Liz Reid

My beautiful Dad offered a beautiful Eulogy at the ceremony on Monday. For those who missed it or would like to read it, here it is. Eulogy for Liz Reid Welcome, everyone, and thank you for being here today to honour Liz Reid. As her loving husband, I had the privilege of sharing nearly 60 years of life with Liz — years full of family, adventure, laughter, challenges, and love. Liz was born in Winnipeg on May 27, 1944, the second child of Roy and Betty Watson. In 1949, the family moved to Edmonton when Roy became branch manager of a general insurance company. Their home on 126 Street was full of life — ten people under one roof, including Roy’s mother, Granny Cecilia Devlin. Liz loved to tell stories about her childhood, especially the heroic daily trek to St. Andrew’s Catholic Elementary School — “uphill both ways,” as she always insisted, through snowstorms, icy winds, and every kind of Edmonton weather imaginable. Her teachers were nuns from the Sisters of Charity, women whose dedication and discipline left a lifelong impression on her. Even as a girl, Liz was energetic, capable, and independent. A weekly paper route and delivering flyers gave her what she liked to call an early education in “high finance.” At St. Joseph’s Catholic High School, she thrived academically and socially. She served on Student Council, loved the social life and politics of school, and even played basketball under Edmonton Eskimo star Rolly Miles. She trained as a lifeguard and eventually worked summers at Jasper Place Pool. I first met Liz in the fall of 1962 at St. Joe’s College at the University of Alberta. I was an engineering student living at the residence, and Liz was beginning studies in Sciences. We were both active in the Newman Club, which held dances and socials in the gym. I noticed immediately how easy she was to dance with — graceful, relaxed, smiling all the time. She had a warmth about her that drew people in naturally. Liz was brilliant in her studies, especially mathematics, though a traumatic incident prevented her from writing final exams that year. During her recovery, she worked at Jasper Park Lodge as a food checker for the waitresses. There she formed a lifelong friendship with Miriam Williams, a Saskatchewan farm girl, whose friendship remained important to her throughout all her years. At that stage in her life, Liz believed deeply she was called to serve others. She had decided that neither nursing nor secretarial work would truly allow her to “save the world,” as she put it. She planned instead to become a nun with the Sisters of Charity. But, before entering the convent, she wanted to see a little more of the world. In 1964, Wardair offered an inexpensive return charter flight for students to Dublin and London. Liz and Miriam spent nearly all their savings on their tickets, determined to travel on less than ten dollars a day — something that was still possible back then. I happened to be making the same trip and confidently claimed to know Ireland well from a previous visit. That summer changed everything. We hitchhiked around Europe, experiencing separate adventures. When we returned home, Liz offered me a ride from the airport, though immigration authorities delayed her so long that we finally arrived at her parents’ home around two in the morning. Mrs. Watson kindly offered me a place to stay, and Liz made up a bed for me on the basement floor. The next morning she casually said, “Chips, since you have a car, how about driving us to Jasper Park Lodge?” I agreed instantly. By then, I was completely enamoured with this happy, adventurous, beautiful young woman. Not long afterward, I couragiously asked Liz to forget the convent and marry me. She refused. Quite firmly. So I returned to engineering studies, crestfallen, but not defeated. Then, in the fall of 1965, fate intervened again. I phoned the Watson house to borrow Liz’s old backpack for a trip I was planning. Liz answered the phone. And after that night, my life with Liz truly began. We married in 1966 at St. Andrew’s Parish Church. Our first year together was spent in an oilfield camp in South Trinidad before we returned permanently to Canada in 1968, with baby Miriam in our arms. Together we raised four children. While I travelled often for work, Liz became the steady heart of our family — capable, loving, intelligent, organized, and endlessly resilient. When the children were older, Liz worked for the Catholic Archdiocese on the Social Justice Commission. She loved organizing events, encouraging discussion, and helping people think deeply about justice and community. Later, she completed a master’s degree through the Leadership Institute of Seattle and worked in consulting with fellow student and good friend Patricia Dunnigan. Her main emphasis all her days was to promote the roles of women and girls in male-dominated religions and in the political and business worlds. She modelled competence and leadership for her children, ensuring they were all capable homemakers, regardless of gender. Her daughters were often reminded that they could follow any career path they chose. But perhaps the greatest chapter of our lives together was our travelling years. Liz embraced the world with curiosity and joy. She loved nature in every form — snow, forests, oceans, birds, mountains, wind, rivers, underwater and wildlife. She loved movement and adventure: cycling, skiing, swimming, snorkelling, canoeing, kayaking, camping, sailing, hiking, tennis, and in the quiet times, bridge, board games, and reading. We travelled widely — through Malaysia, South East Asia, Australia, New Zealand, the Caribbean, Central and South America, Turkey, Spain, Italy, Norway, the United States and Canada. These countless far-away places were reached by sailboats, trains, buses, planes, and backpacks. Liz delighted in discovering new cultures, architecture, history, and landscapes. Liz took up gardening seriously with a front yard producing the traditional survival crops of squash, corn, potatoes and beans instead of a manicured lawn. She was recognized as a naturalist, sharing her fruit, seeds and plants with neighbours. In the city, she planted trees and weeded out invasive plants. She never really slowed down until the pandemic years, when pain gradually became part of everyday life. Then, this March, came the devastating diagnosis of incurable brain cancer. True to herself, Liz faced it directly and courageously. She remained in control until the end, choosing Medical Assistance in Dying rather than prolonging suffering unnecessarily. My darling Liz died peacefully on April 19, 2026, with me lying beside her and all of our immediate family surrounding her with love. I will miss her every day for the rest of my life. I remain profoundly grateful for the extraordinary journey we shared together. Chips Reid Monday June 1st, 2026