With broken hearts, we write this for our beloved father, Edgar Grant Morrison – a task we never expected so soon. Our dad passed away quietly in late October, as the leaves fell from the maples outside his Whitney Pier home.
Growing up in Coxheath, Edgar was the youngest son of his mother, Dorothy Mae, and father, Edgar Tilton. Those who knew him in his younger years remember him as kind, generous, and sincere – with a heart of gold and a sly sense of humour. His good looks and charm earned him the nickname “Hunk,” which he cemented with his green ’70 Chevy Chevelle.
His dear sisters, Rose and Jean, know him as a man who always kept others laughing – a man who asked for so little but gave so much.
In his professional life, Edgar was a well-respected steelworker. Gifted with a knack for almost anything he tried, he was a natural Jack-of-all-trades (though he’d never admit it). He’d beam when he told us how much he loved mastering the massive overhead cranes that swung impossible steel beams into place early in his career. He’d say, “I was never afraid to try something new, even when others said I was crazy for it.”
He never saw himself as a leader, though others did. He wasn’t the kind who cared about titles or hierarchies – what mattered to him was the fact that people felt comfortable coming to him for help. As children, anytime we were out with our dad, we’d roll our eyes when he was inevitably stopped by someone wanting to talk. We’d tug on his sleeve impatiently, and more times than we can count, we heard the same thing from different people: “Your dad was the best man I ever worked for.”
When he spoke about travelling for work, he never mentioned that he’d been handpicked for a specialized team – the youngest of the group by far – sent to steel mills across the world to share insights and strategies. He never boasted that, without formal post-secondary education, he could work through complex equations with nothing more than a graphite pencil and a sheet of graph paper, often solving problems even experts couldn’t.
But we were just kids back then.
To us, he was just Dad. He was the man we’d snuggle with while we watched cartoons, be they robots or unicorns. Who made us cinnamon toast with chocolate milk. Who read to us at bedtime and helped us with our homework. It wasn’t until we grew up that we realized that he was a quiet polymath, gifted with the kind of mind that understood how things and people fit together.
In a world of chaos, our dad was a constant. He lost his wife, Debbie, our mother, in 2015. It was a loss he carried quietly but deeply. He found calm in those he loved most: his daughter, Amanda, and son-in-law, Brent; his son, Craig, and daughter-in-law, Kristin; and his four grandchildren – Rhett, Emmett, Kaylee, and Carter – who will always remember his gentle laugh and endless loose change.
Even in our sadness, we can find solace in knowing that our dad was proud of us – words he never hesitated to share. Endlessly supportive, he was our biggest cheerleader, always encouraging us and offering gentle guidance with his twinkle-in-the-eye wit. We will raise our children honouring the lessons our father taught us about kindness, generosity, and following your heart. Our dad was a dreamer and, because of him, we’re dreamers, too.
True to form, Dad made it clear he didn’t want any fuss when the time came. “When I die, don’t waste any money on a wake or funeral,” he’d say with a grin. Though we laughed when he said it, we knew he meant it. We’ll be keeping things simple, just as he wanted, with a small family burial at a later date.
If you, like us, will miss Edgar, we encourage you to pop on your favourite action flick for a movie night (feline companion encouraged), perhaps go for a drive with a loved one, or just share a story with a pal, where you both laugh so much there are tears in your eyes.
We never ended a phone call without saying, “I love you,” so here’s one last message, albeit more public than usual.
We love you, Dad.
We love you beyond this world, and will meet again someday as stardust.M
Funeral arrangements are entrusted to the care and direction of Pier Community Funeral Home.
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