Dad and I on my last visit in 2023 (Photo by Joe Raju)

“Dad, we're pals, right?” Simba asked Mufasa after he was rescued from the hyenas. “And we're going to be together forever, right?”

Mufasa pauses, wondering how to explain to his young son that one day they would be separated.

It's that line that has played over and over in my head ever since I received the news on Tuesday morning that Dad was no longer with us.

Being well into my forties, the concept of mortality is not lost on me, but I, like many others, was stunned to hear that the strong, witty, and naturally charming Sonny had gone on to be with the Lord.

I'll admit that at first, I didn't believe it.

Being thousands of miles away in South Africa creates a certain distance from events unfolding in Alberta, but it does not make them any less painful.

For many years, my day was not complete until I heard my Dad's voice. It didn't matter what was going on in my world. When my phone announced that he was calling, I knew I would hear his voice, and I knew he would know exactly what to say to make everything seem like it was going to be okay.

As I write this, I would give anything to see that happen one more time.

To hear him tell me how beautiful the community of Two Hills is and how deeply loved he was there. To hear about the exceptional care he was receiving from the staff at Hillside Lodge. To hear how proud he was of Kaleland Estates, his passion project for so many years.

Just one more call.

One more chance to tell him how much I love him, how much I appreciate everything he taught me, and how much everything he did for me truly meant.

Dad, despite his boisterous character, was a rather simple man. Born in a small farming community in rural KwaZulu-Natal, he had a knack for telling tall tales and being a mischief-maker. But that only served to endear him more to the brothers and sisters who loved him beyond description.

Much like myself, Dad was blessed to have more than one family. Through his parents, Harry and Kannah, he shared life with his siblings Joe, Brian, Amsa, Sharma, Lazarus, Samson, and Sarah. Through his other family, Sam and Chandramma, he gained siblings Sandra, Sheila, Bommy, Larry, Vernon, Johnny, and Sissy.

He was predeceased by Brian, Sharma, Lazarus, Sarah, and Sissy, as well as both sets of parents.

Both families constantly showered him with love and laid claim to him, something he thoroughly enjoyed. He remained in regular contact with all of them, not to mention his many nieces and nephews, his grandchildren—Keanan, Brennan, Aaron, Xylia, Xaraya, and Xianna—who were the pride of his life, his great-granddaughter Zarielle, daughter of Keanan and Onay, and his three children: my older sister Niri, my older brother Ruven, and me.

Dad developed an interest in politics at an early age and showed tremendous potential. Gifted with a razor-sharp wit, an extensive vocabulary, and undeniable charm, he excelled at almost everything he did.

I say almost everything because anyone who knew Dad also knew his limitations when it came to technology.

He left a lasting impression on nearly everyone who had the pleasure of knowing him.

In 1986, Dad made a move that would open countless doors for more people than I am probably even aware of. Despite the distance and the changes life brought, he maintained a friendly relationship with Mum and regularly called to make sure she was doing well.

Working his way through various positions, he quickly earned a reputation as an all-rounder in the newspaper industry. His natural talent as a writer, combined with his gift of conversation and remarkable sales ability, allowed him to rise through the ranks. Wherever he worked, he demonstrated not only knowledge and professionalism but also a genuine ability to lead.

Toward the turn of the century, Dad moved to Two Hills and established the Two Hills & County Chronicle. The community welcomed him with open arms.

His writing style and passion for the people of the region quickly earned him friends throughout the county. His reputation, knowledge, and commitment to the community eventually led him into municipal politics.

One story has always stood out to me because it perfectly captures Dad's humility.

When he first decided to run for Town Council, he printed campaign flyers and went door-to-door himself. At the time, I happened to be living in town.

One day, Dad showed up at my house.

Naturally, I was thrilled to see him and assumed he was simply stopping by for a visit.

He wasn't.

He was campaigning.

He was asking for my support.

My Dad—campaigning to his own son as though he needed to do anything more than ask.

One of the greatest blessings of his later years, in my opinion, was being able to attend the graduation of his oldest granddaughter, Xylia. As was usually the case wherever he went, he received a warm welcome from everyone around him.

On Monday—the day before I received the call that would rock my world—Dad and I spoke three times.

He was his usual exuberant self, telling me about his latest adventures and catching me up on everything that was happening. During our third conversation, he was on his way to a meeting but wanted to give me a heads-up about something he needed me to take care of.

He told me it was late on my end and that he would give me all the details when he called me on Tuesday.

The call that came instead was from my big sister, Niri.

I could tell by her voice that it was serious.

Like always, I assured her that Dad was stronger than anyone knew and that there was no need to worry. He would be okay. He would call later that evening, just as he always did.

That wouldn't be the case.

I remember receiving countless messages and calls offering support. I responded with gratitude and love, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I still expected Dad to call and tell me he was fine—that he would be back home in no time.

I managed to hold myself together for the entire day.

Until nine o'clock that evening.

It was then that it finally dawned on me.

By then I was alone.

And I broke down.

When I look back on all the times Dad came to my rescue, I am overwhelmed with gratitude. There are countless stories of mistakes I made, problems I didn't know how to solve, and situations where I felt completely lost.

Whenever those moments came, I knew exactly what to do.

Talk to Dad.

While I mourn that loss today, I take comfort in the belief that he has been reunited with his parents and siblings and that, when the time is right, I will see him again.

To everyone who has reached out with messages, calls, prayers, and support, thank you.

The outpouring of love we have received from family, friends, and community members has been truly overwhelming.

It is clear how deeply Dad was loved—not only by those who shared his bloodline, but by everyone fortunate enough to know him.

I pray that God grants comfort to all of us as we process this loss, and that He blesses each of you for the kindness you have shown our family and for all that you did for Dad.

Until we meet again, Dad.

I love you.