McBURNEY, Richard Cecil
- Born: 6 May 1925, Underhill, Westman, Manitoba, Canada
- Marriage: DUNCALFE, Sarah Ethelyn Evelyn on 1 Oct 1949 in Winnipeg, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada
- Died: 12 Nov 2014, Kingston, Frontenac, Ontario, Canada aged 89
- Buried: 15 Nov 2014, Maitland, Grenville, Ontario, Canada
Cause of his death was heart failure following an operation for a broken hip.
Other names for Richard were Cec and Mac.
He died at the Kingston General Hospital.
Facts and details for Richard Cecil McBurney:
He served in the military in the Royal Canadian Navy in 1946-1975. He enlisted on 6 February 1946 and was discharged on 6 May 1975. He achieved the rank of Chief Warrant Officer (CWO).
He worked as a Manager of the Glynmill Inn in 1975-1989 in Corner Brook, Division 5, Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada.
He received the Order of Military Merit on 28 May 1975 in Ottawa, Carleton, Ontario, Canada. The award was presented to him at Rideau Hall by Governor General Jules Lιger.
Award: Hotelier and Restauranteur of the year, in 1979, in Corner Brook, Division 5, Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada.
He lived at 1914 Sharpes Lane in Brockville, Leeds, Ontario, Canada in 1989-2014.
His obituary was published on 13 Nov 2014. It read as follows:
McBurney, Richard "Mac"
May 6, 1925 - November 12, 2014
Suddenly and peacefully at Kingston General Hospital, Richard "Mac" McBurney. Beloved husband of Lyn McBurney and much loved father of Dawn (Dan Braund); Laurie (Wayne Bower); and Scott (Kim Hender). Cherished Poppy of Jaclyn and Rachael Braund; Katie (Daniel) Steinfeld and David (Amanda) Bower; Shilo, Tessa, Liam and Aiden McBurney; and great-grandfather of Emily, Jacob, Joshua, Sarah and Liam. Also survived by several nieces and nephews. Predeceased by his brothers Earl and Melvin McBurney and by his sisters Jean Chalmers and Iola Lee.
Dedicated Navy man (1946-1975) and hotelier, Mac was the recipient of several awards including the Order of Military Merit and Newfoundland Hotelier of the Year. He touched the lives and hearts of many throughout his career and in his family life.
Family and friends may pay their respects at the Irvine Funeral Home, 4 James St., E., Brockville on Friday, Nov. 14, 2014 from 3-5pm. A funeral service to honour and celebrate Mac's life will be held at the Brockville Wesleyan Church, 33 Central Ave., W., Brockville on Saturday, Nov. 15, 2014 at 1 pm. Interment to follow at Roselawn Memorial Gardens, Maitland. As expressions of sympathy, donations to the Brockville Wesleyan Church or the Heart and Stroke Foundation would be appreciated. Send condolences online at www.irvinememorial.com.
He was buried at the Roselawn Memorial Cemetery, in the Garden of Everlasting Life section, lot 54 and grave C1 in Brockville, Leeds, Ontario, Canada on 15 Nov 2014.
His funeral was held at the Brockville Wesleyan Church on 15 Nov 2014. His daughter Laurie gave the following eulogy:
The day before my father passed away the sun shone brightly and glimmered on the long grasses waving in the wind behind my house. I thought how much it looked like the wheat fields on the prairie where my father was born, the baby in his family of five children. I thought how hard it must have been for him to lose his mother when he was but five; to be a child during the hungry years of the Depression; to know as the youngest son that there would be no room for him to take over the family farm and that he would have to find another way to earn his living.
The day before my father passed away, I saw the soldiers and sailors and pilots gather in their uniforms across the country to mark Remembrance Day. It reminded me of my father's decision to leave his prairie home and enlist in the Royal Canadian Navy in 1946, of how excited he would have been to embark on a career of travel and fascinating work; how he chose the field of communications and how his life was lived to the rhythm of the dots and dashes of the Morse Code. How he knew first hand the very real threat of atomic war during the 1960s and yet had to come home and eat dinner with his family like nothing was out of the ordinary. How I never knew exactly what he did in the Navy because he was sworn to secrecy onto his death, and he honoured that promise to the end. How he did his job so well, he received the second-highest military honour his country can give, the Order of Military Merit from the hands of Canada's Governor General for service and devotion above and beyond the call of duty. And how his choice of career took us, his family, across the country, east to Newfoundland, west to BC, north to Churchill, Manitoba, south to Washington, DC, and several times to Ottawa.
The day before my father passed away, I saw my mother sit by his hospital bed and hold his hand tightly. I watched her worried eyes upon him, and saw how he sought to reassure her, his beautiful Winnipeg city girl that he, a simple farm boy, could hardly believe he had the luck to win 65 years ago. I thought how his eyes still lit up when he saw her, how he loved her high standards and her independence and her fiery temper and how she could cobble together a welcoming home whether it was in a modest PMQ or a bungalow in an American suburb. I thought of how beautiful their marriage was, that the passion of the early years survived the travel, the mid-life career change from Navy to managing the Glynmill Inn in Newfoundland, retirement to Brockville, a hard move last year from their beloved home on Sharpe's Lane to a retirement home in Kingston. I thought of how difficult these past few years have been with dad's failing health and how their love has only grown stronger; how much he needed her to reassure and support him and to smooth the errant rooster's tail of gray hair that always stuck up on the back of his head.
The day before my father passed away, I saw my sister, the nurse, work with the medical staff to ensure they had the knowledge they needed to treat my father properly, how dad turned to her to give them his medical history and depended on her to explain what was going to happen. I thought back to dinner table conversations when my father's eyes would light up as he engaged Dawn in political debate, both of them delighting in hard conversational battle, both of them happy to take either side of the issue as long as it kept the conversation going. I thought of my brother in PEI, how interested dad was in Scott's work in wildlife biology, how keen he was to hear about weird things like whale necropsies and bat white nose syndrome. I remembered my brother visiting just the week before and taking dad down to the billiards room in the retirement home for a game of pool with my husband and brother-in-law, and how happy dad was that day and how much fun he had.
The day before my father passed away, my husband drove me and my mom and my sister to the hospital. I thought of how Wayne had come up to visit dad the day before, the worry evident in his eyes. And I thought how much dad loved his sons-in-law and daughter-in-law like his own children. How he taught Dan how to plant a garden one year and talked new cars and business at Bombardier with him; how he worked side-by-side with Wayne on many a project and learned the mysteries of computer technology from him; and how he loved to hear Kim's laughter and how comfortable he was with her easy-going ways.
The day before my father passed away, my mother looked at the medical staff and commented on how impossibly young they all seemed, these uniform clad kids in charge of her husband's care. And I thought that they were probably the age of many of dad's grandchildren - Katie, David, Jaclyn, Rachael, Shilo, Tessa, Liam and Aiden. They all called him Poppy. I thought of the rides he gave them on the luggage cart in the hotel he managed in Newfoundland, the silly presents he bought them, how he let them win at games all the time, how he played Santa Claus on the phone on Christmas Eve, how he braved his fear of water to ride on the tube when we were at the cottage one year. I remembered how he could take their side against us, their parents, quite gleefully, I might add, and how he always came to their graduations and piano and dance recitals; baseball and hockey games; supported their interests and always wanted to know what they were up to. I remembered how dad welcomed his grandchildren-in-law, Amanda and Daniel, into the family with open and loving arms.
The day before my father passed away, I watched a little girl dancing outside the hospital entry doors, her feet skipping and her skirt flying, and I thought of how Dad loved this whole new generation, his great-grandchildren who called him Poppy Senior; Emily and Jake and Josh and Sarah and Liam. How he would snare them with his cane as they galloped by, how he bought them a silly horse's head on a stick that scared the bejeebers out of them when they first saw it, how tenderly he held them when they were little babies.
The day before my father passed away, we watched a Youtube video called "you shall not pass, dog." I'm sure many of you have seen it; it's all about bossy cats blocking nervous and cautious dogs three times their size from getting up or down the stairs. And I thought about how he loved all the dogs in our lives and how they loved to see dad coming and would take up their positions as close to him as possible during mealtime, assured of a handout no matter how many times he was admonished not to feed them from the table. I remembered his daily trips to the waterfront park with Muffin, and how delighted he was with her escapades chasing squirrels and chipmunks, and how we kids dubbed her "Cujo" in honour of her highly refined killing instincts hidden in a fluffy white Lhasa-poo body.
The day my father passed away, the skies were dark and the wind blew cold. It seemed to never warm up that day and the rain fell in a miserable drizzle. I thought of a quote my brother Scott had given me, that he had received from his wife, Kim:
"Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain."
And Scott said, and I agreed, that this described dad, how he always tried to dance in the rain. Just before the operation on his broken hip, he smiled at my camera and flashed two V for victory signs. I remembered how he came back from polio, from a stroke, from open heart surgery, from two knee replacements. I thought of how happy he was just a few weeks ago with his new candy-apple red scooter, and the freedom it promised.
And then suddenly that great heart failed, and he has danced out of our lives forever.
Last night as some of the family gathered for a meal at Swiss Chalet, three-year-old Jake suddenly looked up and said," I see Poppy Senior." And I thought that perhaps he had seen an older man that reminded him of dad. I said to him, "Where did you see him, Jake, can you show me? " He looked around and shrugged his little shoulders and said, "I don't see him now." And I thought of how I don't believe in ghosts or spirits returning from the dead. But I do believe in the faith of a little child, and how the veil between this world and the next can sometimes be tissue-thin. And I thought of how much dad would have loved to have been at last night's dinner, laughing and talking with his family. So I will choose to believe Jake saw dad with us last night, and I will choose to believe we can continue to keep the spirit of my father close by doing those things he loved and cherishing the values he embodied and taught by example.
He taught me about honour and honesty and hard work and doing your best. That even a poor motherless farm boy with limited education can reach pretty much every goal he aims for in the military and business worlds with a strong work ethic and a desire to be the very best he can be. He taught me to keep up on current events, to love my country and how lucky I am to live in a democracy and that it is a duty and privilege to vote. He taught me to be a good neighbour and that just because it isn't your garbage can rolling around in the middle of the road after the garbage is picked up, it doesn't mean you don't have to retrieve it and set it up safely out of traffic. He taught me about living with grace in the face of adversity and not to abandon the frail and the weak, to be there for people during the significant events in their lives if only to bear witness to them. He taught me that spending time with children and being really interested in their lives is more important than any fancy vacation or material gift and to welcome new people into the family with open arms. He also taught me that voting Conservative is always best, but I'm afraid that lesson never quite took very well.
Lastly, my dad taught me about his quiet Christian faith that underpinned all that he did. One of his favourite hymns was "The Old Rugged Cross." As the chorus says, I believe my dad has laid his trophies down and exchanged them for an eternal crown. I know I will see him again. Praise God.
Richard married Sarah Ethelyn Evelyn DUNCALFE, daughter of Percival Alfred DUNCALFE and Sarah Agnes Mabel JOHNSTON.