On Dr. Rachel Nash: An Address to Senate, May 24, 2011, Thompson Rivers University, Will Garrett-Petts

It is my solemn task, but also my honour, to offer some all too brief words about Dr. Rachel Nash’s contributions to our university and our community. The news of Rachel's death on Easter Sunday saddened our community. She was a great friend and an inspiration to so many of us.  She had been fighting cancer for the last four years, all the while maintaining an ongoing commitment to research and her students—and to her family, husband Dr. Cameron Reid (also a colleague, teaching with both English and Modern Languages and Journalism, Communication, and New Media) and her son Dash (age 6). 

At last week’s memorial service, the three speakers, Ron Yamauchi (her brother-in-law), Inga Thomson Hilton (her close friend), and Ashok Mathur (her colleague) encapsulated in very personal terms—in language and emotion appropriate for a eulogy—Rachel’s life and impact on others. Ron rehearsed the voices of family members giving testimony to her gregarious nature and thoughtful, caring ways; Inga spoke of Rachel’s cancer and its return, how it devastated her friends, yet how she was able to assert an ongoing exuberance for life and inspire others in the face of her own impending death; and Ashok shared his memories of a colleague “charismatic, enigmatic, energetic, and so magnetic,” one who drew others to her to collaborate in both practice and in spirit.

This afternoon’s address to Senate, requested by the Vice-President and Provost, is offered not as a eulogy but as a further tribute to Dr. Nash’s work and to her impact as a scholar and teacher.

Rachel graduated from the University of Waterloo with a PhD in Rhetoric and Composition; she began her full-time employment at the university in January, 1999, joining the English and Modern Languages Department as an Assistant Professor specializing in classical rhetoric and contemporary composition theory. She quickly distinguished herself as one of our outstanding young scholars and as a lively, engaging, highly respected teacher.

Among her academic accomplishments, she was co-applicant for two major SSHRC grants, she edited two books, wrote numerous articles and chapters, coordinated an international symposium on artists and interdisciplinarity, and collaborated as curator for an exhibition exploring the nature of artistic inquiry. Her doctoral dissertation, completed in 2003, focused on "The Discourse of Canadian Multiculturalism," an area she explored further in a keynote conference presentation in 2009, and a journal publication later that year.  An expert in discourse analysis and social semiotics, she examined in her early work the idea of multiculturalism, “its journey from obscurity to considerable prominence and popularity within Canada and, increasingly, within the international community.” She noted how a strategy of what she called “reduced representation” enables the government “to appear to address many of the pressing issues associated with multiculturalism while actually offering a poorly developed discourse for real exchange on contentious issues”; and she concluded convincingly that “multiculturalism discourse has become limited and conservative through its habitual and predictable use of linguistic, rhetorical, and semiotic resources, but that critical awareness of these patterns may be a first step toward restoring vitality to both the discourse and the ideals represented.”

As part of another research collective, she explored further the rhetoric of place and community self-representation—looking at how communities like Kamloops represent themselves symbolically, through word and image. Smaller cities have, she found, “a relatively limited range of representational resources on which to draw. . . . The exciting modernity and possibility associated with large cities, and the rural charm ideally associated with small towns are both inappropriate to the small city. Instead, the small city actively needs to invent itself, and, indeed, it has the opportunity to do so, turning its representational paucity into an opportunity to forge a unique identity for itself and for small cities in general.” Her work on patterns of community change and resistance has helped define an emerging field of study.

More recently, she employed her skills as a discourse analyst to unpack notions of creativity and practice-led inquiry as components of interdisciplinary research, especially interdisciplinary teams involving artists. Basing her study in part on a survey of over 4000 art schools and visual arts programs across North America, Rachel was beginning to work out and share the pedagogical implications of mainstreaming artistic inquiry and visual argument as key components of academic literacy. Much has been said and written about the convergence of technologies and the changing nature of academic writing. As a discourse specialist and teacher she wrote of the “importance of respecting the integrity of modes of communication, both the visual and the verbal, their irreducibility as well as their complementarity, as we acknowledge too that the verbal is not replaceable by the visual.” “The modes,” she found, “can speak with and to, but not for each other.”

I’d like to conclude on a personal note, for Rachel and I worked closely on a number of shared projects. We worked wonderfully well together, publishing two co-edited books, numerous articles and presentations, and holding three SSHRC grants together. More important, our temperaments balanced one another so well, forming that rare kind of collaboration rooted in friendship and what I always regarded as a shared passion for intellectual discovery. I presented a paper earlier this month at an international conference at the Berlin-Brandenburg Academy of Sciences and Humanities, a paper based on our collaborative work completed shortly before Christmas: after the presentation, which focused on the impact of artists on interdisciplinary teams, one of the conference participants remarked that “this was just the kind of research we've been waiting for.” Rachel would have liked that: she was, at root, a small town girl from Powell River, the self-described “adult child of hippies”—she was also a brilliant but unassuming academic, someone whose work informed and inspired those close by and reached out to others both nationally and internationally.

Rachel's memorial video, made by her niece Sophie

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QOIBr9AQhCs&feature=channel_video_title

Family's Eulogy, Ron Yamauchi

It's an honour to speak about Rachel on behalf of her family.

It's also a little weird because I am not her blood kin.  I am merely her sister's husband, which in terms of the family power structure puts me somewhere between mail carrier and housecat.  So my standing here might seem a little random.

But that's appropriate.  Families are random: we choose our friends.  We choose our colleagues too, in the sense that we could theoretically quit our jobs.

But families are people that you are connected to for life, whether you get along or not. 

Rachel got along very well with her family. 

Part of that is luck.  The Goddus, Nashes and Reids are warm and delightful people – right?    

The main reason that Rachel was close to her family, I think, was Rachel herself.  She didn't take her relatives for granted.

I remember going to a party at Rachel's.  I knew Rachel through the SFU newspaper, starting around 87, 88 – and she invited me to a houseparty at Pender Palace, this house in East Van where she lived and which was absolutely rocking with beer and kids and a band, “Gonch Messiah.” 

And she introduced me to Kenn Law, the man she called dad.  I couldn't comprehend that.  Who brings their dad to watch you get drunk and rock out to Gonch Messiah?

I started to figure it out later on.  It was the holidays, and I was dating her kid sister Willow.  I was invited up to the family place in Powell River.  Dinner was really great, with white wine and Scrabble afterwards.

Later, I'd been downstairs with Keith for a while, and started where the women had gone.  I hear voices but where are they? 

I follow the giggling into Sharon's bedroom and they're all in bed, in pajamas! 

It amazed me, but I started to understand.  It's because love of family can be more than an abstract notion if, like Rachel, you take the time to genuinely enjoy your rellies.

And when you're gone they miss you.

The weekend after she passed, I was with a rare gathering of the Goddu clan.

Those of us who were there will never forget it.  For the rest, I want to convey the sense of it.  It was a drizzly afternoon, the light somber but restful.  The Goddu family sat in a circle, in the living room of the Holman house in Mission. 

There was a ceremonial passing of the talking stick, which is a wooden totem, elaborately carved, signifying right of speech.   For as long or as little as their voices could manage, every man woman and child spoke about Rachel in their own way.  What's remarkable is that everyone had something beautiful and unique to remember her by. 

Rachel belonged to other families as well.  I have notes from Jeanne Reid and Sharon Nash, and I'd like to share them with you. 

JEANNE:

Our lovely daughter-in-law has left us.  She didn’t want to go.  It was years too soon.  So many things left undone:  a honeymoon in Hawaii,  years of teaching and learning, a little boy growing up.

We have always thought of Rachel as our daughter-in-law but were so happy for them both when they got married on April 18^th.    The joy it brought them radiated to all.

Rachel had friends and family who loved her from East to West in Canada.  Her lasting friendships are a testament to her gregarious nature and thoughtful, caring ways.

We welcomed Rachel into our family during her days at Waterloo University some 12 years ago.  On her graduation and completion of her PHD, we hosted her friends & family in celebration.

We thank you Rachel for keeping our family together even though the miles separated us.   You gave us our only grandson Dash, a loving, vibrant little boy.  Through him, you will always be with us.

There is a void in our lives now but we will try to go on giving Cameron & Dash all our support and love.

Jeanne & Don Reid

Sharon:

I want it known that it has been an honour to be Rachel's mom..as an infant, a toddler, a little girl, a teen, a young adult and as an approaching mid age adult.

I have received so many gifts from being in close and intimate communion with this special person...our acknowledged "star" according to family mythology and a star to the end and beyond.

Early this morning I read some words of comfort on the nature of grief and healing...he said something like "the people we love fiercely become a physical part of us,ingrained in our very synapses" and so she is for me forever and ever.

Mom

Finally, there's one more family I need to speak for.

If Rachel had not befriended me in university, I would not have met Willow.  We would not have married and had Sophie and Flynn.  I cannot imagine a universe in which Sophie and Flynn do not exist, but there it is, one connection leading to another and then my life winds up full and good, my children have lives period, and thanks be to Rachel.

Rachel and I were buddies.  I like to think that I amused her from time to time.  She would hit me up for shoulder massages and I provided a number of mix tapes and National Enquirers, so that's what she got. 

In return, I got a wife and kids; which is to say, a present and a future. 

I don't think I ever thanked her for that.  Now I never can.  In any case it is a debt I can never fully repay.  But I will try.

What I think Rachel would like would be to give all of my love, devotion, and friendship to her family – to Dash, my nephew, and Cam, my brother in law and brother in heart.

But also to our family entire, a group which will continue to grow and shrink over time as nature and perhaps other forces require. 

It will be something I will do my entire life.  And it will be a pleasure to do this.  I just have to follow Rachel's example.

Colleagues' Eulogy, Ashok Mathur

The light of one sweet smile: how to separate this from school, from work, from colleagues, the contagion that carries through, breezes over and around and through the lightness of the souls inhabiting this place. How one sweet smile can wrap itself around so many who walked beside this charismatic, enigmatic, energetic, and so magnetic one such as she, Rachel, our friend. We called her that, our friend, and confidant, those who shared this space of labour – an environment that many rightfully decry as all too often lacking that spirit of communion – she brought light back in, the light of one sweet smile. Her work was reading, and bringing that alive to others, so I can do no better than to interweave found lines of poetry, recirculating such words to breathe us back to her.

Even as a child, she laboured with a love of language, her earliest memory, I’ve been told, awaking from a nap to the sound of the postman delivering children’s books for her consumption. And it was all down literary lanes from then on in: president of the Book Worm club, newspaper editor way back in elementary school, maxing out her library card, perfecting the fine art of reading while out on country walks, pressing flowers within the pages of her own young poetry, visiting gravesites of too-early dead Romantics. This was her passion. But her reading, let it be said, was not a transitive act, not the simple function of a scholar taking in the world through lines upon a page. Rather, it was a reading in and through and all around, because it reached beyond these paper texts into the fibre and fabric of her multiple communities. If your coalition is comfortable, then it’s too small, wrote a filmmaker and ethnographer; yet with Rachel, she seemed able and privileged to continuously expand her reach without experiencing the pangs of overextension.

Late last night, at a loss as to what to say today, I wandered our campus, thought I’d visit Rachel’s office, perhaps to touch her door and through that reacquaint a presence. But it was late, the building locked, and so I wandered more and pondered those connections that so many of us shared with her, and wondered at the greatness of our loss, truly our collective gain, memories replete, sensate, and unlikely ever to be overshadowed.

In this quiet walk, I became resolute to not enumerate all the individuals with whom Rachel collaborated in practice because she collaborated with so many in spirit, and I feared that in her vast world, I would be bound to leave some out. But also because you are at once too many and at the same time you blend in to one another seamlessly, and also cacophonously, an endless stream of those who shared her work.

I admit, I’m nothing but a storyteller, ill-equipped to speak with any eloquence to Rachel’s true talents as a scholar and a rhetorician, and so I scuttle back to what I best know how to do, in this case, to relate a story of a first encounter, and in that telling hope to show the magic and the wisdom that has brought us here today. Many years ago, it seems, but still so fresh, I waited by the water on the coast, to meet a pair of university college profs, visiting to propose a venture to highlight how artists write about their work. Will, whom I had met some years before, arrived with Rachel (I would later find this to be one of their early forays into a multitude of projects) and we sat to share a drink and some ideas on how to bring this project to fruition. One drink became another, and the conversations merged into a dinner, an excitement rising through the possibilities afforded by this not so chance encounter. The waiter came again and Rachel asked him for a gimlet, but, she said, make mine with gin. He nodded, took his leave, and I, ever curious, asked Rachel what she meant, for were not gimlets always made with gin? Really? she said with the light of one sweet smile, and when the waiter hurried back to make a confirmation, “Ma’am, our bartend says that gimlets are with gin,” that smile pressed back and opened up and laughter served around the table, a joyous sharing that caught off-guard adjacent diners who must have thought ‘what anecdote could so utterly delight?’ I had the fortune, then, to understand what many before and since have had the pleasure to behold. There was Rachel, uninhibited, unselfconscious, laughing at and with the world, with and at herself, and all along, the spirit shared as if conspiring to trump an evil sorcerer out there somewhere, tricked out and tripped up with a wink and a smile. Not disingenuous to say that moment drew me in – and this, I know, from many others, a story shared in heart – the endless possibility that was Rachel hovering in our midst.

Like others here today, I shared delight in working side by side, tagteam teaching (a collaboration, in which students were won over by her reach and how she joined and brought together, indeed, a process transmogrified as I more recently co-taught with Cameron as, through Rachel, we have moved inexorably along that path from colleague to friend). Others wrote with her, curated shows, developed research plans and simply shared their deepest dreams, desires, over steaming cups of tea in precious moments snatched from overburdened days. And others, still, lived and died calling themselves Rachel’s friends, some without ever having met her in the flesh. Such was her virtual community of young women dealing with illness and each other, in what Rachel called their “semi-secret place to air …concerns… support each other and generally share what, for lack of a better word, [she called] ‘the journey.’” This, perhaps, her ultimate collaboration, refusing to buy into the currency of fighting against a disease that inhabited her body, but learning to live with it, in whatever manner possible. Rather than refusing to go gentle into that good night, then, she personified that trumpet of prophecy, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?

If love itself is a type of dream, and if no one can sleep forever, then we must wake into new worlds indeed. But the vestiges remain, and “love can carry on after this beautiful dream” – when she was that little girl, pressing flowers into a notebook, those are the words Rachel wrote, “love can carry on after this beautiful dream,” and even if human voices wake us, we do not drown, but sigh and sing and bask in that light of one sweet smile.

Friends' Eulogy, Inga Thomson Hilton

Rachel was dedicated to the written word, so it’s not surprising that she drafted her own obituary. To it, she attached two works: one by Dylan Thomas appears on the bookmark you are holding, the other is John Donne’s “Meditation XVII,” which begins, “No man is an island, entire of itself.” This deep sense of connection was manifest in Rachel’s friendships. I am honoured today to serve as the collective voice for some of those dear friends.

Rachel’s friends are each struck with sorrow and loss, sometimes operating in what one of us, Heather Brown, terms “a zombified haze,” yet we are sustained by our memories of Rachel and the distinct gifts she brought to all our lives. Although we each have our “own” Rachel, a unique combination of experience, reminiscence, reflection, and emotion, we maintain a fierce dedication to honouring those shared gifts, as well. As her friends, then, we give you “our” Rachel.

For me, Rachel was my kinswoman. We didn’t have to do the genealogy; we knew we were cousins. She inspired me, always, to go for it, whatever “it” was. Last summer, the day after she returned from a Callanish retreat for people dealing with cancer, Rachel, her mother Sharon, and I met for lunch. Rachel glowed as she described the retreat, then said, “You should go.” I came up with several reasons why that was impossible; she firmly countered every one of my objections. With Rachel’s wind at my sails, I went home and started my application that afternoon, opening my life to the profound experience that is Callanish, and an even stronger kinship with Rachel.

A few months later, in her kitchen, she told me about the Leonard Cohen concert for which her sister Willow had just gotten three tickets. Our eyes locked, and we simultaneously blurted out, “We should go together.” She tried to persuade Cam to give up his ticket, but he was having none of it. So, I turned to her computer and booked tickets for me and my son. When we emerged from that enchanted Evening with Leonard Cohen, Rachel, Willow and I, giddily grinning, fell into a spontaneous embrace in celebration of the music, the magic, and each other.

That open-hearted expression and fostering of shared joy is what I most appreciated about Rachel, and what I will miss most acutely. The enjoyment of life, what her friend Tracy Lindberg refers to as “her openness and enthusiasm for sampling life’s flavours” was Rachel’s home turf, and she invited each of us to settle down and stay a while. Tracy adds, “The fullness with which Rachel savoured life made her an incredibly easy person for whom to get a gift, and I know that the phrase ‘Oh Rachel would love that’ will ring in my head whenever I see some exquisite little luxury.”

Kevin McGuirk, her friend and teacher at the University of Waterloo, refers to what he calls Rachel’s “beautiful loudness.” He writes, “I remember her remarking once, long ago, that some people thought she was loud… And sometimes she was loud. I think of her laugh, her boisterous enthusiasm, her intelligence, her bravery, and her beautiful loudness, as the expression of a robust soul.”

Many of Rachel’s friends remark on that “robust soul,” especially as it expressed itself through two of her passions - food and clothes. Tracy Lindberg remembers, “I could always count on our visits to involve a great meal and to quickly bring us back to the heart of our connection. Together we created many a culinary masterpiece, and met in countless restaurants sharing every possible cuisine. More often than not, coming to the table, she'd be bursting to share a gleeful tale of some impossibly great designer find that she had just garnered at the Sally Ann.”

Her friend Tracy Whalen picks up the narrative, “I remember the way Rachel packed a suitcase—a disordered tangle of clothes and shoes thrown together higgledy-piggledy. It wasn’t that Rachel didn’t love clothes. In fact, she’d often take me to her closet to celebrate her most recent fashion ‘find’ from Vancouver. But Rachel’s suitcase told me she was not afraid of wrinkles and a little disorder.” Returning to the question of food, she adds, “Rachel was an early riser and could not imagine life without good coffee. She pored over The Moosewood Cookbook (any cookbook, really) and took the time to make good food, meals that often involved lots of chopping—and cilantro. She felt life in her body, and was not afraid to lick her plate after a meal.”

Rachel’s exuberant engagement with the world and her love of words contributed to her gift for keen observation and conversation. Liz Reimer refers to Rachel as her “reading buddy,” explaining, “Together Rachel and I gleefully and conspiratorially ‘read’ the world around us: the gritty, hilarious and sometimes agonising details of our work and domestic lives, of people we knew and covers of People magazine, of politics, motherhood (that was the topic dearest to both our hearts), t.v. (she thought it was lame that I watched the new Hawaii 5-0 just to catch glimpses of recognizable Honolulu landmarks), movies, vacations, food, (another of our favourites), shopping, illness, love, death, and so many other things as well.”

Karen Hofmann writes, “As a conversationalist, Rachel was ideal – she didn’t shy away from any topic. Nothing was too personal, too political, too painful, or too paltry for her to take on, and she gave her complete attention, objective analysis, and genial wit to anything that came up. I attribute her ability to extemporize so widely both to her great intelligence, curiosity, and wide range of knowledge and to her depth of self-knowledge and self-acceptance. In the generosity of her mind was a world outlook that accepted every idea as worthy of investigation and sought to understand all.”

Each friendship was multi-faceted and broad in scope. Angela Donnelly remembers, “I've never laughed with anyone as much as I laughed with Rachel. We drank tea together, ate chips and salsa, listened to Joni Mitchell's Court and Spark over and over. We protested and advocated, took trips, shared books and cried together. We gossiped, oh did we gossip. And analyzed - each other, our families, our friends, strangers, whoever. Rachel loved people, took so much from all of us and gave even more in return. She was there, all the time.”

Leah Clare further remarks on the delightful depth and breadth that Rachel embodied. “I first met Rachel in 2002 when she was my professor of Women's Literature. I was smitten. In a student/teacher type of way. I had never met anyone who was so highly intelligent, articulate, funny, and down-to-earth all at the same time - very real. Rachel could have an in-depth conversation with you one second about the complexities behind Systemic Functional Grammar and then turn to you, with that mischievous glint-of-the-eye, and say "So, are you in camp Aniston or camp Jolie?"

Rachel’s cancer, and its return, was devastating to her friends, but she was able to bring her “robust soul” even to this. As Carolyn Ives observes, “She enthusiastically embraced life and whatever it brought. Even her treatment—she was willing to try anything, and she gave every option a chance to show her what it could offer.” On this point, Kevin adds, “Rachel was very true, in every sense. And she was brave. I told her this once during her first bout with cancer. She said, ‘I'm just doing what I need to do.’ This was her attitude, her way of facing this thing without despair.”

Martin Whittles was one of Rachel’s very dear friends, who himself passed away from cancer in 2009. Martin had become Rachel’s brother-in-arms during their collective battle with the disease. So when Rachel was re-diagnosed with her own cancer, nearly the first words out of her mouth were—“I wish Marty were here; I need to speak to Marty.” Dawn Farough, Martin’s beloved wife, says of Rachel, “After the Fall of 2007, our friendship turned ‘hard-core.’ We had long conversations about cancer drugs and research, exchanged coffee dates for chemo dates, and supplemented our cookbook and fiction reading with books written by those who had experienced cancer. I remember Rachel’s impassioned speech at Martin’s funeral, her presence at the hospice immediately after his death, and always always the energy she put into maintaining a wonderful quality of life for herself, her family, and her many girlfriends. Oh yes, the girlfriends! ‘According to Cameron,’ Rachel once told me, ‘I have highly developed social needs.’ Then she dissolved into laughter.”

That circle of girlfriends drew closer to Rachel as she faced the reality of her recurrence and her approaching death with characteristically clear eyes. Liz remembers, “When I saw Rachel the day she had become completely bedridden, a week before her death, the very first thing she said to me was, ‘Well, Lizzie, I don't know why, but we've been talking about all this, all these years, and now, here I am.’ “

In the wake of our loss, some of our reflections weave a tapestry, a collective love letter which reads:

Perhaps Rachel`s best quality was her complete acceptance of people as they are. She never judged her friends or wished for them to change, which is what led us all to confide in her, about hopes, dreams, successes, even failures. She always helped me to see the positive in situations—and her greatest gift to her friends was her encouragement for all of us to do the same.

She always seemed to know what I meant. She had a gift for understanding others: that's why so many of us found her to be the generous, supportive, and also hilariously sarcastic, witty, and perceptive companion and interpreter of the world she was. At times the talk was more about the struggles than the strides, and it was then that I appreciated Rachel's vision even more, because it was her conviction in my capability at those times that rallied my own.

Rachel had my back. She loved me. I don’t know if Rachel knew how much her love sustained me and healed me. She was much more than my teacher, much more than my boss, more than a friend...she was my family...and she is irreplaceable.

I will forever remember Rachel’s capacity for wonder and her rapture for books. I will remember how Rachel could keep a secret. And the sound of her voice cracking when she told me that she had cancer. I look forward to the sweet and joyous memories of my dear friend Rachel, who will always be welcome to pop into my mind and stay as long as she pleases.

Angela Larson summarizes for us some of Rachel’s invaluable lessons. She writes that Rachel taught us to:

“Love big: Rachel took the concept of “unconditional love,” unfettered and unqualified, out of the realm of pop culture and lived it.

Laugh loudly: Rachel’s boisterous capacity for joy, in a world that often gave her pause, has always been inspiring. Rachel freely shared happiness, motivating others to do the same.

Be careful with assumptions: Blessed with an inherent ability to empathize, Rachel could understand those “different” from her. The expansive continuum that was her world view continues to inspire us.

Angela continues, “These are but a few of the lessons Rachel imparted to me. I could add loyalty, inclusion, idealism, fairness… but the scope of her reach and influence is not easily defined, not easily measured. I am beyond fortunate to have been her friend and pupil in life; thanks to Rachel, my heart is more capable, my eyes more open, my ears more receptive. And though I pine for more of her instruction, I am buoyed, however slightly, by the knowledge that perhaps I can continue sharing with others what she has taught me.“

Finally, one enduring message I take away from the heartfelt statements gathered from Rachel’s many close and very dear friends is, I think, best expressed by Karen Hofmann. She writes, simply, “Rachel created a world that was infinite in scope of subject. The world is a much smaller and duller place without Rachel’s company.” Farewell, our beloved friend.

Kamloops Daily News story, April 29, 2011, p. 3

A memorial service will be held for a popular English professor who died after a long battle with cancer.

Rachel Nash died Apr. 24. She came to Kamloops in 1999 as an assistant professor in the English and modern languages department at TRU.

Thompson Rivers University president Alan Shaver said in a statement that Nash “distinguished herself as one of our outstanding scholars and a much-loved and respected teacher.”

The university said Nash married longtime spouse and fellow TRU faculty member Cameron Reid at a private ceremony last week at their home. The couple have a six-year-old son.

A memorial ceremony for Nash will be held Saturday, May 14, at TRU’s Grand Hall at 2 p.m.

Links to newspaper obituaries

Kamloops Daily News, April 29, 2011
http://www.inmemoriam.ca/view-announcement-229534-rachel-andrea-nash.html

Toronto Globe and Mail, April 30, 2011
 http://v1.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/Deaths.20110430.93263393/BDAStory/BDA/deaths

Vancouver Sun, April 30, 2011
http://www.legacy.com/can-vancouver/Obituaries.asp?page=lifestory&personid=150657216