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Lives lived: Geoff Murphy

Father. Social worker. Listener. Raconteur. Born Sept. 12, 1958, in Ottawa; died March 24, 2017, in Ottawa, of complications from a liver transplant; age 58.

Once, when Geoff needed a car, he asked my advice. He listened when I told him to read the Lemon Aid book, the Blue Book, Consumer Reports, get a full inspection and a few other ideas.

Instead, Geoff's research method turned out to be Gus, his favourite cab driver. When Gus overheard Geoff and his son talking in the back seat, he said: "You want a car?" An hour later, the deal was done. Gus took them to a pal's garage. Geoff drove a Buick around the block, paid $4,000 and drove away happy. The car lasted for years.

While the printed word suited Geoff best in small doses – he had a tremendous appetite for knowledge. Much of that knowledge came from talking to everyone in his path – cabbies, servers, orderlies, even Jehovah's Witnesses – and asking good questions. He would strike up a conversation as easily as he would strike a match to light a smoke. He was curious about everyone, offering his attention and respect. Geoff may have had a college diploma in social work, but he a PhD in the art of conversation.

His vocation was serving the developmentally delayed. For years, Geoff ran a day program that provided developmentally delayed adults with training in woodworking, cooking and other life skills. A scientist from the nearby Experimental Farm in Ottawa, who still brings her developmentally delayed sister to the day program, remembers Geoff fondly. Long before he passed away, she said that his devotion to participants was exceptional.

Geoffrey Francis Xavier Murphy was one of 10 children born to Irish immigrants. He loved to tell of grocery shopping with his mother, when one cart was always entirely filled with bread. Food disappeared so quickly at home that his dad hid bananas under his bed.

But the family had more than its share of tragedy. When Geoff was 10, he lost his older sister Catherine. At 16, he lost his mother. Then, his dear brother Eddie died on the day Geoff turned 28. Just weeks later, Geoff told me: "I'm done my grieving."

For someone who so loved to talk and listen, he found it hard to share his deepest feelings. That proved a hindrance when Geoff sought treatment for alcoholism.

For a time, alcohol distanced him from those he loved. But in his later years, Geoff recovered, rekindled relationships and thrived on his family's unwavering love. If ever there was proof that alcoholism is not a character flaw, it was Geoff.

Despite spending much of his last three years in hospitals, he was relentlessly positive. When he was back on track, he spent time with family and friends, earned back his driver's licence, bought a tiny and temperamental Mercedes Benz, rambled through countryside and often told jokes and stories.

Geoff took great joy in life's simple pleasures, especially a good chat. What's more, he was always enthusiastic – about you: "Hey Joey" he'd call out to me. "Hey JoeMac, Hey lad!"

This, I will always remember.

Joe McKendy is Geoff's friend.

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