My Lighthouse Story
My most treasured memories with my Dad are centered around hockey.
Whether it was watching the Oilers while he drank a few Molson Canadians, or me trying my heart out on the ice because I knew he was in the stands, that was our connection.
But there is one day that stands out.
I took him to an Oilers game. As we got off the train at the Coliseum station, I watched him move up the stairs more cautiously than I remembered. It wasn’t a struggle, exactly. It was… laboring.
When we got to our seats, I was looking forward to having my first-ever beer with him. But he just wanted a coffee because he was cold.
That was the moment I realized my Dad was in the 2nd intermission, (or maybe the 3rd period), of his life. If I could build a time machine and go back to one day, it would be that one.
The first Time Machine I ever built. I just didn’t know it yet.
I would have hung out after the game. I would have thanked him for everything he sacrificed. I would have told him that I noticed him propped up in bed, looking at the alarm clock, willing himself to go to a job he didn’t love—just so I could eventually do a job that doesn’t feel like work
I wanted to have that conversation. But I didn’t. I thought I had more time.
A few years later, I looked at my phone and saw 7 missed calls. When I got to the hospital, the doctor told me it was a matter of hours. The rest was a blur. I’m sure I said “I love you,” and I hope I said “thank you.”
My Dad was a lighthouse for me. And for a long time after that day, I was lost.
One big, disappointing realization was that I couldn’t say I truly knew him. I couldn’t even tell you what his favorite color was.
The last lesson he taught me was the hardest one: Getting to know someone is a limited-time opportunity.
That lesson is why Londyn Film Co. exists.
I am not the same person I was when he died. And I am not the same person I was when my daughter, Londyn, was born.
I built this business because I don’t want to leave my story to chance. I want to ensure that a very, very long time from now, my daughter will know exactly who I was when she was young.
I don’t want you to have the regret I have. Let’s secure your story today
Your Story is Waiting
The best time to capture a legacy was yesterday.
The next best time is today. Let’s start the conversation.