A daughter’s story; love and great loss

By Emily Stoneman 

Dad: one who loves, supports, guides, encourages and inspires his child. My dad was all those things and more. My Dad was not just a parent; he was my guiding light, my source of strength, and my unwavering support. My dad never missed any milestone in my life, he congratulated me when I got accepted into university and then four years later when I was accepted into my masters, he was in the crowd at every graduation and celebrated with me every birthday. He was with me during every high and comforted me during every low.

Emily and her dad

His name was Bryn Stoneman. He was an ordinary man with an extraordinary presence. In a crowd, he might not catch your eye—unless you noticed his arms, filled with tattoos that told their own stories. He loved dogs, camping, fishing, hiking, tinkering with vehicles he found for cheap on Facebook Marketplace or Kijiji, and spending hours in his garage. He was a family man through and through, the kind who would drop everything at any hour to help someone he loved, including his friends. He received multiple “Dad, my car is making a weird noise” calls, day or night, and he always answered, ready to help. My dad loved deeply and napped even deeper. If he didn’t answer your call, it was probably because he had fallen asleep on the couch while watching one of his favourite shows. My dad was a man of adventure, he had dreams of moving to the east coast to live a life by the water with his best friend, his dog Lemmy. My dad also loved to spend time in the mountains, and traveling to destinations that allowed him to lie on the beach for hours on end. After his passing, I spent weeks receiving messages from his friends on Facebook, each sharing stories of how much they adored him. Most of the stories were about how selfless he was when they were in a time of need.

I received that dreaded call on a Monday morning. My now-husband, Justin, and I were unpacking the house that my dad had helped us move into just three days prior. The call came from my grandma, who told me my dad had been in an accident at work. She said Justin should drive me to the hospital an hour away, but in my stubbornness, I decided to drive myself. The drive, one I had done countless times from the city I lived in to the city I grew up in, felt never-ending. My mind raced with thoughts during the drive — I had no idea what “accident at work” meant. Was he hurt? Did he have a broken leg? A broken back? The possibility of him being dead was far from my mind because that just couldn’t be possible. I remember thinking that I would walk into the hospital room and find him in bed, and I would joke, “They made me speed here for a broken leg?” Unfortunately, I was wrong. I parked and walked to the front of the hospital, where I was met by my family, all with tears streaming down their faces. I greeted them and sat down on a bench. When I asked, “Where is he?” the reply was, “He’s not here.” At that moment, my entire world collapsed. What did they mean he wasn’t there? Where was he? It was then I connected the dots—my dad never made it to the hospital because he was no longer alive. He had died instantly in the accident at work. I immediately called my mom and Justin, and through my sobs, I told them my dad was dead. I still think about this today—the utter despair they must have heard in my voice, through my broken sobs repeating, “He’s dead, my dad is dead.”

My dad had multiple jobs throughout his life, but his favorite was driving a transport truck. When COVID-19 hit, he struggled to find a trucking job with the world shut down. Fortunately, he was offered a position at a company he had worked for in the past. The company was going out of business, and my dad was hired to help tear down the machinery inside the factory.

At her wedding Emily could only include a photo of her dad.

Desperate for a job, he gladly accepted the position, with the added bonus of working alongside his brother. On August 17th, 2020 he and my uncle were tasked with a job to go to the roof to remove the air piping supports and vent stack. They were not given any safety gear. When on the roof, he stepped on a skylight that was disguised by rust from the roof and fell 25 feet to his death, his brother witnessing the whole tragedy. My uncle rushed down to try to do CPR where he spent 15 minutes trying to revive him, but it was too late. My dad’s workplace was charged for failing to ensure fall protection was used.

I only got to live my life for 26 years before losing my dad. Growing up, I always imagined my father standing proudly beside me during some of life’s most significant milestones. I missed out on calling my dad when I got engaged and hearing him congratulate me. My dad should have been walking me down the aisle at my wedding to marry the love of my life, dressed in a suit reminding me how much he loved me. I should have been able to watch his eyes light up in happiness and pride sitting in the front row watching his only child get married, but I was faced with the harsh reality that all I had was a picture of him sitting in the seat he should have been in. No milestones since his death have felt the same. Celebrating things that should bring joy such as birthdays, passing my board certification exam, buying a new car or getting a new job feel wrong to celebrate without him. It’s not just the milestones of the past that he has missed, it’s the future milestones both mine and his, the ones that I had always assumed he would be there for, that now weigh heavily on my heart. He will never have the opportunity to hold his future grandchildren in his arms, to share stories of his own childhood with them, to watch them grow and flourish. He’ll never get to live out his dream of moving out east. He’ll never get to celebrate his retirement or accomplish any crazy dreams that he had. He didn’t get to see his 50th birthday, nor will he see any other milestone birthdays. I feel the loss of my dad in every milestone, every achievement, and every moment of joy that I experience.

Over the years, I have tried different ways to honor his memory on August 17th. Sometimes, I visit his favorite spot or engage in an activity we used to enjoy together. Other times, I gather with family and friends to share stories and reminisce about his life and the impact he had on us all. Each year, as the date approaches, I find myself reflecting on the memories we shared and the moments we will never experience together, the milestones that pass with every year. I think about the laughter, the advice, and the unconditional love he provided. On this day, I allow myself to fully feel the pain of his absence, but I also make space for gratitude for the time we had together.

Grief never goes away, you just learn how to deal with it. August 17th has forever transformed for me. It went from being a normal day in the middle of summer to a day that will forever remind me of when my dad died, the day my life changed forever. This date brings sorrow, longing, and reflection. Death anniversaries bring forward many emotions; for some, these are days full of sadness, and for others, they are days of celebrating their loved ones’ lives. The fourth death anniversary of my dad has recently come and gone, and the one thing I have learned is that there’s no wrong way to observe this day. It’s about finding what feels right for you and allowing yourself to grieve, remember, and heal in your own way. What matters is that the day is acknowledged in a way that feels the most meaningful and comforting to you.

My dad deserved better. To my dad’s workplace, he was just another employee and as time goes by will fade in their memory but for me, I’ll spend the rest of my life missing my dad. If I could leave everyone with one important message, it would be to always refuse unsafe work. It’s not worth your life.