Last week I learned of the passing of a close friend of ours named Lois. I know I just wrote a post honouring the memory of Neil Peart, but Lois was a special kind of person who deserves his own reflection. I write today’s post to remember him, and all he did for my wife, her family and I.

Lois was a contractor by trade; there was nothing he couldn’t build. We met him through my mother-in-law, with whom he had worked for years, helping her renovate several rental properties. From day one, he was warm and friendly toward us, helping us update our home even though he had many other commercial jobs on the go at the same time.

See, that was Lois for you. He was always kind to everyone around him. He was often too kind, in fact. He charged us so little for the work he was doing for us that we insisted on overpaying him – it wouldn’t have been fair otherwise. How many contractors do you know that work that way? I knew one. Lois wasn’t afraid to tell it like it is, either. If something wasn’t working or was built poorly, you knew about it. It was one of the things I respected most about him.

Lois passed away at the young age of just 55 – way, way too soon for everyone who knew him. He was one of the few people I know who are authentically themselves, always and to everyone, and he was a role model for me in that way. Attending the visitation, I overheard others tell stories of their own interactions with Lois – stories that almost exactly mirrored my own. He really was himself with everybody.

Lois was also a workaholic. He was never good at saying “no,” and worked pretty much seven days a week. If anyone deserved a comfortable retirement, it was Lois, and yet he never got there. His passing reminds me that nothing is guaranteed in life. We need to plan for the future, without question, but we also need to live for today. As the saying goes, “Yesterday is history, and tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift; that’s why they call it the present.”

Wrapping it Up

Lois, you were taken from us way too young. I looked forward to annoying you so much more than I got to – you probably kicked the bucket just to get away from me, didn’t you? Well either way, I hope you know how much we appreciate your friendship, and everything that you did for us in life. Our house is our home thanks to your effort. Your spirit will live on inside our household, and we will remember your work ethic, your kindness and your compassion as personal examples we hope to follow.

And remember Lois: heaven doesn’t need to be renovated. It’s fine just how it is. You can finally take a break from working now. See you around, big guy.