Date of Birth: March 28, 1951
Date of Death: March 30, 2026
We are sad to announce that Ken Furber passed peacefully at home in his sleep on Monday, March 30, 2026. Ken was a tenacious reporter for the Melville Advance and Fort Qu’Appelle Times among many other community newspapers throughout B.C., Alberta and Saskatchewan. Ken loved to write and share stories and as such the following are his words.
If you’re reading this it means I Kenneth Walter Furber (late of Sooke, B.C.), have croaked, kicked the bucket, shrugged this mortal coil, gone to meet my maker.
OK I’m dead.
Born March 28, 1951, in Rossland, B.C. I stumbled my way through 75 years. And it’s been an interesting time, like The Chinese curse.
I’ve lived or visited every province and territory but PEI, in this great country, a chunk of the US, some of the Carribean, a nibble of Northern Europe and a bite of South America (Cartagena). I had great parents Fred and Vi, now dead, a sister, Maureen, still kicking, three nieces/nephews, Velvet, Nikki and Matthew and a crap load of cousins (Furbers are a fruitful bunch) and nicer-than-I-deserved in-laws. Most of all, I was luckier than my weathered hide deserved to have the greatest wife (Dianne), son (Terrance) and daughter-in-law (Terrilyn) in the whole wide world. No, I’m not exaggerating. It’s documented. Look it up www.Iwouldn’tlietoyou.com
Interesting also, describes my work history to a tee. Besides 20 years as a small-town community newspaper reporter/editor, I also enjoyed time as a forest-fire lookout, five years in the Canadian Navy and five and a half years as a dispatcher/complaint-taker for the Burnaby RCMP. There’s a lot more to mention, because I tend to get bored (or fired), but I’ll leave it at that. I’ve been blessed to have lived most of my life in or near wild or semi-wild places.
There is nothing like the feel of sun on my shoulders, wind in my hair, or the sound of a boot crunching along a seldom used trail.
I’ve hiked from the ocean-side trails of Southern Vancouver Island to the haunting hills of Northern Ellesmere Island. (the frozen chosen know what I’m talking about here.)
Life could have been more interesting I suppose but I don’t know how.
I want you to know I didn’t die easy, as in “don’t go easy into that good night”. I loved this life, and sucked every bit of goodness out of it I could. It’s worth fighting for.
I’d been aiming at a century, but reality, common sense, my love of beer and asbestos exposure came knocking.
Mostly it was the asbestos. Who’d-a-thought? Peritoneal Mesotheleoma had other plans. Look it up! It’s a fine lovely beauty of a disease. Deadly as hell and takes its time.
Enjoys its work-it does.
At least I made it past 75. Many of my comrades in life did not. I’m grateful for my life and those I lived it with. They were gems.
Well, that’s it, my friends.
Remember, the meaning of life is to live it.
Simple as that. So get on with it.
In lieu of flowers etc. please do a random act of kindness for someone.
Catch you on the flip side.
