The funeral service was held at Pardes Chaim Cemetery and livestreamed on Wednesday, September 16, 2026, at 1:00 p.m. To view the recorded service, please visit, (https://smclive.ca/).

The following tribute has been shared on behalf of Sheldon’s son:

Dear Friends and Family,

Thank you to everyone who joined together to celebrate my father’s life. Unfortunately, I was unable to attend the funeral, but I wanted to put a few words to paper and share some of the special memories I have of my father.

Growing up, I think my father and mother faced a challenge that many parents experience: raising a child while trying to provide everything possible to help that child succeed in life. Being their first, only—and, naturally, favourite—child, I think they had their hands full. I had endless energy.

When I was young, my parents signed me up for baseball and, of course, hockey. I played a lot—on multiple teams and at a competitive level. My dad never seemed to miss a game. He would routinely sponsor my team through his business, The Medicine Shoppe.

He spent countless hours playing catch with me and helping me perfect my curveball. I am pretty sure he had to slow down for his own safety by the time I was around 14 years old. Still, he was always at every game. Whenever I was on the mound trying to make batters whiff at my pitches, I knew he would be there—sitting in the stands, slightly to the right of the catcher, watching me with pride.

His support was not limited to the baseball diamond. When winter arrived, he was there throughout hockey season as well. Sometimes, I would be the only player on my team who showed up for practice. There he would be, freezing his butt off in the stands while I practised against an empty net.

Beyond sports, my father was an avid music lover. Whether it was the Beach Boys, the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin or Jimmy Buffett, music was always playing. He listened to so, so, so much Jimmy Buffett.

He played a major role in shaping my musical taste, which flourished after I discovered my Uncle Marshall’s guitar and fell in love with playing. I learned all the classics—in all the wrong ways. Nobody could play “Hotel California” out of key better than I could. Yet, my dad would still say, “It sounds pretty close.” Maybe it was a bit of a jab, but it was still encouraging.

I would often hijack the radio and make him listen to whatever music was influencing me at the time. If you remember the music of the 1990s, you will know that not all of it was good. Perhaps this was my payback for all those hours of Jimmy Buffett.

My father bought me a guitar that I loved, even though it was far too expensive for any 13-year-old to own. I am not sure he ever really knew how to say no to me. He always wanted me to have the best. Perhaps my mother had some influence on that. Regardless of any disagreements they may have had, they always seemed to agree on wanting the very best for me.

I still have that guitar today. I may not play “Margaritaville,” but whenever I pick it up and fiddle around, I feel as though I am holding a piece of him.

I grew up with a great deal of privilege because of everything my father and mother dedicated to me. My dad worked long hours to maintain his business. We would often go to his store on Sundays so he could, in his words, “catch up on work.” In reality, we simply spent time together. I might have been skating in the back lot or playing video games on his computer while watching Futurama and eating all the expired chocolate that nobody would buy. Some might call that a community service, but really, it was our special way of bonding.

I learned so much from my father without even realizing it. He gave me a masterclass in parenting and teaching. He taught me how important it is to allow people to explore, imagine and discover things for themselves. He showed me the value of giving someone the right tools and supporting them through both the good days and the difficult ones.

I think he understood better than most that I would always push myself to be the best I could be and that he only needed to be a gentle guide. I suspect this was something he learned from his own parents.

As I begin my own journey as a parent, I cannot help but reflect on how I was raised. Although there were things I did not appreciate at the time, I now recognize how much my parents did right. I find myself wondering each day how they would have handled the situations I now face. More often than not, I find myself using the same tools they used with me.

When I was much younger, I remember my father calling a sports radio station during yet another one of the Leafs’ “landmark” years. He told the host, “You know, I remember watching the Leafs win the Cup with my father. I’m worried that I’m going to watch them win it again with my father.”

The radio host asked, “What’s wrong with that?”

My father replied, “My father has been dead for many years!”

That might be the Richmond sense of humour. Speak with Uncle Marshall if you would like to experience it firsthand.

Personally, I am concerned that I may not see the Blue Jays win the World Series again until I am with my father. Perhaps Zaidy and Dad could do something about that. I’m just saying—it would be nice.

I want to thank everyone who attended the funeral and came together to celebrate my father’s life. I also want to thank Uncle Marshall, Sue, Traister, Carol, Sean and Jeremy for all the support you provided in the days leading up to his passing, as well as the continued love and support you have given my mother.

Right until the very end, my father was thinking about how he could care for others rather than himself.

That is exactly who he was—a man who always put everyone else first.

 

Memorial donations may be made to the Canadian Cancer Society, (https://cancer.ca/en/).