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Nana G; Whistler's grandma; leaves legacy of giving

Lil Goldsmid read to Whistler's kids over the years
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A place in the kids' hearts Lil Goldsmid passed away on Sept. 27 at the age of 90. Her family and the wider community mourn her passing. Photo submitted

She was known simply as "Nana."

In Whistler, where most kids don't have grandparents living nearby, Lil Goldsmid was "everyone's Grandma."

"Nana took that place in the kids' hearts," said Susan Christopher, Grade 1 teacher at Myrtle Philip Community School, where Lil has been reading to the kids once a week for almost 20 years.

It began when Lil's first granddaughter Lonnie Wake was in Grade 1, and carried on for all the other Whistler kids over the years.

"The kids loved Nana... She always had a way of just making everybody feel special," said Christopher.

"Nana always had a story or two to tell about her garden or making Mr. Goldsmid his lunch or playing cribbage with him. Nana adored Howard and her eyes would sparkle when she talked about him."

Word would spread quickly through the school when Lil was on the way.

"Everybody would be like, 'Yay, Nana's coming!'" said 10-year-old Elle Johnston. "She was so sweet to everybody."

And just as quickly the somber news spread this weekend that Lil had died on Friday, Sept. 27. She was 90 years old.

She hadn't been herself for about six months — a valve in her heart wasn't working as it should.

The end was fast.

Her loss, however, will linger across Whistler's generations.

A voracious reader herself with a steel-trap memory, when Lil wasn't reading to the kids, she would be at Steve Bayly's house, newspaper in hand.

"She would come and read the Pique to me with (her husband) Howard and we would debate the issues that were in the paper," said Bayly with fondness.

Bayly has been battling a degenerative eye disease for years.

"She'd keep me up to date on all the goings on of the town."

The reminders are stark this week, and painful.

The cheeky "Nana G" vanity plate on her car, the knick-knacks dotted around the Goldsmid's welcoming home where the fire burns chasing away the chilly rain outside yet unable to warm the heavy hearts within.

Lil's Diamond Jubilee medal lies in its official maroon box on the sideboard, her Citizen of the Year plaque hangs by the door. These are the tangible reminders of what Lil has meant to Whistler — her charitable work with Whistler Community Services Society and the food bank, her work raising funds for the library by repurposing hotel flower bulbs and selling them, her unexpected treats for people she didn't know — construction workers, road workers, the hotel workers where she would pick up her free copy of the Globe and Mail every day. It wouldn't take long for Lil to get to know your name.

"She didn't shine 'til she came to Whistler," said Howard, her husband of 66 years. She found her place in the mountains when we first came in 1967 and when they moved permanently in the 80s Lil began to leave her indelible stamp.

Lil was born at St. Paul's Hospital in Vancouver on May 14, 1923, the youngest of two girls. She spent her childhood in Burnaby and by the time she was a teenager she had discovered skiing at Holyburn.

A natural athlete, Lil loved skiing and she was good at it — the western Canadian champion, no less, in 1946.

She wasn't a daredevil; she was just gracefully gifted. "She was a pretty skier," says daughter Leslee Wake. "You could tell her style (from afar)."

Everything changed for Lil when she was 20 years old, at a roller-skating party one Thursday night. It was 1943. World War II was still raging and a handsome young serviceman was at home on leave.

It was, quite simply, love at first sight — a love that endured.

It was Lil's "enthusiasm" that caught Howard's eye. They were married in 1947 and rarely apart after that.

Howard and Lil settled down to raising a family and growing their business. Two children, Leslee and Bruce, and seven butcher shops, followed.

Weekends were spent together as a family, in the mountains preferably hiking or skiing, as much as possible.

"Lil taught me the beauty of nature," said her great niece Leah Mortensen in an email from Istanbul. "I remember collecting small rocks from the beach down from their house, licking them to keep them shiny and colorful. That night she placed a small glass bowl beside my bed and filled the bowl with water to keep my rocks in all their beauty. I took those rocks back to Calgary, and felt frustrated when the water was constantly evaporating in the dry Alberta air. The next Christmas she sent me a rock polishing kit."

Lil's defining characteristic — thinking of others and doing things to make them feel special.

Lil's neighbour Marla Zucht remembers dropping in to visit out of the blue with her five-year-old niece in tow.

Lil disappeared for a minute and when she reappeared she had a tea set in hand.

"What every little girl would want," said Zucht. "My niece still talks about it, still treasures it."

It made for a home, filled with strangers and knick knacks that would be passed on to someone else, and with fun and love.

It helped that Lil was an old hand in the kitchen.

Bringing home hungry, stray friends for a feed was never a problem for the Goldsmid kids; Lil would set more places, rustle up more food.

There was never a Christmas dinner where complete strangers weren't at the table. She took it all in stride, able to spin out a dinner she had planned for four, to a feast for many.

"Mom brought people into her life and kept them there," said Wake, who can't help but skip into the present tense, the loss just too hard to comprehend, as she talks about her mom. "She sees the best in people, not the worst."

Perhaps Lil's compassion grew out of her own struggles — she understood depression because she went through it herself. As always, if she could help by giving something of herself, by sharing, she simply would.

Thirteen-year-old Sam Johnston remembers when he broke his leg in Grade 5, Nana was knocking on the door, pies in hand to cheer him up. It's "her giving spirit" he will remember most.

For Sierra, 8, it was the time in school she'll remember: "She'd read us stories and when we were doing math, if we couldn't get a problem, she'd help us."

Kristin Johnston, Lil's doctor, recalls that she never once came to an appointment without something in hand. "She'd be sick coming to the doctor and she'd be bringing us stuff," said Johnston.

"All she did was think about other people, all the time."

In those final doctor's appointments, Lil insisted her hair was pinned, her scarves were tied, brooches on — a true, one of a kind lady till the end.

Dozens of those brooches are pinned over two T-shirts, all little pieces of Lil — a dragonfly here, a golden giraffe there, colourful jewels shining back at you, like the twinkle in her eyes.

They are not worth much of anything, said Wake, most of them coming from Lil's favourite haunts the Re-Use It Centre and the Salvation Army where she couldn't pass up a good bargain.

But they were worth something to Lil — each one a little part of who she was.

As per Lil's wishes the Goldsmids are not planning a Whistler memorial. Donations can be made to the Salvation Army.