Born and raised a Newfoundlander, my father was fiercely proud of his heritage. His heart was firmly embedded in Newfoundland’s granite cliffs and pristine shores! Throughout his life he’d fished her unspoiled rivers, combed her hills and marshes hunting moose and snaring rabbits, and picking berries that always grew aplenty, ever thankful for the glorious bounty God had bestowed upon Newfoundlanders. He knew every tree, plant and animal native to the island and was more at home miles in the woods than anywhere else on the face of the earth. Stephenville was the little town Max White called home and he’d been self-employed there as an upholsterer, a very good one at that, all of his life! Once a very lucrative profession, especially when the Ernest Harmon Air Force Base was still operational, times changed and one day the bottom fell out of the upholstery business and Father was unable to provide for his family anymore. In 1967, he packed up everything he owned and moved to New Brunswick where his family very soon began to feel at home. But he was like a fish out of water and although he tried to make the best of the situation, his love for Newfoundland pulled at his heartstrings, leaving him despondent and lonely. Dad’s primary focus in life had always been the well being of his wife and family, but when the children were finally grown and moved onto lives of their own, he hoped with all his heart he and Mom would move back to Newfoundland where he’d happily end his days. But Mom had gotten used to city life and while she loved to visit the island periodically, she had no desire to live there again, away from her children and grandchildren. Dad's dream, to live out his golden years in his beloved Newfoundland, was never to be! A few years before he passed away in 1997, dad made a heart-wrenching request to my brother, a request he didn’t want to share with Mom for fear of hurting her feelings. When the time came for him to meet his maker, he wanted his remains to be buried in Newfoundland, because his heart had never left there and that was where he belonged. After Dad passed away, tormented by what he knew, my brother told Mom about Dad’s wish to be buried in Newfoundland. But Mom, devastated by her loss, insisted he be buried close by so that she could visit him whenever she wanted. They were four months away from their 50th wedding anniversary when he died; they’d spent a lifetime together and she didn’t want to be separated from him now! There was nothing to do but support her in every way. Dad would never have wanted to hurt her! Years went by quickly; now Mom is buried beside Dad in a cemetery in New Brunswick and it breaks my heart to know he never wanted to be there. But when I go back to Newfoundland I still feel his presence and I know his heart is embedded in the beautiful granite cliffs and pristine shores of the island he loved more than anything!   Submitted By: Nancy Crossman