Rena McVeigh

1955 ~ 2020

Rena Patricia McVeigh (nee Maltais), beloved wife of Barry, passed away in Medicine Hat on Thursday, June 11, 2020, at the age of 64 years. Along with Barry, Rena’s memory will live on in the hearts of her sons, James (Lauren), Peter (Kate) and Gerald (Vanessa); mother, Shirley Maltais; sister and nephew, Dallas and Raymond O’Neill; brother, Pat; nephew, Felix; nieces, Alex and Quin (Darren); aunt, Audrey Lines and her children, Garry (Jill), Marcy (Brian), Arleen (Dave), Mary Ellen (Ron), Todd (Barb); Barry’s family in England as well as many very good friends and of course her dog, Sam. Rena was born on July 19, 1955, in Swift Current, SK. She loved being a nurse and took pride in the profession. After retiring about four years ago, she kept busy at the Leisure Centre, walking the dog and enjoyed being outside working in the yard at her house and at their cabin in BC. Rena loved being in any nature setting especially in summer, but also in winter. Cancer changed that but also gave her an opportunity to give and feel love over the last few months. She loved hugs… she gave and received lots of those. There is a bench along the river at Police Point Park that has been placed there in Rena’s memory. It is for you to use to sit and relax in a nature setting. Thank you to everyone that came to the house and shared laughter; it meant a-lot to all of the family as well as Rena.

A message from Rena to all those she knew and loved…

“To all of you, I want to say thank you. You have all made a difference in my life, in some way, by knowing you…

 To my wonderful family and extended family – you have been amazing and are amazing. I have three wonderful sons that I am so proud of. I’m so glad you have found mates who loved you and that you love. Barry, you were there for me. I can’t think of anything you didn’t think of to make my life easier since I found out I had cancer. Mom, I’m glad we got to spend so much time together the last four years – we had a-lot of fun. That was a good decision to move here. To my siblings for flying down for a visit before this event, I enjoyed those times.

 To the friends I made along the way – thanks for filling my days with laughter and some crying – it meant a-lot for sure. With the money my work buddies collected, I arranged to have a bench placed in my memory in Police Point Park to sit and enjoy the peace and quiet that nature brings. Barry and I have talked about it for years.

I lived a good life and learned a few things along the way. The biggest one is that to enjoy life as much as possible. It’s not a sure thing how long we are here, so don’t have grudges that fester, be nice, enjoy nature and the people around you. There’s many more lessons, lots and lots. I’m not saying I learned them all or even practiced them. I mostly mean enjoy it while you have life and don’t put all your effort into material things. They mean nothing if your health is gone. I also forgot to thank those of you who took me on outings – that was special. Now get together, enjoy visiting and eating. I loved hugs and hope you share a hug or two.”

 

 

Someone on Reddit wrote the following heartfelt plea online:

 “My friend just died. I don’t know what to do.”

A lot of people responded. Then there was one old man that wrote an incredible comment that stood out from the rest that might just change the way that we approach the turmoil of life, death, and other negative experiences.

“Alright, here goes. I’m old. What that means is that I’ve survived (so far) and a lot of people I’ve known and loved did not. I’ve lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can’t imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here is my two cents.

“I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever someone I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter.” I don’t want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep…so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.

“As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. All you can do is float. You find some piece of wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it is a physical thing…a happy memory, a photograph, etc. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. staying alive.

“In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing…but in between waves…there is life.

“Somewhere down the line, and it is different for everybody, you will find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging onto some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.

“Take it from an old guy…the waves never stop coming and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you will survive them. And other waves will come…and you will have to survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves…and lots of shipwrecks.”

 

Fear

By Khalil Gibran

 

It is said that before entering the sea

a river trembles with fear.

She looks back at the path she has traveled,

from the peaks of the mountains,

The long winding road crossing forests and villages.

And in front of her,

she sees an ocean so vast,

That to enter

there seems nothing more than to disappear forever.

But there is no other way the river can not go back.

Nobody can go back.

To go back is impossible in existence.

The river needs to take the risk

of entering the ocean

because that’s where the river will know

It’s not about disappearing into the ocean,

but of becoming the ocean.

A celebration of Rena’s life will be held at a later date. (Condolences may be expressed by visiting our website at www.cooksouthland.com). If friends so desire, memorial donations in Rena’s name may be made directly to the SPCA, 55 Southwest Drive S.W., Medicine Hat, Alberta, T1A 8E8. Honoured to serve the family is Cook Southland Funeral Chapel, 901 – 13 Street S.W., Medicine Hat, Alberta, T1A 4V4. Telephone 403-527-6455

• Date : 20200612
• Location : Medicine Hat, Alberta

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