July 12, 1939 – March 17, 2023
Christina Docherty was born July 12 in1939, UK, a dark and threatening time. Money was scarce but there was singing in her family home. Light entered through song.
Christina, who usually went by Chris, or Mrs. G to her children’s friends, grew up in Glasgow, Scotland and married James Patrick Gentle. They had one child, Sally, then another, James, before crossing an ocean to Canada, then the U.S., then back to Canada again. A third child, Irene, arrived in those travelling years.
There was singing in this family home, and books. Christina bestowed the joy of reading to her children, so they grew up roaming universes. In time books became her work, at the Brampton Library. A supporter of libraries to the last, a new stack entered her home the day she went to the hospital, the first in decades to go unread.
She learned to swim, dunking her head underwater for the first time in her 40s. It’s one thing to do this as a child, as an adult it’s an act of will. Those same years presented the need to drive a manual transmission. One glorious crash through the garage into the living room later, she nailed it.
An avid follower of sports and current events, she had a thought on pretty much anything. Don’t like my opinion? No problem, I have another, she’d say. And she did.
Generally practical, she nonetheless placed onions on our childhood staircases to ward off, well, who can say, really. Her leaning toward justice showed sometimes strangely, such as the head of a pro-democracy leader cut from a magazine that stared valiantly up at us for months.
She had adventures, separating from James in her 50s, moving to Nova Scotia in her 60s, before being pulled back to Ontario to be closer to her children.
She had joys, primarily her beloved grandchildren Amanda and Alyssa Drew and Charles Wallace Gentle. Her warm, kindred relationship with son-in-law Matt Jackson, her enjoyment at sharing the wonder of science and space with son-in-law Raymond Drew. And clocks. So many clocks, mostly noisy, timed a minute or so off from each other so whirs, cuckoos and gongs chime forever. She loved sparkle, glitter that cuts through dark, like her pure, unconstrained laugh.
She had sadness. The infinite loneliness that comes from being far from the country and family she was raised in. The loss of her parents, Chrissie and Harry Docherty, the loss of her brother, also Harry Docherty, and finally, most excruciatingly, of her treasured son Jim in October 2022. Her world dimmed. It was again a dark, threatening time.
She fell ill in March. Illness was new to her. She faced it, books and music at her bedside like guardians, with characteristic curiosity and courage, more incredulous than scared. I’ve had a good life, she said. I’ve no regrets, I feel lucky.
She died suddenly and unexpectedly on a day of soft rain in the same hospital her son had died in less than six months before her, their unbreakable bond made eternal.
Her loss tears wider and deeper the gap in our universe. She is fiercely missed by all mentioned above as well as Brenda Docherty, Claire, Robert, Kate, Sarah and their lovely families; Chantal Ayotte (predeceased by Jim Gentle); Ann Sachuk (predeceased by Nick Sachuk, Patrick and Jean Gentle); all who knew her as Mrs. G; her former library colleagues and more.
She encouraged us to enjoy every moment and be kind to ourselves and others. She requested no service but was always up for a song. She’d sing if she knew the words, and clap along. That’s how light enters.
Chris will live on in my memories . I was honoured to be her friend . I was so fortunate to have her in my life.
We had much in common – both of us had left our families in the UK to make new lives in Canada .We both had one beloved younger brother back “ at home “ who had big families. We loved books and hated the Humidity in Summer .
We loved” tattie scones “ . Best of all we loved our families and delighted in talking about our children and Grandchildren .
I send my love to her family .
Bridget – Mrs Roy .
I was terribly saddened by the news of Mrs. Gentle’s passing. Mrs. G, mom to my best friend, Jim, whom we also lost this past October. To Sally, Irene and Mrs. Gentle’s entire family, my wife, Maria, and I offer our deepest condolences. Having known both Mrs. Gentle and Jim since I was sixteen, I share the grief the family has endured. The Gentles have always been an important part of my life.
Mrs. Gentle was as generous and welcoming as anyone could ever be. Softspoken and humorous – qualities she very much shared with Jim – Mrs. G was a continuous and kind presence throughout my youth in Brampton. Whether stopping by the Gentle home on my way to or from school or crossing paths with her whenever I popped into the Brampton library, Mrs. Gentle always had time for a conversation. The interest and warmth she conveyed was genuine and heartfelt, and I always walked away from our chats feeling good, feeling valued.
Over these last several days, one memory in particular has played over in my mind countlessly. At some point in our past, Jim and Mrs. G invited me out to Woodbine Racetrack, to spend the afternoon watching the horses. I had never been to a track before. Jim, Mrs. G and I laid down a few miniscule bets on – as I vaguely recall – horses whose names most appealed to us, regardless of their odds. It was a flawed strategy, though, as I don’t remember either of us picking any winners that day. But it was a great deal of fun. It was an afternoon of friendship. And I vividly recall, to this day, the sense of inclusion and belonging that I felt that afternoon. That outing, to me, captured the very essence of both Mrs. Gentle and Jim.
After my move to Europe, many years later, my contact with Mrs. Gentle became far less. I did, though, see her on at least one of my return visits to Canada. And her warmth and kindness were just as I had always remembered. Despite the time and distance, our connection remained. Over the years, we shared the occasional email and, even then, that sense of inclusion and belonging conveyed by Mrs. G was palpable. It was as genuine as always. That is who Mrs. Gentle was.
I truly wish the emails between us had been more frequent, just as I wish my visits to Canada had been more as well. Our last exchange was this past Christmas. We shared thoughts of Jim, reflected on our history as friends and promised to remain in touch.
I will dearly miss you, Mrs. Gentle. I will never forget you. I am grateful for all your warmth and kindness. I am grateful for your friendship. Thank you.
Paul
My Beloved Mrs. G. You’ve almost always been a part of my life. Forty years you were there on the edges & over time, moved closer into my heart. I will so miss your kindness & your cheering me on from the sidelines.
After losing my mother in my 20s on Christmas Eve, you never forgot. Every year I looked forward to your familiar handwriting on a Christmas Card with an encouraging note … and an envelope with so many stickers I was the envy of small children. I’m glad I still have a couple of those envelopes to make me smile at the holidays when I think of you celebrating with your Jim.
You were there for my highs and lows. I’m so happy you were there to celebrate my wedding. And I was even more blessed to have you thinking of me years later when things fell apart.
We didn’t see each other in person a lot. We didn’t talk a lot. But we had a bond and over the years so much was said. I don’t know that I ever got the chance to tell you just how much I appreciated having you in my life.
Irene, Matt, Sal, Gentle Family, I am so sorry for your loss.