Saying Yes to Life: A Love Story

Donald Dawson — Mon, 08 Dec 2025 19:13:20 +0000

Miriam - THE BLACKSMITH'S WIFE - writes

When Donald and I first participated in the East Side Culture Crawl 9 years ago, I would greet people who asked questions I couldn't answer. I'd say, "I'm not the blacksmith, I'm the blacksmith's wife." I repeated this so many times that I considered writing a blog called The Blacksmith's Wife. So here I am, writing about Donald and other topics to complement the Project Stories blogs on his website.

What's a machinist?

When it comes to surprises, I love it when something completely blows me away and changes how I see myself, who I am, and my worldview.

It's never something I can predict, and whatever I've known up to that point changes forever - a turnaround that shifts my mindset, beliefs, and prejudices.

Take, for example, machinists.

I met one at a dance class.

Me, the snob

Donald was one of several crew members who volunteered to help the owner-teacher of CEROC Canada with her two weekly modern jive classes. My work colleague was part of this group. At his invitation, I tried it out one Friday night and LOVED it! (That's not me in the picture below, by the way. This was before my time.)

Donald had worked for over 22 years at UBC in the Department of Electrical and Computer Engineering as an engineering technician, teaching students how to design and build their inventions and supporting PhD research.

What he built and modified—robotics, medical probes, motors, anechoic chambers—was like stepping into another world for me.

So, being the intellectual knowledge worker (snob) that I was, I had never dated a blue-collar technician.

When Donald told me that he had trained as a machinist, I needed a dictionary.

CARING FOR HIS PARENTS WITH DEMENTIA

What I found was an unusually gentle, loving and responsible man caring for parents in his childhood home. They were both in their late 80s and had dementia.

He had refused to abandon these two people who had had him late in life, had cared for him extensively, and had done so with great determination during his challenging and sickly first 17 years.

Everything about Donald told me to hang in there. I had left a volatile and difficult marriage, and this man was different.

He was worth it.

With some trepidation, and asking himself, "What will Miriam think?" Donald brought me home.

His mom, tickled for him, left this earth happy within months.

His dad couldn't get over Donald's unexpected find.

After selling the house, two of his three other siblings took their dad north to live with them until his death, and Donald, at 48, moved out.

A year later, I moved in with him and his cat, Jackie. That cat loved me fiercely, and it was mutual.

Later, when Jackie got sick and needed daily subcutaneous saline fluids, I learned how to administer them from our vet. Donald held him, and I put the needle in. That gave us all another year and a half together.

Jackie and THE UNEXPECTED

When I said yes to life, I surprised myself in unexpected ways.

First, I agreed to go out for coffee with Donald, though dating terrified me, and it had been almost 20 years since I last dated. I'm so grateful that I stayed long enough to see who he truly was.

Second, I surprised myself by welcoming love at 56. I did tell him, when we were first going out, that he was dating an older woman. I couldn't tell his age. He looked really young. He didn't care, he said. His limit was 8 years difference. Now that I think of it, he probably made that up because I'd told him my age, though he didn't tell me his right away.

Finally, the deep love I felt for Jackie was utterly unexpected. He nestled into my soul as if I'd known him forever.

You see, these feelings for Jackie were so strong that it was as if I had never even noticed animals before. As that connection grew, I couldn't recognize myself. Suddenly, every animal cracked me open.

If you'd met me at this time and had a cat or dog, you could be sure that most of the conversation would be about them.

When we first dated and phoned at night, Donald always talked about Jackie. I used to wonder if this was crazy. Didn't he have anything else to talk about?

How fascinating could a cat be?

after Jackie, SIMON

During the summer of 2014, our beloved Jackie died of cancer at 16. Miraculously, during the most profound grief over Jackie's absence, we rescued 2½-year-old Simon 10 days later.

Donald is a Creative, and so am I. Donald invents, solves problems, and researches his craft whenever he gets the chance. And I have been writing since I was twelve. The writer part of me is home.

One main difference between us is that he's not in his head the way I am. I envy that. So, no surprise that I've been part of Jungian-themed writing circles since coming to Vancouver in 2008. Luckily, when Donald accompanied me to C.G. Jung Society lectures, he rarely nodded off. If he did, you could be sure that I was dozing too.

It's been 15 years now since we first got together—lucky, lucky us.

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