RONALD ARTHUR OLSEN

In loving memory of Ronald Arthur Olsen, who passed away Feb. 24, 2008.
Ron was born Feb. 15, 1957 at the Red Cross Hospital in Emo, Ont. He was raised in Rainy River District and attended Emo public school and Fort Frances High School.
He later joined forces with his father, Art, in the logging industry (Olsen Logging). During these years, Ron lived in Fort Frances, Ont. with his wife and young children.
In 1996, Ron, Carole, and their three young sons sold their home in Fort Frances and moved to British Columbia to work, explore the Bulkley Valley, and live surrounded by the mountains Ron loved.
Ron worked for many years in the logging and trucking industry. Being a trucker at heart, he moved on to long haul trucking in 2001.
Ron loved his family and friends. He enjoyed life and loved a new adventure. What he loved most was to ride his horse in the mountains, a road trip on his Harley, to hunt and fish, but most of all to spend time with his family.
In December, Ron was diagnosed as having aggressive malignant brain tumours and was quickly taken from us on Feb. 24.
Ron leaves behind his wife, Carole; children, Bobbi-Lynn, Aaron, Tyler, and Tanner; granddaughters, Victoria Dawn Turnbull, Ashlyn Boan, and Stephanie Boan; parents, Ida and Art Olsen; and sisters, Sherry and husband, Karl VanHeyst, and Tammy and husband, Rod Snelgrove.
Also surviving are his mother-in-law and father-in-law, Arlene and Marvin Osmar; sister-in-law and husband, Katie and Don Koldyk; brother-in-law, James Osmar; nieces, Noelle and husband, Joel Strain, Cassandra Snelgrove, Micheala and Kristen Piazzini, and Sydney and Eden Osmar; nephews, Bradley Beninger, Michael Snelgrove, and Collin Osmar; and grand-nephew, Cohen Strain.
He also left a large loving family of aunts, uncles, cousins, and many good loyal friends.
When enjoying a glass of wine or a beer and clam, an outdoor fire, or riding your horse or Harley, think of him and remember the good times.
Shortly before he passed, Ron said he would have a lot of people to watch over when he was gone . . . so many that he would have to run a log book.
Watch for him.
It’s a deep mystery
This matter of life and death . . .
That the same person
Who brought us a thousand joys
Can one day leave us shedding a thousand tears . . .
And we grope blindly for words left unspoken
And for the hug we needed to give to say goodbye.
And we wonder how this thread that holds us all to life
Can be so thin and fragile . . .
Until one day, we find the courage to accept
That the living aren’t meant to understand death,
Only to celebrate life,
And to remember
That the only real death
. . . is forgetting.
(Author unknown)