Intro:

Good afternoon. I’m Caty, Dad’s middle child, the one that he says made him lose the most of his hair. I would dispute that but that explains a lot.

Whether you traveled far or live close by, whether you are family, friend, or someone whose life was touched by Dad, on behalf of mom, my brother Dominic, my sister Sabrina, Lena, Josh and Martin, thank you for joining us today to celebrate and honour Giuseppe Loiacono, our father, nonno and husband.

We are immensely grateful for Zia Teresa and Zio Mario who have been with us every step of the way, taking care of us and taking care of mom. Grazie.

And thank you to Dr. Kachan for your compassionate care of Dad and coming to the house every few weeks to make sure he was comfortable. And to his lovely wife Lisa, who always warms the house with her heart.

The past 2.5 years haven’t been the easiest for us and we are so grateful for your kindness, your support, and your presence today.

When we first received Dad’s news, it was jarring and shook us to our core. It weighed heavily on Dad coming to terms with his mortality and knowing that he had run out of time to do all the things.

But, Dad was a beautiful force of nature and held on for as long as he could. For us, for mom. To make sure we would be ok and defying all odds as only Dad could.

Even in the last week of his life Dad asked me: what are you doing here, I said to be a pain in your butt. I then asked him the same, and his response was: Taking care of my kids.

 

 

Through it all, Dad never complained of pain or of suffering. When you asked him: how are you today, his response was always: the same as yesterday.  No matter how difficult things became, He remained resilient, independent, and somehow still made us laugh with his sharp wit.

Today our hearts are heavy yet full of love, gratitude, and the countless memories of our father and husband, a man whose presence was larger than life.

He was our greatest teacher, our confidant, our hero, and our anchor.

It’s an honour to share a glimpse of the man who shaped our lives and made an impact on many others.

 

Dad’s life:

Giuseppe was born in Toritto, Italy, the eldest of four children – Angela, Camelia and Nicola.

As a child, Dad loved playing with his toys, but “playing” for him meant taking the toy completely apart into hundreds of little pieces to figure out how they worked and then attempt to put them back together again. Most of the time he couldn’t.

By the time he was about seven, he was already helping run the family business, riding his Vespa from town to town to pick up grain, still barely able to touch the ground. From an early age, he learned the values of hard work, resourcefulness, and independence — lessons he would later instill in us.

He later graduated and served as a sergeant in the Italian army, then immigrated to Oakville in 1966 with little more than a suitcase and a handful of English. He earned his welding and electrical certificates, then moved to New York, proudly saying he once “worked on Wall Street”— even if his office just happened to be the mailroom.

But Dad wasn’t much for the East Coast winters. He asked his cousins where the warmest place in Canada was. Victoria, they said. So, in the early 1970s, he drove his Firebird all the way to California to visit his cousin, then followed the coast to Victoria.

There, working as an electrician, and, always driven to create something of his own, he built his first home, saying if they can do it so can I.

It was then that he met Rosa at the Leonardo Da Vinci Centre’s anniversary dinner dance. Before even knowing her name, he told her during their first dance that he was going to marry her. Mom’s response was: are you crazy? Oh and Dad was relentlessly persistent. It took three years and three dances, and she finally said yes.

For Dad, no was never an answer, and he always found a way to turn it into a yes. Regardless of the situation.

He was a true romantic. The way he looked at Mom—with pride, adoration, appreciation, was like out of a fairytale. Their love set the standard for us, showing what it means to find your person. Even after 51 years together, he’d come home, kiss Mom, and grab a handful of … well, you know. And when walking became a challenge, one time Mom mentioned she was going to take a shower, he’d still grin and say, “Is that an invitation?”

Throughout their five decades together, Dad and Mom built more than a business—they built a life grounded in creativity, generosity, determination and hard work.

Dad’s success came from his sharp mind, his physical strength, and despite his small stature, his drive to accomplish his goals. His work ethic was unmatched. He was always on the jobsite, and he genuinely loved working with his hands. Dad’s houses always had a unique finishing touch, always pushing the trades to go beyond the status quo.

He was endlessly inventive and always finding a way to make the impossible possible. He loved a challenge and never stopped tinkering, problem-solving, and figuring things out.

Leave it to Dad to fit a hot water tank into a smart car. And leave it to Dad to pull a boulder up a hill using a dolly hitched to his truck and somehow a table saw too – no joke, you’ll see it in the slide show.

He was like a cat with nine lives. He’d climb trees and sometimes didn’t land so well—literally ending up in the hospital. Once he broke his wrist, stuck with a cast, after 4 nights, his arm was driving him crazy. His solution? He decided to cut it off so that he could get back to work. That wouldn’t be the first or last time he would fall and break something.

And if you know Dad, he had a no-nonsense attitude. And he always spoke his mind. Sometimes blunt, but always honest.

Dad was a forward thinker. In the 1990s he saw a housing shortage coming and pushed to change zoning laws. He built the skinniest house in Canada—10 feet, 2 inches wide—because where others saw restrictions, Dad saw opportunity.

A proud Italian, he also left a legacy for the Italian community, one we still see today. As President of the Victoria Italian Assistance Centre in the 80’s, he knew it was important for the community to have a place to gather that was our own and could be passed on. Leave it to Dad to convince the government to sell the leased Crown land that the Centre was sitting to them. Today, it’s still a thriving place.

And beyond that, he changed the constitution so women could be members and could vote.

In his spare time, he loved fixing cars and riding his Harleys, he gardened and made delicious wine every year and at times from the grapes he grew in his little vineyard in View Royal. His Port, made the year Dom was born, was legendary—if you were lucky, he’d take you to the cantina to taste it, and maybe send you home with a bottle. Dad also had the most generous of hearts.  Dad was always there for everyone, whether family, neighbors, coworkers, or friends and would be the first to offer a hand. He would bring friends and family whatever was growing in the garden. At Christmas, the Smart was loaded with panettone that he would deliver across town.

He cherished jazz and spent evenings in his office listening to Sidney Bechet or Louis Armstrong. He loved art, philosophy, politics and history, always curious and eager to learn. Whether it was a book, a magazine, or a pamphlet picked up from a café, he absorbed information everywhere.

And for Dad, no news was old news.  While others packed cloths shoes for their cruise vacation, dad, packed the pile of newspapers he didn’t have a chance to read the previous year.

Despite everything he accomplished, Dad always said his greatest were marrying Mom and having us. He loved us with the passion and the devotion that encompassed his life.

He made sure we had opportunities he never had and taught us to be independent, practical, and resilient. “Don’t tell me the problem,” he’d say. “Tell me the solution.”  He challenged us to think bigger, and once we conquered one thing, he’d set the next bar. Above all, he taught us to believe in ourselves, to stand up for ourselves.

As we got older, he wanted not just to be our father, but our friend. Some of our favorite moments were simple ones, like meeting him at McDonald’s in Colwood for a coffee, chatting about everything and nothing. In fact, Esmae’s first stop from the hospital was to visit Nonno at McDonald’s.

It wasn’t about the topic—it was about being together, sharing laughs, and enjoying his fun-loving, joyful self. I once asked him: “what advice do you have for me today,” and his response, classic Dad: “For today, don’t make love tonight.”

And if we thought his love for us was grand, his love for his grandkids was immeasurable. Nothing made Dad happier than being a Nonno. His love for Esmae and Simon was impossible to put into words. They were his pride and joy, and he spoiled them rotten.

I mean, how many two-year-olds get to unwrap a Vespa, build it with their Nonno, and then learn to ride it?

BUT to know Dad was to experience The Joe Effect. 

Dad had a way of lighting up a room—not just with his smile, but with his spirit, his humour and his uncanny ability to make anyone feel like family. He could disarm even the most stoic person with a joke that was just on the edge of inappropriate, and somehow, it always landed. He was charming, vibrant, magnetic, cheeky, and full of joy.

Let’s face it—Dad was a big flirt.

He made friends in elevators, on dance floors, in waiting rooms. He was the kind of man who could turn a moment into a memory.

On cruises, Dad would talk to everyone. Mom got to the point where, as soon as they boarded, she’d say, “You go left, I’ll go right, and I’ll meet you at dinner.” She never knew who would be joining them—but by the end of the night, they’d have new friends. And somehow, those friends would end up at 103 Barkley for a glass of wine and mom’s famous focaccia. That was Dad. That was the Joe Effect.

One time when mom and dad were travelling, a couple asks Dad to take their photo. What does Dad do, he says sure and then pretends to run away with their camera. The distraught couple didn’t know what to do. But of course, Dad being Dad, gave them back their camera but only before taking a selfie with them.

Another time, we were in Paris and jumped into a taxi. Dad asks the driver: Parlez vous Francais? The driver says Oui. Dad responds: Je parle Italiano.

And of course, Valentine’s Day. One year, we bought Dad roses to give to Mom. What did he do? He gave a rose to every woman he saw—but he saved the last one for Mom. That was Dad. Always making people feel special.

And then there was the time he first met Martin’s dad, the night before our wedding. You’d think they were having a deep philosophical conversation. But no—Dad forever being the curious type was asking Gilles who was only a few months older than him if he was still having sex. That was Dad.

That was the Joe Effect. We never knew what he would do or say next, but it was always hilarious. And the best part? He’d laugh just as hard, admitting he had no idea where these ideas came from.

Even in the end, he flirted with nurses and made them laugh. Dad would ask them if they were single or taken. Of course they were always taken, but that was Dad having fun and distracting from heavier things.

And I’m almost 100% certain you each have your own story. We invite you to share with each other and if you get a chance to email it to us. Dad would love that, making us laugh one more time, like only he knew how.

Conclusion

Socrates said, “Remember, no human condition is ever permanent.” Dad lived this truth. He taught us how to carry ourselves through life’s hardest moments—with humour, courage, and passion. Life is hard at the best of times, you would remind us, find joy in the hardest moments.

Dad, we feel the weight of your absence and the immeasurable gift of your presence. You gave us the gift of 1000 more days, defying all medical expectations.

You fought your illness with the same strength, courage and resolve that you lived life.  You fought for us, so we could somehow accept the reality that you would be leaving us. And you gave us many more memories. We made your 80^th. We made the cruise. We celebrated your and mom’s 50^th and 51^st wedding anniversary. We celebrated Christmas and Simon and Esmae and Jeremy’s birthdays.

Watching you decline has been the hardest thing we have all had to endure. And yet, we made the most of every lucid moment.

You taught us what it means to be brave, to love fiercely, and to never back down from a challenge. You showed us that kindness is strength, that laughter is medicine, and that family is everything. Even when cancer tried to steal pieces of you away, it could never touch your spirit, your light, or the love you gave.

We wish we could reach out and hold your hand one more time, hear your laughter, and see that sparkle in your eye. We know you’re watching over us, nudging us to be strong, to pull it together and keep going.

Thank you, Dad, for every lesson, every laugh, every moment. Thank you for being our greatest teacher, our fiercest protector, and our truest friend. We promise to carry your legacy forward—to live with courage, to love fully, and to make you proud.

As Rumi says: Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes. Because for those who love with heart and soul, there is no such thing as separation.

You can rest easy now, Dad. We will be ok. You are forever in our hearts.

I hear Dad now: Hey starshine, Life is short, enjoy your life.