My mother married Geoffrey Brooks when I was 22. I stood at their ceremony as my mom's maid of honour. I wore a dress that my then-roomate had made for me. I took the train across the country, from my home in Halifax, to be there with them.
After the ceremony, braver people and people who knew the two of them together much better than I did stood up to make toasts and speeches and I gathered all of my nerve to express a very simple thought that was probably exactly this (at least in spirit): "I don't know Geoff very well, but what I do know is that he loves my mom and he makes her happy."
One day, a couple of years later, we were having a stupid argument. We had so few of those and I wish I could remember more of the context. Probably, I was drunk. It came out that he had been hurt by what I'd said at their wedding, that he'd understood I was saying I didn't know him. Well, I didn't. Of course I didn't - I lived three provinces away! It wasn't the point though. I couldn't understand how he could have so grossly misinterpreted me but I think I do now.
Geoff had a hard time with in-betweens, and it's a bridge that I struggled to cross. Because for him - of course he knew me! We were family! Just like that. Just like forever. Of course.
Before I was Geoff's stepdaughter I was the daughter of his old friends from university and a close friend of his son's. I spent so many evenings and weekends at his house on Bywood. The first time I ever got drunk was on his homemade wine (unbeknownst to him!) Adam was a really good friend. I had a huge crush on him at the beginning of high school in fact, and he was kind and delicate in his rejection. We acted in plays together and drove around the suburbs in his k-car and were part of a group of friends who were sad and happy and honest and angsty together during those torturous, formative years. Adam's father always greeted me - and all of Adam's friends - warmly and with a familiarity that most grown-ups didn't show. He was respectful enough (and knowing him as I do now, probably also busy enough) to keep his distance, but he didn't fade into the background like some friends' parents did. He made an impression, because he was kind, and remembered your name, and asked you questions, and listened to what you said.
The story of Cheryl and Geoff is the best story I know. Geoff has told me I get some of it wrong, but he's also told me he likes my version better, so here goes: Geoff and my father, John, were roommates in co-op housing when they went to U of T. They lived on Amelia street [or perhaps my father lived there when he was in that commune], which is where I got my name. My brother is also a Geoffrey with a G, the spelling inspired by Geoffrey Brooks' spelling [or perhaps from some other source]. They all lost touch until I started high school and began talking about my friend Adam Brooks. My parents were quick to make the connection and were able to reconnect. After high school, after my first failed attempt at university, after my parents' divorce, I called Adam to let him know I was moving to Halifax, and to see if he wanted to grab a coffee or a beer as it had been a while. He wasn't home, so I spoke with his father who asked how my mother was doing; he knew my parents had separated. She had just walked into the room and I told him so and they talked and the rest is history. I think the parts in square brackets are the parts that are embellished and I'm sure there are a couple of people around who could set the record straight, but I'd rather keep telling Geoff's favourite version. In any case, clearly, it was meant to be.
I loved Geoff, initially, because of how well he loved my favourite people. He embraced not only my mother, but my two brothers as well. He has shown so much support not only for his own two sons, but for his two stepsons as well. There are particular stories that are for them to share that got cemented into my perception of him, warmed my still somewhat reserved heart.
I really got to know Geoff in my thirties, when I moved back to Toronto - into his home, in fact, on and off, for a significant part of that decade. He did not just let me move in but welcomed me, offerimg so much support and warmth.
Geoff was kind of the opposite of me. He was the kind of person who bargained with people. He always got a good deal but I thought he was pretty abrasive. (I, of course, never got a good deal). When he saw something that needed doing he got up and did it immediately, usually enlisting those of us in his vicinity. I probably could have finished another couple of chapters of my book, but I would have never gotten that dock in the water or that battery filled without him. I have a dad whom I love very much, but he's never been the kind of dad to buy me a toolkit or teach me how to cook a steak or how to store my scooter over the winter. These are lifeskills I desperately lacked, needed, and am eternally grateful for.
Words feel like not enough. This is how I show people I care but the actions are the things.
I hope I am a less judgemental person because of Geoff. I hope that I am a more assertive person because of Geoff. I hope I am more present for my family, which is bigger than it was before, because of Geoff.
I wasn't ready for him to go. I think maybe he was, and it's okay, but I wish I'd said all the stuff. I hope he knows. I absolutely, totally know.
Thank you, Geoff, for loving my mother the way you did. She deserved a good man and you were so worthy of her love. Thank you for taking her on adventures and listening to her and sharing experiences and thoughts with her. Thank you for being yourself with her and thank you for letting her be her wonderful self. Love and happiness are still the best reasons to commit to anyone, you know.
And now that I know you, I couldn't be more pleased that you were the person who loved my mom and made her so happy.
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