Tuesday, July 22, 2025
Bill, Laura, Tommy, Jason, grandchildren and fur babies, I was so shocked to learn that Candy had passed away. My thoughts and prayers are with you all. May your many memories of Candy provide you some comfort during this difficult time.
To me, Candy will forever and always be Keek. Keek had the kind of presence that filled a room without taking it over. She had a great laugh, a sharp wit, and this calm, comforting way about her that made you feel safe and seen.
Growing up, she was the cool aunt. The one with the Firebird, the best music, the door always open, and the house where the party didn’t really end until morning.
She used to pay me a quarter to draw letters on her back when I was little—my first “massage client.” Later, when I became a registered massage therapist, she’d laugh and say, “So, do I still get the family rate? A quarter, right?”
For a while she lived in the one-room house at the end of Gram and Grampie’s driveway and would let us sleepover. I remember she had a cat that would eat the ankles off her when she would walk across the floor. She had us over for sleepovers at her apartment in Forest Hill and would take us to the wading pool. She always hosted the best sleepovers.
Keek loved her kids with her whole heart. That was never in question. Life wasn’t always easy for her —but she always made sure the people she loved felt loved. Her kind of love was quiet, fierce, and loyal. It showed up in rides, meals, hugs, phone calls, and late-night talks. It showed up in how she held space for people. And it showed up, too, in how she always made room for joy and adventure.
Some of my most vivid memories are of nights that Angela and I spent with Keek at the Legion and Lions Club at the dances in Boiestown. Keek would always save us a seat and tell us the life story of every single person in the room if we asked “who is that?”. Her laughter could lift your whole mood. When you were out with Keek, you belonged. She made sure of it. We had met almost everyone in Boiestown after a few nights out with Keek.
We used to send emails and forward those “about you quizzes” and one of my favourite responses she ever sent was when I asked her what her favourite sport to watch on TV was and her response was “it’s on CMT, Kenny Chesney jogging up the sandy beach”. Me too Keek, me too.
She had that same spirit of welcome with Serguei. When he came to New Brunswick for training at Base Gagetown, Keek didn’t hesitate. She picked him up on the weekend and made sure he had the full Keek experience—rides through town, stories over meals at Mama’s Pub and Ringos where she seemed to also know everyone. Serguei came back from those outings full of stories I hadn’t even heard. That was her magic—she could make anyone feel like family.
Keek always carried herself with a quiet resilience that stuck with me, despite what she faced. Some of the deepest, most grounding moments I shared with Keek came during times of grief. I’ll never forget sitting beside her and Aunt Neen at Great-Gram’s visitation, all of us crying, holding each other, and even laughing through the pain. They joked back then that they’d save us a spot at the next visitation. The next time, it was Aunt Neen. And now… it’s Keek. That emptiness hits hard. It feels like no one’s left holding our spot. But maybe—just maybe—she’s holding one for us somewhere else now. A seat at the table in heaven. Probably near the music. Probably on the dance floor. Probably with a drink in hand, telling stories and keeping people company, like always. I’m betting she’s got a full table surrounding her and Terry, Tracy, Danny, Gram, and Grampie and Great Gram and Aunt Neen were just some of the first to greet her as she entered the pearly gates.
I will never forget how Keek could fall asleep anywhere—often mid-conversation. She’d ask you a question and be asleep within seconds before you could reply. We would all know she was out by the sound of her snores, even though she’d deny it later. That, too, was her: cozy, familiar, human. She wasn’t trying to be perfect. She was just trying to love us all the best she could.
So thank you, Keek. For being a big part of my childhood. For the Firebird rides. The music. The dancing and nights out. The sleepovers. The quarters for the back massages. The time with Serguei. The hugs. The stories. The laughter. And for making sure we always had a seat—at the table, in the car, on the dance floor, in your heart.
We love you. We miss you. Thanks for always holding a place for us.
Love, Jacqueline, Serguei and Sophia Kabanov
