Garry Hoag

1952-2020

Our dearly loved father, husband, son and grandfather died in his home surrounded by love on

10 April 2020.

We will cherish his memory and example of faith, might and integrity. He will be remembered

and forever loved by; his wife of 43 years, Debora, his mother, Ruby, and his children and

grandchildren: Jennifer (Paul), Ruby, Aubrey, Iylah and Jude; Nathan (Julie) Rachel, Adam, Benson and Emma; Sonja; Erin (Alan) Jimmy, Violet, Rose and Garry, sisters: Eleanor and Teresa

We believe that Dad was reunited in heaven with his father, Edward, and his son, Garrison.

Garry loved to laugh, had a gentle heart and found great joy with his family. He was a hard

worker and a man of industry. His faith was great and his hope bright.

Tributes may be sent to www.mem.com or www.rosegardenchapel.com

There will not be a funeral at this time. If able, a celebration of his life will be held at a later date.

A Tribute to My Dad

I want to tell you about my dad, and since there cannot be a funeral, here is my chance!

My dad was a hard worker. Every morning, he left for work -- an hour long commute -- before

any of us kids woke up. He’d spend his day managing an oil field supply store, and return home

in time to eat supper with us. He would go change his clothes, then go outside and become a

farmer, doing the chores. He’d come inside in time for scripture study and prayer, and then we’d

go to bed.

He wasn’t the sole farmer of our operation, as our farm depended on our whole family to be

successful, and the farm was something that unified us as we all had to work together to eke out

a living.

I consider myself to be a hard worker, and I thank him for instilling that trait in me and my

siblings. My dad taught me that hard work could be an awful lot of fun, too, and a good way to

spend quality time together.

He loved animals. The stray dogs left on our corner often found a home at our house. If a bird

ran into our large front window, he would nurse it back to health, or stroke its head while it died.

Many a calf was bathed in our bathtub, and spent the night on the heated floor of our family

room.

He had faith in a God who heard prayers, and a God who valued every prayer. He would pray

for his cows; for each procedure and vet visit, each difficult pregnancy and birth. Before ever

laying a hand on a cow to work on her, we would gather in family prayer, for we knew that the

Lord was watching, eager to help. I learned faith not in the home, but in the field and in the barn.

He taught his cows to recognize his voice, and to come to him when he called. This made

chasing cows so much easier. I tried and tried to mimic his call, but the cows never followed me

the way they followed my dad; they loved him as we loved him, and trusted him as he trusted

God.

Through it all, my dad was content with his life. For the first few years of my life, the house we

lived in was inescapably small. Though it was cramped, some of my most favourite memories

are there. He sold his Fiat Spyder convertible for a more family-friendly vehicle when he found

out he was going to be a father. When offered transfers to Calgary for his employment, he

politely declined, wanting to stay close to our grandparents and the land that he grew up on.

He was devoted. To my mum, to his family, to his faith - even when all these things seemed to

contradict one another. He would go clothes shopping with my mum. He was glad to drive to

Edmonton for dance lessons, so that he could dance around the kitchen with my mum, cheek to

cheek and absolutely besotted. He did these things, not because he had to, but because they

mattered to him.

When my dad was the leader of our church’s congregation, he couldn’t sit with the rest of our

family, because he had to sit at the front. I would look at him and wait for him to look at me

back. He always did. Then he’d wink, and I’d feel like the most special girl in the whole world.

He looked so handsome in his suit. I loved to watch him teach people and love people.

His testimony of God and Jesus Christ is strong and unshakable. He was never ashamed of his

belief, or afraid of how people might treat him because of it.

Dad dreamed of adventure. But though the call was strong, his ideas didn’t always go as

planned. On one such memorable occasion, he bought a raft for us to float down the mighty

Athabasca. We dodged tree branches and rocks, and the current was a tad fast for two novice

rafters and two small children. To this day, I don’t know if I was terrified or thrilled. I watched all

his attempts -- successful and less so -- and through his example I learned the value of taking

risks, as well as the importance of failure; that failing is not something to be ashamed of, but it is

a tool for learning and confidence and growth.

I’m thankful for the time I’ve had with my father, and for the lessons that he’s taught me. I am so

happy for the husband he’s been to my mother, and the grandpa he’s been to my kids, the

father-in-law he’s been, and the father that he has been to me and my siblings. I miss him now,

and I will continue to miss him until we meet again.