Frank Robert Giampa Feb.15/1949 - Mar. 19/2023

Knowing Frank was life-changing for me.  Although I had first known him as a colleague working at SD#43, our friendship really blossomed once writing came into the picture. It happened quite be accident.
As time passed and we discovered we had more and more in common, our mutual love of nature and the outdoors led us to long walks along the local dikes and trails. He enjoyed hearing about my hiking expeditions in the mountains of Arizona, and he would share stories about his beloved Kootenays. Frank took interest in hearing about my past and I loved hearing about his African safaris and his love of archery.
As for the writing - it happened during one of our walks one rainy Sunday morning when he turned to me and said, “You should write. I’ve always thought you should write. I can hear it in the way you talk, and the way your mind works. You have an amazing imagination.”
He mentioned it again in early February 2020. I was two years into my cancer treatments and Covid had just hit. So one rainy morning when I came downstairs for my coffee, I looked at my husband and said, “I think I’ll go to the dining room and write a book.”
Without looking up from his paper he mumbled, “Okay dear.”
Three weeks later, I sent Frank a rough draft of what would be my first novel, Trusting Claire.
His response was, I think, longer than the actual draft. He raved about it! And so, with that, we were both hooked.
We talked a lot throughout his illness, sharing our cancer experiences. He was diagnosed less than two years after me. Our conversations grew deeper, taking on a different tone and meaning, mostly during his last year. The dialogue slowly shifted from ones of life to those of death and of finding peace. He admired my stoicism, a way of life that had been instilled upon me by my Russian grandparents. And he found some strength in that stoicism.
Losing Frank has also been life changing. He had become a part of my every day life, and I am still struggling to find a new normal. When I least expect it, the emotion grabs me by the throat and doesn’t let go. Going forward, he will be in each and every word I will write. And his memory will always live inside each of the novels that he inspired me to create. Farewell, my friend. Adieu. The honour has been all mine.