Ihor Dolhanyk

Ihor and his brother, my Dad,rarely spoke of their past - but it is extraordinary, and tragic, and shattering. It must have haunted them, and shaped their lives and characters and choices in ways that we cannot even begin to understand. They were children of Ukrainian refugees fleeing WW2 and Stalin, only to find themselves, during and after the war, shuttled between POW and refugee camps, displaced and forgotten and homeless, leaving everything and everyone they loved and knew behind. The family eventually settled in Hamilton around 1949, but, after all they had been through, Ihor was to lose his parents at the age of 10 to a drunk driver on the 401, to be then raised by a succession of foster carers and group homes. I cannot imagine how these experiences could have affected him and my Dad, let only comprehend how they survived it all — but they did, with grace and grit. I am not saying they didn’t have their own demons to battle from these experiences - who wouldn’t - but in Ihor’s case, he survived with style and flair and a strong drive for freedom, independence and a zest for life that even the darkest moments couldn’t take from him.

What I will remember, and miss, most about him: that laugh!! That distinctive chuckle that made everyone smile. He had a mischievious twinkle in his eye and the room changed when he walked into it - you knew you were in for fun when he entered or you might as well pack up and go home. When I saw him as a child —it was like being throw into a wild adventure. He’d take us to exoticrestaurants, let me play video games as long as I wanted, bought me a shooting gallery to my parents’ chagrin (but to my heart’s content), and how thrilling it was to be with all those motorcycles. As a teen, he let me drive his sports car - he had such an open heart and so much affection for his family and a desire to be together.

He had his ups and downs, like we all do. After he lost his beloved motorcycle shop, he held various jobs, though I suspect he’d get bored quickly with the daily routine — his passion was for the freedom of an open road. He loved and lost hard, moved cities too often to keep track of, but he was a rebel at heart, a passionate guy, and though he may have expected a lot from others he was also happy to give back, and family was important to him.

We’d go through periods in which we didn’t see each other at all, but we always reconnected and were always seeking each other out - and we always found each other.If I had known how precious our last communication was, I would have held on and made sure he knew how much he was cared for. But I know we will find each other once again at the end of it all.

Ihor, you are my family — you are woven into my life more deeply than I have ever realized. I thank you for all you have ever done for me, and I will miss you terribly.