into weeks. Months were lost in the mist of memory.

Ever since I returned home from the hospital, however, to a home that has since been reduced to a house, void of my Dad’s presence, I’ve become keenly aware of the passage of time.

My Father was sixty-two years, three months, and twenty-seven days old when he died. When I sat down to reschedule my calendar, meetings didn’t merely shift ahead by a few weeks, they shifted ahead in accordance with the date of my Father’s passing– “I’ll move this to twenty-three days without my Father”.

My Father, Douglas Campbell, was one of my favourite people. He had a big personality and the stature to contain it all: his sense of humour, his wit, his boundless repertoire of facts and “did you know”s…gleaned from the never-ending stack of books he always kept within reach. Being succinct was not his forte (nor mine, hence this obituary). His good friend, Joe, used to joke that his elevator pitch would only fly if the elevator happened to be stuck between floors. As a result, it’s immensely difficult to try to do his memory justice in a few short paragraphs. 

In fact, I won’t even try. I can rest assured that his memory will be kept alive in the stories we share, the grief we all hold, and the love that will persevere far beyond this devastating moment.

He will be lovingly remembered by his wife, Jennifer Wilson-Campbell, his dog, Sydney Olive (who is very confused), his family, his friends, his neighbours, his comrades, all those he served and protected and by me, Meghan Campbell, his daughter, who loved her Dad twice as much as he was tall and ten times as much as he was boisterous.

P.S.

Dad, I’m sorry Mum opted for the tasteful beechwood urn instead of a Folgers Coffee tin à la The Big Lebowski