Obituary of Eleanore Ann Backer

Eleanore was born on May 16, 1937 in Bertwell, Saskatchewan. She came into this world fighting, as she only weighed 3.5 pounds. Back in 1937, there was no such thing as an incubator so her mother and father, Roy and Anne Smale, laid her on a pillow with the door to the wood oven open for heat. She was the eldest of her 8 siblings, Dale, Darlene, Keith, Larry, Sharon, Louis, Mavis and Judy. On July 16, 1955 in Fort Nelson B.C., Eleanore married the love of her life, John Backer, but better known as "Red". Their loving marriage led to 5 wonderful children, eldest was Danny, Eldon, Sandy, Linda and Dean. Throughout the years, work and life led them to various places, they moved to Vancouver Island in 1965, but eventually they settled down for good in the Dawson Creek area on December 12, 1979. Their home at Mile 22 became a welcome household for many visiting friends, family and neighbors. Most of my memories are at their house. Over the past week of chatting with friends and family about their memories of Grandma, there were a few common things that everyone kept mentioning. First thing that comes to mind is Grandma and Grandpas garden. It was huge. Full of so many fruits and veggies, plenty to go around. I have lots of memories of helping harvest potatoes, picking peas (which Brittany used to get in trouble for always eating them as she picked), as well as picking strawberries and my least favorite, picking raspberries. Like all good kids, we all ate some dirt from the garden when we were really little as well. Being the eldest of her 8 siblings, Grandma was a natural caregiver. It was obvious to see how much Grandma loved all of her children and grandchildren. I never saw her face light up as much as it did when her great grandchildren Jack, Olivia, Zoey or Jada were around to visit her. She would immediately have the biggest smile as soon as she seen or heard them. She had a way with grandchildren as well, there was no messing around at Grandma and Grandpa's. I have many memories of Brittany, Jonathon and I helping with the garden, watering flowers, or going for tractor rides. One summer while visiting Grandma and Grandpa, I was inside helping Grandma prepare supper, Grandpa and Jonathon came inside, Grandpa sent Jonathon to wash up and while he did, Grandpa filled his plate heaping full of food. Jonathon came back to the table with a very overwhelmed look on his face wondering how he was going to eat it all. But there was no not finishing your plate and Grandma and Grandpas, so he ate it all, and if I remember correctly, he had some room for some of Grandma's homemade delicious pie as well. Thinking of memories, most of them include Grandma and Grandpa, their love was so strong, they never did anything apart and after Grandpa's tragic passing, things changed, but Grandma kept on fighting. The second thing that all her family and friends agreed on, was Grandma was always a wonderful woman full of helpful knowledge to talk to about anything and everything. When my family moved to Dawson Creek, I was in my early teens and didn't always see eye to eye with my parents. I would get off the school bus at Grandma's and call home to say I was staying at Grandma's for a bit. We would then talk about all my teenager "the world is ending" problems. She never laughed; she never told me I was silly or overreacting. Instead, she always had words of encouragement, support and love. And she always knew when something wasn't right. A few weeks after Grandma was in the hospital, I went to go visit her. I had had an extremely bad day but I didn't want to mention it and burden her. But after being there only a few minutes, Grandma looked me in the eye and asked "what's wrong dear?" I immediately burst into tears and she knew just what to say, she told me "I don't know what's wrong, it must be tough, but I promise, it will get better my love." It is difficult to put in words what Grandma meant to so many people. I will always remember Grandma for her beautiful garden, delicious apple pie, and her love to dance because Grandpa wouldn't let her sit down. A dear friend and neighbor, Cathy Tubb, puts it best so I will just read what she wrote: I hate goodbyes. I hate leaving someone and not knowing when or if I will ever see them again. Goodbyes make me want to cry. Goodbyes do make me cry. Since sometime in December, I have been in the process of saying goodbye to my friend. It began with a fall. Actually, I think I'll go back a little fartherit began with a move to a new neighbourhood. In the summer of 2000, circumstances were such that we found ourselves moving from our home on my husband's family farm to an acreage in a beautiful river valley closer to my husband's new job. We did what country people do, we went out and met our new neighbours. Living next door, was a recently widowed lady. If I said we hit it off, it would be an understatement. I have probably shared more cups of tea at her table than with anyone else I know (outside of my family). She had the most amazing garden and she was all too happy to share its bounty with us. Rows of ever-bearing strawberries were happily shared, as were her abundant rhubarb plants. One day she gave me a jar of Saskatoon-rhubarb fruit. "It's for pie," she told me, "My family doesn't like it, but you try it, it's delicious." And it was. It has become a family favourite - my oldest son's pie of choice for his birthday dessert every year. And so it went over the years, sixteen of them since we moved in next door. It became an almost weekly ritual, our cup of English Breakfast tea and a visit. My neighbour lady became one of my dearest friends. And then came the fall. It was something that could have, probably has happened, to almost all of us. She had just let her little dog out to do his business. She turned from the door and caught her foot on the carpet and she fell. But where I would have stumbled and caught myself or fallen and just gotten back up again, she fell to the floor, shattering bones, lots of them. We found ourselves visiting over cups of take-out tea in her hospital room instead of at her kitchen table. The broken bones were an unwelcome addition to an already complicated diagnosis. When she finally left the hospital, it wasn't to come home, it was to take up residence in the palliative care room at the local extended care facility. Our visits became more precious. At the end of each visit, I would take her hand and say, "I'll see you soon," because I hate goodbyes. My dear friend was born a fighter. She came into the world at a mere three and half pounds. She was "incubated" in a box placed in front of the open door of the wood-fueled oven in the kitchen. She fought her way into the world, she fought to stay in the world, and now she is fighting again. My dear friend is struggling in some kind of in-between place, not really still in this world, but not really in the next either. She is fighting to stay with the ones she loves who surround her bedside, but I think another part of her is fighting to break the bonds that hold her here. It is a terrible thing to witness, this awful, epic battle she is fighting with herself. Still, I cannot bring myself to say goodbye. Did you know that the word originally came from the phrase God be with you'? That puts a different light on it, doesn't it? I cannot quite bring myself to say goodbye, but I can say "God be with you my dear, sweet friend. I'll see you soon." Service 1:00 pm Sunday, April 10, 2016 Bergeron Chapel 10200-17th Street DAWSON CREEK, British Columbia, Canada V1G 4C2