02/25/2026
Pop, you’ll never be replaced. ❤️
They tell me the day I came into this world you had a paint brush in my hand and were already teaching me how to use it. From the time I can actually remember — four years old, standing on the middle bar of the lawn mower cutting grass at your place — you were shaping my life without either of us even knowing it. The two cemeteries in Dover meant everything to you, and you made sure they meant something to me too.
When you finally let me take the mower on my own at four, Mom nearly skinned you alive — but you weren’t letting me do it just for fun. I had my square of the cemetery, and it had to be perfect. That was the true start of my career and my life. You taught me quality, independence, pride in your work, and reliability before I even knew what those words meant.
At 12, when I said I wanted a job, you told me no one would hire a 12-year-old — so you said, “Why don’t you start mowing lawns?” And that was the beginning of everything. That day started Colby’s Odd Jobs & Lawn Care. We ran with it. You were devoted to your two boys and our success more than anything in this world.
When I wrote my real estate exam, you were cheering me on from over 300 km away. When I needed business cards for the stores around the loop, you’d go check if they were gone yet and call me proud as ever when they were. You carried my excitement like it was your own.
When I moved back to Gambo and started Parsons Excavation & Landscaping, you might not have been on the equipment, but you were always there. No matter how bad things got, it was always, “Yes b’y, I know my son — you’ll figure it out.”
Then came Parsons Contracting and the duplex development just doors from your house. Every day you’d walk up over the hill for a look, or sit in your living room watching. You’d call and say Nan had dinner ready and ask if I was stopping by. Most days I said I was too busy — and I’d give anything to hear that call again. Still, you’d have my favorite treats packed in a bag and drop them off to me in the equipment.
Every coffee break at the duplexes, there you were walking up the hill with something sweet for the crew — and you made it your mission to learn everyone’s favorite so you could bring it the next day. That was you. Always thinking of someone else. Always giving.
I told Nan the last few days she won’t have near as much baking to do anymore — because you won’t be there to give it all away before it even cools. You loved seeing people enjoy something you had a part in.
You got to meet Buddy for a few months, and even though you weren’t the biggest dog fan, if I called it was, “Drop him off” or “I’m on the way.” Yesterday Buddy ran around your house looking for a scratch, heartbroken like the rest of us. And apparently whatever you had for supper… he had too. 😂
I don’t say this lightly, and not just because you’re gone — from our family, our crew, and everyone who knew you… you could not have given more love, help, or compassion if you tried. Every single thing you did put someone else before yourself.
I am so grateful for every second we had — seconds that turned into a lifetime of lessons, laughs, and love. You got to see our first development start, and that alone is a blessing I’ll carry forever. I can already hear you saying about every job ahead, “Looks wonderful, b’y.”
Pop, everything I build, every lawn cut straight, every project done right — that’s you.
I’ll figure it out, just like you always said.
Love you forever. ❤️
