The last chapter just closed for my dear friend, Willa. I had been looking forward to celebrating her 100th birthday, but she was just a few months shy of turning 99. She was one of the first foreigners I ever met—although technically, I was the foreigner, since we met in Canada.
I can’t begin to express how grateful I am to have had Willa and her late husband, Bruce, as my host family. What was supposed to be a temporary arrangement turned into a relationship that lasted decades.
I watched her grandchildren grow from babies to adults, then into newlyweds and parents themselves. When my oldest nephew visited Canada last year, one of Willa’s daughters and her husband invited him over for dinner, offering him the same kindness I had always received. That’s the kind of ripple Willa created—her generosity extended far beyond herself.
Made it to honourary family status!
She was also unforgettable. Willa loved Josh Groban but had no patience for Mariah Carey. Once, in a supermarket, she actually asked them to turn off the music because, as she put it, “Mariah is shouting.” She had that mix of boldness and humor that made people laugh—and sometimes blush.
But her heart was even bigger than her personality. Despite her painful arthritic hands, she knitted dozens of hats for Syrian refugees arriving in Canada, determined to keep them warm in winter. That was Willa: feisty enough to boss around a grocery store, yet tender enough to knit through pain for people she had never met.
Tiny heads, big gratitude: kindergarteners in Willa’s handmade hats
And when life knocked me off course—when I had to leave the U.S. because of a visa issue—she gave me a lifeline. “If America deports you, Canada will import you,” she told me. She insisted I stay with her. I did, and it became one of the best chapters of my life.
Willa showed me that family isn’t just who you’re born into, but who insists on keeping you around.
Canada may not have kept me, but you did, Willa. And I’ll carry you with me, always.
Cheers to you, Willa!