There are people who come into your life for a purpose, who are sent by some divine spirit to lift you up, help you out, and support you in times of need. Trevor Lanyon was one of those amazing people.
He sadly left this Earth in February as a victim of a car crash in Sarasota Florida where he made his home for many years. He was only 68.
I met Trevor when I was living a Disney princess' life in 1989. He was dressed in a morning suit, and opened the door of St. James Manor in the town of York in England. My husband Dan and I were on a long delayed honeymoon, and I was six months pregnant with my daughter, Marissa. Dan was a work-a-holic and never had time for vacations that didn't involve conferences and high level meetings, so this trip was big. I left my two older children, Nicholas and Stefan in the care of a babysitter and off we went to explore the British countryside.
Trevor was an assistant butler at the manor. He also served as the night bartender, and served us our coffee after dinner at the manor's stately Michelin-starred dining room. The manor had fallen on hard times, and we were the only guests so we spent a lot of time with Trevor who regaled us with stories of his unique past. He was born in Australia, and became an accountant, a profession he said he hated. So he set off for Greece where he worked in a restaurant and became an expert in preparing the country's wonderful cuisine. He left Greece for Scotland, and eventually ended up at St. James Manor.
"If you're ever in Canada, please look us up," I told him and gave him a napkin with my number.
"Hmm, well, me girlfriend and I are looking to come to North America," he smiled. "If we come, we'll definitely look you up!"
Two weeks after we arrived home from our trip, Trevor and his girlfriend Angie were on our doorstep in Oakville. They stayed for two years with Angie taking on nanny duties and Trevor running the kitchen, and renovating our basement. They didn't accept a dime from us; they only wanted a place to stay until they planned their next adventure. So when I announced that Dan and I were headed back to Ottawa, the pair decided to bid us farewell and explore America on their bicycles. Talk about a walk-about!
Trevor answered an ad from an elderly couple who wanted someone to drive their car to Florida, so they packed their bikes and tents and headed South. From Florida, they cycled across the U.S. to California picking up odd jobs along the way. They then set their sights on Alaska.
We got the odd postcard from them, and Trevor wrote us with tales of working as a Greek chef in Fairbanks National Park. And then came a terrible phone call from Angie saying that they had been involved in a horrific crash on the Alaska Highway. Trevor was in hospital, and nearly died.
Months later, Trevor arrived in Ottawa without Angie. The pair had split and he was devastated. And so he decided to move back to recover.
He couldn't have picked a better time. Only months before, Dan left me and the kids and moved to Montreal with his mistress. I was beyond devastated and could barely take care of myself, let alone work and mind a family of three kids under seven.
Trevor came to the rescue, and took over the household duties and renovated yet another basement. He literally was my knight in shining armor.
Both of us needed to heal, and we did this together as friends. He took a weight off of my soul. I truly believe that I would not have survived if not for Trevor's kind and steady presence.
Months later, he was off again, headed back to Florida. That was more than 20 years ago. Every once and while, I'd google him but there wasn't much. He was a simple man who probably never owned a computer. He preferred fishing and chatting up friends at his local, I suppose.
Just last year, I found him on Facebook.
We shared a few photos and laughs, and he told me he was living an uneventful life there though he admitted he'd become something of a Florida man quite a few years back and had had a couple run ins with the law. Last I talked to him, he said he was headed out to listen to a buddy's band and have a couple of Buds.
"I'll send you a photo if I can figure out how to make a camera work," he wrote.
I never got the photo. Just a message from his sister Maureen to tell me of his passing. It made me sad to hear, but I realized that Trevor had lived his life on his own terms. Godspeed, Trevor.
Save me a seat, and we'll catch up one of these days.
Update:
Trevor's sister Maureen sent me this note.
Finally heard from Trevor's closest friend in Sarasota, gave lots of info on his last years.
Seems he turned his life around, gave up drink.
Was heavily involved in the Grace church running the thrift shop, feeding the homeless, running bible studies and whatever else needed doing. He got baptized 4 years ago. This would have pleased our Mum.
Teresa says he had a favourite spot they went to often, on the water, so she will scatter his ashes there for us.
Amen
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