In Memoriam June Isobel Archer - Nee Bratton - My Mother - March 27, 1929 April 22, 2024

One year ago today, the greatest Mother anyone may have had, could have had, under the circumstances at the time, my mom, June Isobel Bratton centre of photo below, passed away on April 22, 2024 at the age of 95.

Centre, June Bratton, left her sister Ruth, right her sister Mary, missing her oldest sister Bessie.

From Mother, to part time store clerk at Morgans, and after the passing of our Father, Clifford Ross Archer at the age of 42 in 1968, she knuckled down and became the Executive Secretary to the President of Moffats, Canada.

Before going any further, I want to address how I was informed of her passing. Trust me, it gets better as you read on.

Sometime early May 2024 I received an email from a wealth management firm regarding an urgent matter; my mother, June Bratton. I was required to contact them as soon as possible. It was from a company located in Newcastle, Ontario.

Hmmmmm? My mother and I had unfortunately been estranged for the past 15 years, vowing I'd never speak with her, my older sister, and my younger brother ever again. NEVER! That included relatives; their in-laws, cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, grandchildren. No one ever again from the Archer/Bratton/Moore/DesJardins clans, with the exception of my two boys of course, Evan and Austin.

They had become involved in my personal life and a woman I loved deeply, my children, my health (prostate cancer, and heart attack), and my work in a very negative and hurtful way which shall remain... personal.

However, I did warn them, if anyone ever had a soft moment thinking, "we had no right to do that to David, or, we shouldn't have done what we did to David, that if ever you have a regret and think, let's call him and apologize, and let's surprise him and maybe ask him to go to lunch with us, I advised them in writing; "know this as fact, if you ever contact me again, ever, I'll search you out, where ever you live, and I will burn your house down with all of you in it." Yeah, that angry.

Don't ever... never...no not ever, contact me ever again, until, and only then would I ever need to hear anything about her, our mother, ever again - unless - she was deceased.

Can you imagine they actually listened to me?

Yes. I was very angry at my family, "The Archer's", my "sister" Nancy, my "brother" Jim, their husband, wife, kids, grand-kids, and in-laws as they were / are the most dysfunctional group you could ever meet. This is how I thought at the time.

And like the comedian George Carlin once quipped while describing his relationship with the ideals of God and formal religion... he finished with... "but they love you".

So sometime May 2024 I drove out to Newcastle, Ontario and visited this "wealth management office" and the people who contacted me. I was first greeted by their office dog and an over whelming odour of dog piss, yet 100% assured it wouldn't hurt a fly, as they dragged "it" into a bedroom growling and barking. "Take a seat in this office" the woman said. "My husband will be right with you to advise you why you're here".

Shortly, "Herman Glimpshure" appeared (the dim witted character from the 1960's Dick Van-Dyke show), and sat behind his office desk advising they're heading away on holidays - on a 2 week cruise - so they need to get these loose ends cleared up right away. "Sure, I understand", as he asked for my identification. I gave him my drivers license.

He hmmmmed, and he hawwwed, and then said, "as you know, your mother has left you a substantial amount of money and we're suggesting what you need to do with these amounts. So, we suggest you take this $2 million and put it in this account, today. And...

I interrupted the doofus saying; "I think you have the wrong David Ross Archer?"

He then shouted into the other room; "hun? there's a problem". When his wife appeared she asked; "what's the problem?" Well, this is David Ross Archer, June's son. Not David... and he mumbled some other name. The woman gasped, oh for God's sake, June died weeks ago. Here, sign these papers, we'll send the cheques out to you in a few weeks, sorry for the loss.

Oh, by the way, here's a copy of her Obit. Ahhh, feigning sincerity, thank you. Kind of you. I signed off on all and asked, it reads here both my brother and my sister knew about this weeks ago and they didn't call me? Where was she living? How did she die? Was there a service? They didn't know these details but I could contact the funeral home for more information, or, I could contact my siblings.

So they knew and they didn't call me? It appears so. We have got to get a move on, sorry, these things happen. Sure, sure they do. Some family eh? I'm reading the obit, they didn't even mention our predeceased Father? Yeah, forgive me David. We have other items to care for today, time is tight. Yes, I said, also eager to move on from the Walmart decorated home office infused with dog hair, dog shit, and dog food aroma. "Well then, thank you for your Newcastle Wealth Management Franchised hospitality."

As I was leaving, her dog broke free from the woman's grip, lunged at me, and bit my ass. They gasped; "are you ok?" Yes, I replied, thinking how fitting, and humiliating... "such a lovely home (a shit-hole to be sure), good day", and I left.

Outside of their offices, sitting in my car I read my brother and sister came into town and signed off on my mothers cremation that took place weeks ago. I was the last to know. I called my youngest son who called my oldest son, who called my sisters son, their cousin, and he, informed everyone, "yeah, it is what it is", and apparently hung up.

Mom, you deserved so much better. I miss you, I loved you, and I know we had our moments. Our family fell apart after Dad died, December 19, 1968, but you were the most courageous woman I had ever met. I'm just so sorry we never got a chance to reconcile our relationship and make an amends to one another.

I've posted some photo's, and I've written some more fitting moments below, and just know when I sit and visit at dad's grave side, weekly I might add, I always tell him about you, and his grand kids, your grandchildren Evan and Austin... another unfortunate and dysfunctional tragedy, the loss of the Archer boys.

Evan, Austin, Myself... your grandchildren, whom unfortunately, you had little contact with. I'm sorry for that.

And, by the way, I performed at a storytelling evening where the topic was, summer jobs. I told the audience at the age of 16, I wrecked the forklift at Moffats. This is where you were away at your Father and Mothers cottage relaxing. Because you were the Executive Assistant to the President of that company. Yes, I hang my head when I think of it. I was so sorry about that one. And the next year, for a summer job, of course I was 17, in 1973, and how you banished me to furthest reaches of the Province of Ontario... Sioux Lookout, Ontario, or more fitting... Sioux, Lookout he's coming and enrolled in the provincial Junior Ranger camp... which was in fact one of the best times of my life. I'm sure yours as well. You had a summer of peace and quiet. And then at High School the following fall, now 18, I set the record for the 100 metre race at 11.7 seconds. I failed to mention I was so stoned on cannabis - with friends moments before the race started as it had, slipped my mind. But I now get when some 100m specialists say they run their best when stoned. I don't recommend it, I'm just saying...

And I know... my attention deficit hyper active behaviour... my low self esteem... the cannabis... the alcohol problems began to emerge and, on a positive note, some 24 years somewhat sober with one glitch June 08, 2014, tonight, April 22, 2025, I'm speaking at a function where I'll be dedicating my talk to the memory of your life. It's the least I could do.

And mom... one of my go-to jokes has always been the time, after Dad had passed away Dec 19, 1968, later in January I was selected to play hockey for the All Stars in my Weston Minor Hockey League. Do you recall this? Hahahah. Mom was advised I needed a more protective "cup" (jock strap), so, she had to go into Weston, to Wilf's Cycle & Sports and buy one. As she tells the story, I was playing hockey at the time and she, quite intimidated, strolled into the store where Wilf himself asked "how could he assist her?"

She, timidly asked; "my son is 12, he's playing hockey in Weston, (probably Pew-Wee or Minor Bantam??) and he needs... as she lowers her voice to a whisper.... he needs a new.... protective cup."

Wilf, a bold man smiled and asked, well, what size is he? Bewildered and a tad embarrassed, she put up her hand and with her thumb and forefinger extended, she said, "about 2 inches??"

Wilf broke up laughing as my mom described she was trying to escape out of the store, when he asked, forgive me, what's your name? And she said; June, June Archer. And Wilf said; June, I meant what size is his waist, like a pair of jeans... that's how they're sized. Mom would tell that story to us at the Sunday night dinner table, and hide her head, holding a glass of wine, hardly being able to contain her laughter.

But where she shocked me the most was one day when I had had a tragic fall during my 1st year of my HVACR apprenticeship, some 40' from a suspended industrial electronic air cleaning system, slipping off the suspended rig falling through some steel girder assemblies and onto an industrial welding table, at Titan Wheels in Markham, Ontario. I was rushed to Scarborough Centenary Hospital at the time, and after assessment I was driven home in a taxi cab, some 70 km in distance. It was winter time. I gingerly exited the cab in intense pain. My left hand, wrist, undetected to have been broken at the time, her boy, the one she could never understand, could never really warm up to, understood at the time I was wounded and hurt. And she started to cry saying, oh my God, what happened as she hugged me, and told me all will be ok, I was safe now, I was home. And that, for sure, at that moment, was the only thing I needed to hear, I was home, with my mom, who actually loved me, and was concerned for me. I'm sorry for the trouble I caused you mom, truly. And I'm glad you were my mom.

Thank you for being the mother you were. Nick named "The General" for a reason. I knew when it was ok to mess with you, and I knew when you were right in calling me out on my bull-shit. Eternal love. Your son... David

The Archer Boyzzz, Evan & Austin on one of your Mothers Day Outings

As they say, this is what you and dad started, with exception of cousin Wayne - back row right, glasses, and Rand, middle row left, Denise middle row left, Jim's wife, and Colin's now wife, between Denise and Evan, middle row. Wiped out of the photo's... 2 people.

Your kids... Jim, Nancy, and moi. If we only knew how to be a better family. Twas a shame.

control the things we can...

PS, your father... pictured below, Herbert G. Bratton, would have been very proud of you, as well, your mom, Winifred Bratton. And... Roy and Irene Archer, and Dad.

Rest In Peace Mom... you put in a great shift.

see? I told you it would get better