Colin McLaren Grindlay.Courtesy of family
Colin McLaren Grindlay: Husband. Father. Engineer. Bon viveur. Born Sept. 12, 1937, in Keynsham, England; died Oct. 5, 2020, in Richmond, B.C., of kidney failure, leading to medically assisted death; aged 83.
The contractor’s truck pulled into Colin Grindlay’s curving driveway and several large men got out. He strode out to meet them. They had been hired to waterproof the deck surface above the “granny suite” he had designed for his mother. Even as an engineer not long in Canada, Colin understood the challenges of waterproofing a flat, load-bearing surface in British Columbia’s notoriously soggy Lower Mainland. He had researched it and come up with an innovative design, utilizing a synthetic paper-making fabric that would sit beneath the membrane, wick and drain away any moisture that might make it past the sealed surface.
A few minutes later, he stormed back into the kitchen, lividly agitated, while angry men got back into the truck, slamming doors and heaping unprintable curses upon the British. But that was the way Colin rolled: He had a plan, and that was that.
Canada may not have been ready for him, or maybe he wasn’t ready for Canada, but Colin uprooted his family from Wimbledon in 1981 and relocated to Vancouver to take an international consulting job.
Colin was blessed with keen intelligence and athletic ability. He studied paper technology at the University of Manchester Institute of Science and Technology, followed by a master’s degree in mechanical engineering. As a bon viveur, star rugby player, snappy dresser and president of the UMIST Athletic Union, Colin made the most of student life, enjoying a balanced diet of science, sport, Indian food and beer.
It was at UMIST that he met Patricia Waight, who was studying industrial chemistry. Colin’s romantic disposition and the sight of his knees in a kilt combined to win her over, and they were married in 1962. A true Scot, he signed every card to Pat with Robbie Burns’s line, “Till all the seas gang dry,” and he meant it.
Pat nixed Colin’s plan to have six children, because their boys, Mark, Paul and Bruce, were keeping her very busy while he was away building a career. Colin was an expert in the use of secondary fibres and recycling and recognized internationally for the ingenuity of his designs.
Colin retired reluctantly in 2000, but he was happy to spend more time with his six grandchildren. Although not given to displays of affection, Colin had a big heart and loved to entertain. On holidays in the south of France, with a glass of fine red in his hand, he would regale his rapt grandchildren with often outrageous tales of his business travels.
Colin loved reading, solving crossword puzzles with Pat (especially The Globe and Mail cryptics), cooking and making chutneys, pickles and raspberry vinegar. They created delicious Sunday dinners for the family, although Colin was inclined to improvise rather than follow recipes. He would get upset when his “experiments” didn’t turn out, but still expected the family to eat them because wasting food was unacceptable. The prawn-head bisque debacle is wretchedly etched in family history. Enough said.
Colin found the indignities of aging exasperating. An old knee injury that turned him from a rugby player into a supporter would later require several orthopedic surgeries, a cane, a walker and eventually a wheelchair. A diagnosis of type 2 diabetes contraindicated his favourite foods, but Colin frequently bent the rules (as any self-respecting gourmand would do), which led to further complications. When he confronted a palliative diagnosis of congestive heart and kidney failure, Colin saw his opportunity to regain control and requested medical assistance in dying. He had a bold plan and his family admire him for it.
Colin Grindlay died peacefully with his devoted wife and sons by his bedside. As he said at the end: “Au revoir, my loves, we have had some great times.”
Paul and Bruce Grindlay are Colin’s sons.
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