Gilbert (Gib) McKague Drynan

A Loving Tribute to Dad

It is with broken hearts we share the news of losing a spectacular husband, father, and grandfather, Gib (Gilbert) Drynan on September 7, 2025 at the age of 90 years old.

He leaves behind his sweetheart, wife Rose of 64 years, children Marc, Kurt, and Kirby, son-in-law Martin, and 30 years of memories with Myles. He also leaves grandchildren Lyndsey, Jamie, Rheanna, Dayna, Niko, Leia, Ethan, and Lane.

He will be lovingly remembered by surviving brother Linc Drynan and sister in-law Karen Drynan, brothers and sister’s in-law Ruth Drynan, Louise Drynan, Richard and Sharon Fehr, Marge Fehr, Mary Dyck, Bill Thiessen, Ted Buzunis, and numerous special nieces and nephews who have grown close to him over the years. His community of warm friendships at Whiteshell Baptist Church will also cherish the memory of Gib as a wonderful friend and important member of their community for so many years.

He was predeceased by his parents, Gordon and Minnie Drynan, father and mother in-law Cornelius and Mary Fehr, and brothers Gordie, Jim, Lorne, and Aubrey, and brothers and sister’s in-law Wilmer, Arnold, Linda, Viola, Geraldine, Archie, and Diane.

Mom and Dad met in the Air Force in 1958 and married in 1961. After their wedding, they lived on the Air Force base in Beausejour (Milner Ridge), Manitoba. That part of their journey came full circle many years later, when the old base, now Milner Ridge Minimum-Security jail, became a place they visited weekly to visit and minister to the incarcerated. The original concrete pad where their trailer once sat in 1961 was still there, now part of the space where they would later share stories, the gospel, and warm handshakes with people working to turn their lives around. They loved their time there and were grateful for the chance to share God’s love and forgiveness.

In 1966, Dad was recommended for a job at AECL in Pinawa by his former Air Force commanding officer, Andy Anderson. He took the position and moved our young family to Pinawa, into the home they would live in for the next 59 years.

At AECL, Dad’s drive to learn and his quiet determination led him from being an Air Force-trained instrument mechanic to earning his Human Resources and Personnel certification from the University of Manitoba. He transitioned into a personnel role at AECL, where he worked closely with the union, always striving to make people feel heard and respected. His calm, steady presence made a real difference.

Later, he became Head of Security and Townsite for the Whiteshell AECL site. In that role, he worked with the RCMP and CSIS, always approaching his responsibilities with the same fairness and diplomacy. Not everyone loves the person who enforces the rules but even when people disagreed with him, they respected him.

At home, while we were growing up, Dad was the strong, silent type. He came from a generation that didn’t always wear emotions on their sleeves, but we never doubted his love. Our yearly road trips to Alberta to visit family were a highlight. Dad would pack up our giant Pontiac, complete with lap desks he made for our games and books, and off we’d go. If we were towing the big tent trailer, he was the master of setting up and taking down. We always left and returned with the same number of people which was something we were all grateful for!

After he retired from AECL in 1994, Dad softened even more. The once-stoic Air Force man allowed himself to be moved by a beautiful mountain view or a sentimental commercial. He’d get embarrassed when tears welled up, but I always told him those tears were one of my favorite things about him. They showed how much he felt and how deeply he loved.

In retirement, their backyard became their masterpiece. Mom had the vision; Dad did the building. Over nearly six decades, they transformed their flat yard into a peaceful retreat with a gazebo, rock walls, a pond, and lush garden beds. He used to joke that his retirement job was making little rocks out of big rocks for Mom. It was a true labor of love. Every summer, Mom and Dad would sit in the gazebo to enjoy the sounds of Pinawa, and a good dose of well-earned naps.

Through the good times and the hard ones, Dad never stopped loving us. When people were upset with him, he always chose the high road. He didn’t lash out. Instead, he’d quietly write down his thoughts or approach the situation with diplomacy to try to find a way forward. He kept growing, listening, and learning and always striving to be a better man. His deep faith in God helped him approach troubles with greater clarity and to accept life’s challenges while being thankful for every blessing.

We celebrated Dad’s 90th birthday just three days before the stroke that would ultimately take him. That birthday party, surrounded by friends and family, became such an incredible gift. We got to celebrate him, share stories, and express our love while he was still with us. Few people get that kind of goodbye, and we know how lucky we were to have been a part of it.

He’s only been gone a week, but it already feels like forever. We’re wading through grief that is a complex mixture of deep sadness, anxiety around the new normal, and sometimes unexpected laughter. We know it won’t get easier, but it will become part of how we live. Some days, the little things will undo us. Other days, the big things will sit quietly in the background, reminding us how much he meant, and still means, to us.

Dad used to call me for help with his computer or some project, always starting with, “You must be getting tired of hearing from me.” I always gave him the same answer, especially in recent years when I truly understood that time is a gift, not a promise. I would reply with “Don’t ever think that. There’ll come a day when I’d give anything for one more call.”

That day is now, and it will be for the rest of our days.

We love you so much, Dad. The Gib-shaped hole you’ve left behind can be patched, but never truly filled. We’ll find you in the stillness of the garden and the outline of the mountains on the horizon.

And we’ll see you again. Promise.

Cremation has taken place and no formal service will be held.

www.soberingfuneralchapel.com