James Bracewell Creighton

Tribute from the funeral:
I had heard about Jim long before I ever actually met him. It was the early 1980s and my mother was visiting my brother and sister and I in England. I remember the half-whispered phone calls late at night: “Do you love me? Do you miss me?”. Being a typical teenager, I’d start rolling my eyes: “Who are you talking to?” “Jim” she’d say. All I knew about this Jim person was that he worked in a bank, wore a three-piece suit, lived with his housekeeper and looked a bit like Jimmy Stewart. I thought he sounded really serious. I remember her taking a pen out of her bag one day. It was white with an enormous red heart for a lid. It said I Love You on it.

“Where did you get that?” I said.
“Jim gave it to me.”

I didn’t know grown men in three-piece suits gave pens with gigantic hearts as gifts. He suddenly didn’t seem so serious. I couldn’t wait to meet him.

Looking back, that gigantic heart pretty much summed up the man who was to become my stepfather. I came to Canada in 1989 for the summer and it was then I got to know Jim. He moved out of their apt so that I, my sister, my brother and both their friends could move in. Six people in one tiny apartment and Jim would come by almost every evening to see us. He never walked through the door without bringing us something: ice-cream, cookies, muffins, tickets for a ball game, Bart Simpson t-shirts, CDs by whoever the latest group were. The words kind and generous barely do him justice. We had some very happy times as a family that summer.

It was shortly after Jim and Mum married that life changed and the shadow of Parkinson’s fell over us. The combination of work, financial and health challenges that followed the years after their wedding were truly staggering. It’s a testament to how much they loved each other and how much strength they derived from each other that they made it through. I remember watching them both on the balcony of their apartment one night, before Jim went into Meighan Manor. They didn’t know I was watching. They were having dinner and talking. Enjoying each other’s company. I remember how they giggled together. Despite everything, they had each other.

When I think about Jim now, having watched him slowly succumb to this dreadful disease, I am struck by how patient he was. What incredible forbearance he displayed. As I was writing this yesterday I suddenly realized I had never once heard him complain about having Parkinson’s. Never in the 17 years since he was diagnosed did he ever mutter ‘why me?’.

Parkinson’s robbed him of so much of who he was. He said himself recently that he was no longer Jim Creighton. But, there were still flashes of it now and then. Whenever you’d put a homemade cake in front of him his eyes would light up or when I would read Rumple of the Bailey to him, his face would break into that old familiar smile. The core of Jim never changed. He was a gentleman to his fingertips to the last.

I don’t think Jim had any idea of the effect he had on people and how loved and lovable he was. When he underwent heart surgery while he was working as a security guard for Environment Canada, knowing he was having to take unpaid leave, the whole organization from Senior management to the cleaning staff clubbed together and sent him a cheque for $1,000. I’d heard when I was a teenager that he was like Jimmy Stewart and this was like something straight out of ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’. “No man is a failure who has friends”.

Thankfully Jim’s soul is now free of the body that had become his prison. For that there is the greatest relief. In contemplating the empty space that he leaves behind we can take comfort in the old Hebrew proverb: Say not in grief “he is no more” but live in thankfulness that he was.

James, too many fond memories. Will miss you always. TriHaCaCrBaFr will miss you too. Keep Troth.

Dearest Uncle Jimmy,

How you whipped us, your seven nephews and nieces into an insane frenzy as children just before bedtime!

We visited you on Barat Road and were very impressed by your sizeable collection of miniature bottles in the basement wet bar. Though unlike most in our family, you abstained.

You introduced me to Alan Sherman! You showed us tricks of slight of hand, sang us silly songs and taught us crazy limericks. You threw us over your shoulder "like a sack of potatoes"!

You were more reserved as we grew older. As a young teenager, I was very impressed by your girlfriends. I remember one weekend at St. Marguarite, when I was allowed to go out for the weekend without my parents, and Pam Brickenden played "Norwegian Wood" on the guitar.

Thank you for recording my wedding, and for intruding on our guests at the reception and demanding that they comment. This recording is particularly to be cherished now.

I thank my older brother, Denny, and his family Kris, William and Esme, for giving you the support you deserved from your brother's family who lived far away.

Cynthia has been a devoted and caring wife during many years of your sickness. We are so grateful.

I wish you and Cynthia love and peace.

As one of seven Creighton nieces and nephews to " Jungle Jim" I have many fond memories of his crazyness at the farm in Georgeville, Quebec. He literally used to stand feet apart and brace himself as we climbed all over him, giggling and screaming as we went; a true indoor live piece of climbing equipment. What could be more fun for a seven year old???
I remember weekends spent on Barat Rd with him and Daida. He was the first person I knew with an in place bicycle exercise machine!!! Uncle Jim was truly the crazy and loving uncle that all children should have in there life. I hope you have found peace Uncle Jim. My condolescences to Cynthia and her children and to my brother Denny and Kris, who have been a consistent and caring presence for Uncle Jim in the past years.

Many thanks to Uncle Jim for all the inspiration and the laughs. We are all better off for having known you.