My Father's Eulogy

Eulogy for Claude Hoedel, written and delivered by Simone Hoedel January 18th, 2006

Good morning everyone. My name is Simone. I want to thank you all for being here to remember my father, Claude Hoedel.

Claude was born in 1938 in Killaly, Saskatchewan. Both his parents, Elizabeth Baumgartner and Ewald Hoedel, grew up in German speaking households in this small farming community where most families struggled to make ends meet.

Claude was the youngest of 6 children in the Hoedel family. His father, Ewald, farmed just outside Killaly on the family homestead, and later moved the family into Killaly where Ewald worked as the Saskatchewan Wheat Pool Agent.

Like my father, Ewald was a popular, intelligent and athletic fellow who liked his drinks. Ewald died in a boating accident in 1949, when my father was only 11 years old. I believe this was very hard for the family, especially for Claude.

My father was good in school and excelled at Sciences and Math. He was also a top-notch athlete. He admired his uncle, Jimmy Baumgartner, who was a famous baseball player in this area at that time.

Claude fell in love and got married in 1959 to Adeline Holitski, a local girl. They moved to Saskatoon where my dad went to the University of Saskatchewan to get his engineering degree. I was born in Saskatoon in 1961.

Our little family moved to Regina in 1964, where my dad worked for the Saskatchewan Power Corporation as an engineer. My 2 brothers, Craig and Shawn, were born in 1964 and 1966.

We moved to Alberta for a year or so, then in 1974 my dad found a job with BC Hydro. We lived in Port Coquitlam, BC for most of those years growing up. In BC, dad worked as the Superintendent of Gas Pipelines for the Fraser Valley.

In his spare time, he took up curling, and won a lot of championships as a skip. He also played on a team with my mom, Adeline, and together, they won a few trophies.

In 1982, dad returned to Regina to work for SaskPower and later TransGas. The family lived in a lovely home in Lakeview, which is a nice area. Dad did his best to provide for the family and be a husband and father.

My father, truthfully, struggled with an alcohol problem that curtailed his success and happiness. Although he always cared about us, sometimes we were in competition with the bottle for his affections, and this of course, cause a lot of grief.

Despite this problem, Claude worked until he retired in 1999. But after retirement, he began to suffer from more and more health problems. Years of heavy smoking and drinking took their toll, and he declined physically and mentally until he died last week.

I want to tell you how he died, because I was there.

These past few months, Claude was mostly in the hospital receiving treatments. But starting New Years Eve, he stayed in the Executive Suite at the Delta Inn in Regina, because that was the only smoking suite available. He was very elated: “Wow! I made it,” he said.

But a few days later, he was readmitted to the hospital with a blood infection and he declined very rapidly.

I spent some time watching TV beside him in the Palliative Care ward at the Pasqua Hospital. He was at this point, not really responding to the world around him. He had received his Last Rites.

I was watching the news when I heard a little groan from Claude, so I went to the bedside to see if he was okay. Claude was staring wide-eyed at the ceiling with a blissful, childlike expression on his face. I’d never seen anything like it before.

I said to him: “What cha lookin’ at, dad?” and looked up at the ceiling tiles he seemed to be staring at. When I looked back at him, one tear had escaped his right eye, and I wondered why he was crying.

But this was actually his last moment.

I marvel at how a person who struggled personally for so many years could find peace at the very end of his life like this. You can be sure Claude left this world spiritually pure, like the moment he was born. I was there to witness it. And we can all feel good about that.

Thank you.

The Game is Up

by Simone Hoedel
copyright 1992

I.

You are two odd men out
From the hinterland
Dropping poisoned stones into the well
Filling spaces with your grins
And your loose shifting gazes

It's a token to your enduring enmity
You never seem angry
While you smash our peace
Clawing at our soft underbellies
Drawing out, like blood,
Our liquid flesh

Let me tell you:
We are full of our portions
Of discipline and vague threats
Of long held vigilance against
Your snares and slaps

II.

We go to the barrier
And toss off another load
Of useless metal for scrap
And bag up a pile of your
Anti-words for recycling

Ín our country these things
Have no meaning
Until they're destroyed

III.

You are two men
From the hinterland
Picking through the rubble
Of a lost time.
In the barrios and shantytowns
You shave your heads
And begin a chant

And far off to the north and east
The drumbeats enjoin
An old old rhythm
Buried for generations
Deep, and far from home.

The Green Woman

by Simone Hoedel
copyright 2002

In the little Peruvian pueblo of Aguascaliente, at the foot of Machu Picchu, I discovered a very decent earthy restaurant called Chez Maggy's.

One afternoon, after an arduous day with hordes of tourists on the ancient site, I visited the spot for a bite to eat. After the meal, I asked for Mate de Coca, a medicinal Andes drink, because I wasn't feeling very well, I said. Coca tea is very popular and common among tourists and locals, and bags of coca leaves sell in stalls on the street for about two dollars.

I asked the server, a Native American, what the relationship was between this Coca leaf tea and cocaine. He came to join me at my table and asked me, in Spanish, if I would like to hear a traditional story about coca. Of course, I was delighted.

A long time ago, a woman arrived in the land of the Incas who was very beautiful, and whose skin was green. She was from the "Selva", jungle or forest, and her name was "Quolka". All the Incas fell in love with her, so that whenever she left, all the people were so despondent they didn't work or eat or do anything productive.

Eventually "Los Sabios" (wise ones) felt the problem was so great for the people, they decided they had to get rid of the woman of the Selva. One of the wise men met with Quolka and killed her, then caused the green woman to be caught up in a flame, which burned her to ashes.

And while the people were despondent after Quolka died, after a while, a plant grew out of the ashes where the woman of the Selva had died and burned. The people noticed the plant was very "suave" (sweet, soft) and had a lovely scent.

Then he demonstrated how they took three leaves fanned out between two fingers, bit off all of the leaves but the very bottom of the stems, and chewed the hojas de Coca. So I did the same.

"Gracias", I said, "Me siento mejor." (I feel better, thanks)