Jeremy Clifford Partington

There was a certain level of comfort growing up and knowing that Jeremy Partington was your older brother. It offered the ability to be a little more confident, like the world gave you a little more flexibility in the way you tested yourself and others around you because somebody strong had your back.

You could push a few boundaries because he was a force nobody wanted to reckon with. 

This wasn’t something to trifle with, though. It didn’t mean that you could wrong others or act like you were somehow above them, because Jeremy didn’t tolerate bullies. He would just as soon teach you a lesson, if it were deserved, and he would enjoy it.

He always looked out for everyone else around him, and he took no sides,

A photo of him stands out in my mind. I went to work at Mr. Convenience that day, ready to fill the gas tanks of the hundreds of people who would stop in Norwood on their way to cottages or cities or any space in the countryside around me, and there he was on the cover of the Toronto Sun.

He was perched upon the top of his Coyote reconnaissance vehicle, his Lord Strathcona insignia barely visible upon his uniform and a coy smile upon his beautiful face. He was in the lead vehicle in a long line of NATO-led soldiers squaring off against Russian forces in the heart of Pristina, Kosovo, where political forces were trying to intervene in the midst of unthinkable atrocities.

He didn’t tolerate bullies.

How proud we were to see him there.  News cameras came to Norwood from Toronto and interviewed my mother.  They posted photos of him in his uniform, so handsome and unbroken.

That part of him was always there, despite the battles he officially fought.

It was the part of him that played with children as if he was one, whether it was his daughters or nephews or nieces.

It was the part that followed the path of chefs around North America, trying to emulate their style and prowess for the guests he loved to cook for.

It was the part that loved a good concert, be it an intense metal show in a Bulgarian dungeon or a Korean pop band with his daughter by his side.

It was the part that loved the beautiful things in this world, though there were many times that was hard for him to see.
 
He told me later about what he saw when the stalemate against the Russians broke and he and his fellow peacekeepers moved onto the countryside to try and help, as what he saw in the aftermath of genocide.

They didn’t put that picture in the papers. 

In 2002, Jeremy was among the first Canadians in a new battlefield in a post-911 fight against a tyranny in Afghanistan few people could articulate. There were extremist demons we heard about or saw in the newspapers, and then there were the soldiers who our governments sent to fight them, but we really didn’t know what that meant.

How proud we were, though.

He was the one who his fellow soldiers called Mama, because he cared so deeply for each of them

In 2014, Jeremy began to realize the cost of our pride. He was no longer a soldier, but always the protector, yet he struggled to protect himself from the pain of a soldier’s memory.

The confidence he inspired in others was clouded in the mirror reflection that looked back at him every day, and his fight became internal. There were no news cameras for this one, no berets and no flashy UN Peacekeeping signs, only his internal battle.

He had every support one could want in such a fight, from his family, friends and yes, his Canadian Forces and government leaders through Veterans Affairs, but his battle was dark and lonely.
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On April 9, with his beautiful daughters, sister and both brothers by his side, he finally laid his arms down and closed his eyes on the battles he’d faced for a lifetime. The confidence he inspires remains, and we still walk through the world knowing someone strong has our back, but he is now in our memory and in our hearts.
 
  We welcome your presence on Sunday April 14th at the Norwood Town Hall from 3-6pm.

  Thank you for your love and understanding.

In lieu of flowers, donations to Project Trauma Support, where Jeremy both was a participant and later a mentor to other first responders would be welcome.