Sitting at the round table in our sun room this week, Richmond attorney Veronica Armstrong talked about her life and her legal practice. She had given a free presentation on wills and personal planning at the Hedley Seniors’ Centre Saturday evening. Linda and I invited her to come for coffee before returning to her home Monday morning.

“My husband and I moved to Canada from South Africa in 1998,” she told us. “Our home was in Johannesburg, a leading financial centre at the time. We came for our 3 children. There was a lot of crime. We didn’t want them to have to look over their shoulders all the time.”

As with many immigrants, the move proved to be difficult for her. Having experienced the end of Apartheid, she had very much wanted to be part of the transition to a more equitable society. Not knowing many people in her new community, she felt deeply lonely. Also, in spite of solid legal experience in the financial realm in South Africa, finding employment in Canada was challenging.

Veronica is fluent in English and Afrikaans, and also speaks enough Cantonese to get by. “In South Africa I worked for a huge bank,” she said. “I was head of the bank’s international legal division. When I looked for work in Canada, employers intimated I had come from some remote backwater. The only job I could get initially was at a Taco Time.”

In 1999 the B.C. Securities Commission advertised a position. The competition had actually closed a week earlier, but she called and asked if she could still apply. When she told them she had considerable experience with derivatives, they instructed her to fax her resume immediately. They were looking at applications that afternoon.

Veronica was hired and worked for the Commission from 1999-2007, then joined a start-up company in real estate. When the crash of 2008 killed the company, she founded her own law practice, Veronica Armstrong Law Corporation, and started over. Her focus now is primarily on wills and personal planning, including power of attorney and representative agreements. She also does some small business contracts. All her clients, many of whom are women, come to her by referral. “Sometimes they just need to talk about their planning,” she said. “When they know they have done it right, they can relax.”

I asked Veronica what basic counsel she has for people. “Wills aren’t important just for people up in age,” she said. “It‘s a good idea for younger people to have a will too. Also, review the will, especially when there has been a major change such as a birth or a death in the family. Begin to have a conversation with the executor of your will or whoever has the power of attorney. Make your wishes known. Deal with legal and financial matters.”

“It’s also a good idea to have a Representative Agreement,” she continued. “This puts in writing your wishes concerning personal care and health care.” Legal advice is important so it’s done right, she suggested.

We then went on to ask Veronica further about her interests and activities away from her office. She smiled broadly as she talked with great enthusiasm about her 3 children. There was also excitement in her voice when she told us about her role in music at the church she attends. “There are about 3,000 families,” she said. “We have people from the Philippines, Goa (India), Africa and China, as well as many Caucasians.” She sings in 2 choirs and leads one church choir. Music is a joy and she continues to take voice lessons. Sensing her excitement when she talked about the church involvement, it was easy to conclude this is where she finds a great deal of inclusion and fulfillment.

When I asked about her purpose in life, she said, “I tried to figure this out for about a year. Now I understand that my purpose is to love. I smile at people a lot when I’m out walking. Some smile back. Some probably think I’m crazy.”

When we bade her goodbye, she smiled and gave us each a warm hug. An attorney whose interest goes far beyond wills and contracts, she does indeed love people. It’s easy to smile when Veronica smiles.

Almost without exception, most of us avoid associating with the “untouchables” in our society. It’s even more unlikely we will seek them out with the intent of being their friend. Arnet Hales is one of that rare breed willing to be a friend to those society has cast off as worthless scum.

I first met Arnet in Hedley in the 1980’s when he was 27, phenomenally fit and about to attain a Black Belt in karate. His brutal training regimen sent shivers along my spine. He had come to work at the wilderness camp for young offenders operated by the One Way Adventure Foundation.

In September of this year, Arnet and spouse Gina travelled 1700 kilometres to the Idaho Maximum Security Institution so he could visit for two hours with a man he did not know and had never met. Brian, the inmate he visited, has served 10 years of his sentence, receives no visits, and, according to Arnet, “is unlikely to ever see the street again.” Arnet chooses not to ask about Brian’s crime but knows he is not welcome outside prison walls.

When the Hales visited Linda and me on their return trip from Idaho, I saw that the past 35 years have exacted a heavy toll on Arnet’s once impressive trim physique. “Several years ago an illness landed me in a hospital isolation ward for 6 months,” he said. “The medical people weren’t sure I’d ever get out. I still have little short term memory and my balance is uncertain.” The resolute determination we observed in his martial arts workouts is still there though, and he has extended his walking from 60 steps to 8,200.

His early pilgrimage was on a treacherous path, mired in a quicksand of turmoil. “My dad had a serious gambling addiction and was probably in jail when I was born in 1949,” he said. “My mom took my sister and me out of the home and moved us to a hotel in a seedy section of Swift Current, Saskatchewan. I was sexually assaulted there by a resident.”

In 1967 he ran away from home and lived on the streets for a year. “That December I was arrested with a pocket full of drugs. I did 3 years in jail for that.” Upon release he got a truck driving job but rear ended a car, “probably due to an alcoholic binge the night before.” He was quickly fired and a period of deep depression ensued.

His life took a more positive turn in 1974 when he met Marilyn. “She was beautiful and I loved her,” he said. “I don’t know if she loved me, but she tolerated me.” She invited him to a Sally Ann production. “I went so I’d be able to sit beside her. She was in the production and that didn’t happen.” He says he did have a spiritual experience though and heard a voice say, “Arnet, it’s time to come home.” That night he slept through to the morning for the first time in years, and his life began to change. Possibly his own arduous journey helps him understand Brian desperately needs a friend.

It began several years ago when a woman in Pt. Hardy handed him a letter and said, “I think you’re the one to respond to this.”

Many letters later, Gina told Arnet she had holidays coming in September. She suggested they drive to Idaho so he could visit Brian. They arrived at the prison September 11 and Arnet was escorted into the visits area. A glass barrier would prevent physical contact.

“Brian was brought in, his hands cuffed tightly behind his back. His head was lowered until the cuffs were removed. When he looked up and realized I was the visitor, he smiled broadly.”

At the end of their visit Arnet said a prayer for Brian. Glancing up, he saw that Brian had placed his finger tips against the glass separating them. Arnet placed his finger tips against the glass opposite Brian’s. In 10 years it was the closest this lonely man had come to having positive physical contact with anyone outside the prison.

“I just want Brian to know he’s not totally alone,” Arnet said in response to my question. “I want him to know he has a friend.”

In a subsequent letter, Brian wrote “I told the chaplain, Arnet is my friend.”

When I received the email saying cousin Eddy had just passed away, a thought emerged unbidden from the misty depths of my sub-conscious. It suggested there was a conversation I had not had with Eddy. Now the opportunity had slipped away and a sense of dark disquiet settled in the bowels of my psyche.

I always called Eddy on his birthday. However, in work and life experience, we had walked on radically different paths. I realized now that conversationally we had not drilled deep enough.

A few days after the email, Eddy’s sister asked me to gather information about his life and write the eulogy. Maybe, I thought, his 8 surviving siblings would be able to answer some of the questions I should have asked him.

I wanted to know what had given him meaning and a sense of fulfillment. What had been important to him? What had given him pleasure and joy? Had anything surprised him? Did he regret anything? Who had he been close to? What were his thoughts, knowing he would shortly draw his final breath??

Eddy was born at home in a small settlement not far from Steinbach, Manitoba, the same area in which I was born. He was delivered by our grandmother Susana, who in her time delivered hundreds of babies. Our mothers were sisters. In 1947 the family moved to the Fraser Valley and when he was old enough, he quit school and got a job.

Most of his 9 siblings became successful in real estate. Several gravitated to the eye glass business. Eddy worked as a trucker, driving first a highway rig and in recent years a dump truck.

It was well known that he lived with a couple of addictions. One sister said, “he enjoyed his alcohol and cigarettes.” His siblings were concerned about this but he apparently did not give much thought to the health implications. If there was a price to pay, he would pay it without grumbling. Unlike some who are driven to despair and life on the street by substance dependency, Eddy possessed the inner ruggedness to carry on with work and a social life.

His siblings are now focusing on the positives. “In his early years,” Alven his youngest brother recalled, “Eddy was a great yodeler. He played the accordian very well. He tried to teach me but that didn’t go anywhere. He was my big brother.”

Being a truck driver gave Eddy a sense of deep purpose and self-respect. Jake, an older brother said, “he was a born trucker. For him the truck was almost like a live person. When his truck was being loaded, he stood on the running board to watch. He didn’t allow it to be overloaded.”

Vic, the superintendent on many high rise projects Eddy drove for said, “he was my best driver. When we were ready to begin digging a hole for a new building, in the morning I’d see a truck come flying around the corner. It was always Eddy. He set the pace.” Cathy, his life partner, said he was called “Fast Eddy” by other truckers. He retired at age 70. In appreciation for his faithful service, his employer sent him and Kathy to Mexico for a holiday.

Eddy’s joy came from an extraordinarily close relationship with Cathy, the love of his life for the past 10 years. “Five years ago our dog Princess and I began riding in the truck with him on his jobs,” she said.“I’d pack a lunch, sometimes it was buns with sliced meat and tomatoes. We’d stop in a park and eat. Eddy often told people we have a picnic everyday.” Rob Redekop, the company owner, said that when Cathy started riding with Eddy the paperwork improved.

For 20 years a shadow had hovered over Eddy’s life. He had not talked with his only son during that time and didn’t know how to bring about a healing of the relationship. A week before he passed away, his brothers Jake and Andy approached the son about a reconciliation. Eddy’s younger sister Leona shaved Eddy and cut his hair, to prepare him for the surprise visit. It went well, and Eddy’s son and family are now getting used to being part of the extended family.

According to Alven, just before his passing Eddy said, “I’ve made peace with God. I’m not scared to die. I’m happy.” He drew his last breath while Alven was holding him in his arms.