David Braidwood

David Frederick Braidwood February 15, 1932 – October 1, 2025 (93 years old, and he was always rather pleased when told he didn’t look it) David “Dave” Braidwood was born in Vancouver, BC, to Thomas and Ruth (née Jacks). He was predeceased by his parents and his siblings Robert, Jean and Gordon. In 1958, Dave married Fern McLeod in Winnipeg. Together they crisscrossed Canada during his Air Force career, packing up kids and boxes for new postings in Montreal, Toronto, Ottawa, Halifax, and Greenwood before finally retiring to Elliot Lake in 1996. Fern passed away in 2007, but not before their 49-year marriage produced three children — Alison, Ian (Janice), and Alan (Renee) — and three grandchildren: Emily, Bryn, and Rowan. Dave achieved the rank of Colonel in the RCAF, flying maritime patrol aircraft early in his career. He was Base Commander at CFB Greenwood from 1982–1985. Even decades into retirement, “Colonel Dave” could be summoned at will: a look, a tone, a raised eyebrow. Electrifying, effective, and occasionally deployed at family dinners. Despite his military discipline, Dave had a soft heart. He sang bass in church choirs, and in the Elliot Lake Cantata Choir with Fern, and later with the Elliot Lake Men of Song. He adored cats to a heartwarming degree, cried surreptitiously during sad movies, and had an infectious laugh that made Tim Conway skits even funnier than they already were. He was blunt — sometimes accidentally, sometimes not — but never mean-spirited. At a golf tournament years ago, he stood up at the awards ceremony to praise two teenage boys he’d just played with. He forgot the incident entirely; their father never did. That was Dave: unintentionally memorable in the best way. He loved Fern with unshakable loyalty through her decades-long battle with breast cancer, once prompting a family friend to call him “a prince to her.” Later in life, he managed to charm Elaine Layden into putting up with him, proving that lightning does strike twice in love. Dave loved the outdoors, but he skipped the tents and fishing rods in favour of golf — and an almost comical obsession with wild blueberry picking. Mad dogs and Braidwoods, as the saying goes, could be found out in the midday sun, buckets in hand. The foraging bug skipped the boys, but Fern, Alison, and later Elaine all happily caught it. Truth be told, Dave’s favourite part may not have been the picking at all, but the aftermath: hours spent on the deck, cheerfully and meticulously sorting blueberries as though he were curating a priceless collection. Dave was not a saint — he was sometimes impatient, opinionated, and allergic to fools — but he was also intelligent, funny, tender-hearted, and unfailingly genuine. He leaves behind family who adored him, friends who admired him, and the shades of many beloved cats who chose him as their human. He lived 93 years with love, laughter, and a healthy dose of eye-rolling from those closest to him. If you think of him, tell a story, or go pick some blueberries and eat more than you bring home. That’s exactly how he’d like to be remembered. Fly high, Colonel Dave.