Prologue: "His Father’s Lament for Donald McKenzie"

 The sound of bagpipes floated through the window of the small country hospital in a small country town. The tune being played was Piobaireachd, the big music of the great Highland bagpipes, His Father’s Lament for Donald McKenzie.

The rhythm of the song caused a young man of 28 to stir from his painkiller-induced stupor of sleep. His time was soon; he felt imagined lumps of cancer all the way from his big toe to the tip of his nose. The nurse stepped in.

“How are you feeling?”

​ “Normal enough. How about yourself?”

She gave him a sweet smile, the type he knew only a nurse with experience could give, holding her pity until the door had shut behind her.

For a hospital room, it was homey enough, filled with items from well-wishers, or pre-mourners as his Dad called them. Remembering his Dad pointing out the vase of flowers from the Calgary Highlanders to his reckoning, it was just 30 minutes ago, but when he saw the clock, four hours had passed by.

He breathed his last at exactly 5:34 PM on August 31, 2025. He could see the clock and just assumed the date. Pain, but there was peace. With the sound of a father’s love to his dying son, he passed away in peace. His name was Donald McKenzie.