Jill Elder

I thought I'd share what I wrote on facebook earlier this week for those of you who aren't connected with me. Very much looking forward to seeing you all virtually. It’s with a heavy heart that I post today. Our family has lost one of the most remarkable people I have ever known. My dear Aunt Jill died last week. Many of you have been a guest at her home in Ottawa, and many of you are family in far-flung places, so I thought it appropriate to say a few words here. Most of you know my mum died tragically by suicide when I was 15. Since then, Jill has been a second mum, especially during the dozen years Christi Wood and I called Ottawa home. Some of the greatest days of my life were celebrated with Jill and my Uncle Mark, who also passed away a few years ago. For example, Christi and I were married in their backyard at Bradford Street in Britannia. As a young couple, we didn’t have a lot of cash, and I remember clearly Jill’s sound advice “oh you simply must have a tent. Not to worry, we’ll rent that as our gift to you.” Or “well we must have a ham, we’ll give that as a gift to you.” Or “you have to have champagne (we brewed our own beer and wine to save $$) – Mark, pick up a case as a gift.” I don’t know what the final gift tally was, but this was Jill (and Mark) to the core. The ultimate host – so thoughtful, kind, giving and caring, always ensuring that the guest felt at home. I could count on one hand the number of times we missed Sunday dinner at their Bradford St. home. Plateau, a terrific card game Jill taught us, was a traditional part of each visit. I can still hear Jill’s admonishment of Mark for playing a ruthless card, or seeing one of us with one card and uttering “I swear if you go out, I’ll scream!” But in cards, as in life, Jill was ever the good sport – humble in victory and gracious in defeat. My first memories of Jill are from the summer of 1976. My family had driven across the country to visit their home in Carp. The Montreal Olympics were in full swing, and I recall Mark and Jill arranging multiple obstacle courses and mock Olympic trials in which my older cousin Charlotte and I would compete. I remember her preparing raw vegetable for me (I wasn’t a huge fan of cooked I guess) and even a small wooden egg holder full of vinegar to dip them in (I have weird food tastes, I know). I also remember a Christmas family reunion in Ottawa in the mid-'80s. All the cousins slept in the freezing attic, and on the stairs leading up to it were hand-painted warnings of “no matches, no fireworks, no bonfires etc.” Always good humour while passing along an important message to a bunch of teenagers. We travelled with Jill and Mark to New Zealand for another family reunion for Christmas 1999. They rented a home in Christchurch, and while Christi and I travelled from tip to toe of the country, we were always welcome to stay with them, to use the home as a basecamp. Of course she was so much more than a host! An incredible artist, a chef, an entrepreneur, a community leader, a philanthropist and more. Our daughters didn’t get a chance to meet with Jill too often, but I know in their short encounters she left an impression. When we told the girls the sad news, both indicated that they wanted to help us sort through some of the details, and even come with us to help deal with a few of the affairs one must deal with. “I have to go see all those books,” Vivian said! In more recent years, once we had moved back to B.C., our visits with Jill became far less frequent. Yet each time we visited, multiple stops at Jill’s condo were a must. I’d take her shopping, out to lunch, to the art gallery; I’d use any excuse to spend as much time as possible with her. Facing the death of my mum at such a young age, and in such tragic circumstances re-wired my brain. I deal with death very abruptly; I’m sad for a few moments, and then my brain says “Suck it up, move on. No point in dwelling.” But this one is different, which I think speaks to Jill’s impact on my life and the exceptional person she was. I am deeply sad still, a week later. And that’s OK. To those of you who knew Jill, raise a glass tonight in her memory. For those who didn’t, well raise one anyways, because the first time you might have met her, you’d call her a friend.