On April 8, 2015, the strong, steadfast, honourable, mighty, kind, dedicated-to-the-safety-of-the-country, 46 year young Ben Saint-Onge, known as “The Titan,” was told that he had cancer. A rare and incurable type of cancer that chooses it’s prey without rhyme or reason. Just bad luck, they say. You fucking think?
Meet Wendy and Ben
Ben and I had shared our lives together since we were 22 and 23 years old. We met on my first day at the RCMP Training Academy when love was the last thing on either of our minds. Still, it found us, and we went with it.
What followed was 25 years, 3 kids, a lot of love (occasionally some strong dislike), daily laughs, some tough times, some really amazing times, and dreams to travel the world together once the kids left the nest. We were each other’s best friend, and this news knocked us on our asses … hard.
Ben fought a valiant, agonizing fight for 9 oh-so-long yet oh-so-short months. On January 13, 2016, he took one last breath at home amidst a motley crew of family and friends, and then he was gone. His absence has left a deep, dark void in my life and I struggle every day to learn how to live with it. I miss him in a way that words don’t adequately describe, and so I write as a means to purge myself of the feelings that no one who hasn’t lost the love of their life can understand.
I want to figure out how to live my best life without the greatest man I ever knew. I want to laugh. I want my kids to live their own extraordinary lives. I want to honour “The Titan.” I want the world to remember Ben Saint-Onge. And so I write.
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