A Son's Tribute MASS Ischemia Discovered in Euology

Dr Andrew (Ahmad) Moulden MA .
MD, PhD
A Sons Tribute honoring his Father's 84 1 of
MYSTERY OF BABYLON Volume 1, Chapt. 1
September 11, 1966 - Ronald William Moulden (1920-2003) 9/11/1966 - Doctor Andrew Moulden (1964 - present)
Dr Andrew (Ahmad) Moulden MA .MD, PhD
MYSTERY OF BABYLON
Dr. Andrew J. Moulden, Our father, Ronald William Moulden, was born January 3rd, 1920 (1-3-1930) in Montreal, Quebec, Canada to proud parents William Jeffrey Moulden and Helen Middleton. Our fathers caring generous nature was present throughout his life. It is no surprise then that this gentle man passed away peacefully, surrounded by a caring family, who exuded nurturance and love in the same giving spirit as this temperate man has modeled throughout his life.
Our father was always willing to give of himself to help his family, and others, navigate the trials and tribulations of life. When his own mother succumbed to Cancer in her late 40, there was no Home Care available in that era. Ron was in his 20s. Rather than tend to his own youthful adventures, our father chose to remain home and tend to his family. He and his father worked shift work. One would work days, the other nights, so someone could be with his mother 24 hours a day
Dads first job was receiving flying lessons at age 18. He was involved with Noorduyn Aviation during WWII building planes including the Harvard trainer and The Norseman which is still used in Northern Canada today. Dad then went into the automobile industry as a service/sales manager for Bud and Dyer. Their focus was on imported vehicles such as Bentley, Jacquar, and Peugeot. Our fathers pride in his youth was his Jaguar, a car that he has retained affinity for all his life. His interests extended to mechanical things including automobiles, planes, and motorcycles. He participated successfully in various automobile races and motor cycle hill climbs in his 20s to 30's.
Ron worked for Brunswick Canada as the Maritimes Sales Rep, and resided in Moncton, NewBrunswick from 1963-66 after marrying mom in 1959. He returned to Montreal briefly. Our young family then relocated to North Bay for 27 years. In North Bay Dad worked for London Life, an overhead door business, then retired at age 65 after working as an owner-operator in the Courier industry. He then moved to Guelph for 2 years, Kitchener for 8 years, and most recently Wiarton in the months preceding his becoming ill.
My Father's hobbies included family life, wood-working, boating, camping, fishing, traveling, reading novels, automobile racing was a sport he enthusiastically followed, and cars. His aptitudes were mechanical. There was nothing that his hands could not fix, take apart, build, or create. He retained a fascination with the aviation industry. In retirement he had the opportunity to fly in a glider in Guelph. It was heart-warming to see the enthusiastic glee, and adventurous, indomitable spirit of a young man captured on our fathers face this past summer in Wiarton when my sister and brother-in-law were able to
get Dad a flight in a Harvard Trainer (Picture). Dad helped build these planes during the second World War. The pilots were so impressed with Dads knowledge of their plane and hobby that they invited him to come and speak to them as a group.
In todays era, people tend to measure a mans value by success in life as indexed by achievement, financial wealth, social status, power, popularity, and possessions. Although our father did not amass huge credits on these indices, as a family, we are unanimous in our wholehearted recognition that Ron Mouldens value was immeasurable on such superficial scales. Kindness, soft-spoken, gentleness, affection, humor, dedication, commitment, modesty, generosity, warmth, integrity, a youthful spirit, and a love for chatting with people. He did not raise his hand to his family. Foul words were foreign to his tongue. He followed through on commitments. He was conscientious. His heart was pure, and everyone he met immediately knew this. He worked hard. He was reliable. He was faithful. Our parents had a hugging corner in our kitchen which was well used. Mom and Dad expressed their affection openly in our family, it was fun trying to squeeze between them in the hugging corner as a child in order to join in on the affection, and make them giggle. Dad struggled along with our mother to make ends meet and always, and we mean always in every sense of the word, he put the needs of his wife and children, and in recent years, grandchild, before his own.
One Christmas in our youth, when times were tough, our parents purchased Christmas presents for my sister and I, as well as for themselves. Unable to afford such a giving spirit this Christmas, and unbeknownst to my sister and I, our parents returned their own Christmas presents on boxing day. Our parents wanted their children to feel the joy of Christmas even though they could not afford to give to each other. They sheltered us from their worries, sacrificed their own pleasures, and put my sister and I in the forefront of their life. It was a divine gift to be blessed with such caring parents. Even the minutia of our happiness as children was worked out to the finest detail. Dad would place newspaper on the floor between the fireplace and the Christmas tree, sure enough, with out fail, there would be footprints out of ashes on the newspaper in the am when my sister and I arose from bed evidence that Santa Claus had been to our house
During our teens, rather than send us to public school, our parents hoped that our educational needs might best be served in the private school sector. Our parents elected to foot the bill for this opportunity. Although high school was a blur for myself, and no walk in the park for my sister, many of the dreams our parents had for us have come to fruition. We are pleased our father was long-lived with quality of life, and
able to enjoy and appreciate the rewards of the labors of his love for our mother and for his children. For myself, much to my fathers surprise and pleasure, academia and clinical medicine has taken center stage. Dad was always interested in hearing the details of the latest research project I was involved in. He would always ask about the details of my Ph.D. thesis, or raise interesting medical questions. I would always ask about cars, car repairs, and directions on how to get to various places.
Dad was as mystified as I was with the aliya I experienced while watching the elderly residents at the Ben and Hilda Katz/Baycrest Centre for Geriatric Care eat breakfast one spring morning in 1996.
My PhD training in neurophysiology at the Rotman Research Institute of the Baycrest hospital impressed upon me the warmth, bonded spirituality, kindness, gentleness, and concern for humanity that Judaism seems to embody. There is a Unity to the Jewish people that reminded me of the unity I felt with my father we all share similar values and have tried to project these onto the World around us. I would not fully comprehend the significance of my time at the Baycrest until October, 2004. It was impressive to observe the local youth of the Jewish community around the Baycrest Centre in North York, Ontario come and visit the lonely elderly patients on the weekend. What humanity! I have been in many hospitals and never have I witnessed such youthful altruism. I recall remarking to my father, no wonder the Jewish people have received so many Nobel prizes, they care for themselves, and each other. This is the motivation and Ron Moulden passed on to us. If only the rest of the world cared for their fellow man this way, what a better place the world would be.
Our dad was an encyclopedia of car facts as well as route-taking directions. He could have written a book entitled The Best way to drive from here to there, with landmarks, scenic vistas, time-saving short-cuts, points of interest, and things to avoid. For each route there would have been annotated footnotes on three other ways to arrive at the same destination factoring in the time of day, seasonality, road conditions, global warming, and quite possibly migration patterns of the Canadian Goose. While we both listened intently and shared a mutual admiration for each others verbose offerings, I think we confused each other more times than not. Neither one of us had the heart to admit it. We will all miss asking dad for directions, on the road, how to fix things, what is wrong with our car, and with life.
For my sister, 'Meralie', parenthood and family-life has taken front stage. Ron was tickled pink by the addition of his grandson Jesse to our family. Jesse name derives from our grandmother, Olives mother, Jessie Andrews (nee Sclater). Jessie Andrews adored Ron and actively encouraged Olives dating and marrying such an upstanding young man. Jessie Andrews certainly was never disappointed by this endorsement and neither was mom, and neither were we as his children. Jessie Andrews passed away on my birthday, November 12th, 1988. Not surprisingly, Ron was intimately involved in her care as Jessie
lived with us during her final years after having succumbed to a stroke which rendered her unable to speak and with right-sided hemi-body weakness. It is comforting to envision these two warm spirits having reconnected. Men like our father will never be alone, in life or in death.
Dads affection for his grandson Jesse was obvious to all. Again, he continued to give of his time and spirit in truly wonderful and memorable ways. His creativity was bountiful. His wood working skills became well honed in retirement. He built Jesse a cradle, deacons bench toy box, bright red painted fire engine pedal car, and growth chart. These family heirlooms are a testament to this mans generosity, talents, and his own unsung humble recognition that the sands of time eventually would remove his body from his grandsons life, but never his desire, life-spirit, or memory. For dad was as exceptional as a grandparent as he was as a parent. Our children, and our childrens children, will know of this kind man not only by our words but by Dads wood-working heirlooms, part of his lasting legacy to our family.
More than the pride Dad had in his grandson, he was proud that his daughter married Jeffrey Plews, a man that loves and cherishes his pumpkin as much as he does, did, and always will. We all were amply aware that Ron was grateful to Wayne and Pat Plews for having raised such an incredible son to carry on our fathers devotion of caring for his one and only daughter, and these past 2 years, his one and only grandson. Unfortunately, a youthful Pat Plews passed away suddenly and unexpectedly shortly after Meranie and Jeff met. It is comforting to envision these two warm spirits, Ron and Pat, having reconnected. Grandparents like Ron Moulden and Pat Plews will never be alone, in life or in death. They live forever in our memories, as we do in theirs. It is comforting to imagine Dad sharing his memories of his Grandson with Pat Plews at this moment, and filling her in with details of these past years of family life.
As was the case throughout all their life, our parents put the needs of their children ahead of their own. They gave up many things others would have preferred for themselves in order to enhance our life as a family, and as children. A partial listing includes; private schooling, extra-curricular activities, bowling, dance lessons (for my sister not myself although I have been told I could have benefitted from lessons), summer camp, Walt Disney World, family vacations, current fashion, snowmobiling, toys, dinners out, boating, pets, and above all else, TIME. We were given ample amounts of our parents time in youth and adulthood. They wanted the best for their children, but recognized their children must determine what the best was for them.
Genesis 1:1-11 (Bible - creattion of Heavens and Earth - 11:11 Phenomenon - a reminder GOD CREATED we did not 'devolve' from apes or some random amonio acid slurry in some primordial oceanic soup). My parents were disappointed when I dropped out of high school. They did not pressure me to return to high school, and I never did. In the end, I attended 6 Different Ontario Universities, over 13 years, obtained four degrees including two Doctorates , and moved frequently, no less than 25 times. Someone once remarked to my retired parents Why are you getting involved with this?? Dont you think your kids are old enough now to take care of themselves? My parents cogent response was then as it was 40 years ago, as it is today: We chose to be parents for life, these are our children, we will always be there for them, parenting does not stop at eighteen. I would not have the opportunities to help others in life as a physician today, were it not for the devotion of Ron and Olive first to each other, and then to us as their children. 'Meralie' and I learned a sense of permanence and stability from our parents that has forged our life pursuits in profoundly gratifying ways.
The remarkable story here is something our parents made known to us from our youth. Our devoted parents adopted my sister and me when we were infants. We both knew we were loved and wanted by our parents not only by their choosing us, but also by their unwavering support, guidance, and affection. Their love for each other was passed onto their children. Olive and Ron were married Nov. 14, 1959. Dad was 39 at the time. Their 44th wedding anniversary was last week. They were never separated as a couple. Like all families, issues of contention did arise, however Ron and Olive made a point of never going to bed angry with each other.
Four years after our parents married, my sister entered Ron and Olives life; One and half years later, I was chosen to enter this endearing and enduring family. I was born in the Saint John General Hospital, Saint John Newbrunswick. My biological roots, and that of my sister, hail from Moncton Newbrunswick. Our adoption stories were as unique, playful, and inspiring as the parents God blessed us with. Dad affectionately recounted how he was out on a stroll in a park one afternoon with Olive and when he reached both his arms out to embrace his wife, a baby in the form of my sister Meranie fell out of a tree into his arms. What joy!
One and a half years later was a similar treat with a different beat altogether. Whether a sign of teen years to come, an appreciation of the devilish sparkle in my own eyes, or the fact that I entered the family on April Fools day, Dad recounted how this proud new family was once again strolling through the park. This time, rather than a silent fall from above, they heard some rattling and carryings on in one of the garbage cans lining the path. Low and behold, kicking around in that can was a beautiful little boy me! My sister and I cherish these stories of our birth into our family. I still have not figured out how my infant sister managed to shimmy up a tree. I have, however, recognized that the garbage can (or dog house), is a familiar place for my Lebanese descended body to be. So too, did my father.
The Birth of I.M.A.M. M.A.H.D.I. - 11-12-1964 (My great Grandfather, biological great grandfather, is the last knonw in my family lineage, his name was Abudullah Messiah..that is all we know, other than he was Syrian and came from damascus. These facts were unknown until i sought out my biological roots in 1999. If one can imagine my sister falling from a Pine tree into Dads arms as a baby, our fathers stories of our beginnings as a family take on special meaning in light of our last Christmas together. Last year, dad hand made three masterfully crafted, waist high, garbage cans made out of out of pinewood, with a bottomsliding drawer. My mother added decorative designs to the hinged top of these creations with paint and brush. We all received one of these family treasures, which has turned out to be one of Dads last Christmas presents to each of us. These gifts are now elegant furnishings occupying floor space in a corner of the kitchen of my mothers, my sisters, and my own home. Dads family story line is complete. Garbage cans, hand made from a Pine tree, dads final gifts to all of us. A Pine Tree and a Garbage can is as symbolic of our beginnings as a family with our father, as is three garbage cans hand crafted from Pine wood as our fathers departing gifts. He truly was a master craftsman, with woodwork, and with his family. From this day forward, in whatever kitchen space this Pine wood garbage can is proudly displayed, the corner in
which it stands shall be affectionately known as our families hugging corner, in reverence of our fathers love, in the beginning, in the enduring, and in the end.
We will miss Rons strong comforting hands in our lives.. embracing our mother, building woodwork heirlooms, fixing everything broken, holding his grandchildren, making coffee, barbecuing, answering the phone, writing out directions, petting our dogs, unwrapping our presents, eating our meals, standing in doorways waving good-bye, holding us close, squeezing our hands, and touching our hearts.
Our family bonds, a testament of our respect for one another, are stronger today than they have ever been. Perhaps a better measure of the value of a man should be the legacy he leaves behind in the loving and giving and bonded spirits of his spouse and his children. In this vein our father was a master welder and well worth his weight in gold, praises, and respect. Eight-four years of life, we know of no one who has something bad to say about our father. Ron was admired, enjoyed, and appreciated by all who knew him. He enjoyed putting smiles on peoples faces. He seldom lost his anger. He was gentle and a gentleman. Family was his prime interest in life. Our happiness made him happy. He liked people. People liked him. He made himself known even to the cashiers when shopping. He would read the cashiers nametags, address them by name, and introduce himself as Ron. A pleasant conversation typically ensued, smiles quickly erupted on peoples faces. The lucky ones were graced with a story or two as an offshoot of these light and playful conversations. The exchange would usually end with Dads signature Wink ;-). A wink from our father was to share in his personality and affection for all things sociable, genuine, caring, and pure.
I met my biological mother on March 16, 2001 at Indigo Book Stores at the Yorkdale Mall in Toronto. Ron understood that connecting with my biological roots was something very important to me and I had his support. I have been doubly blessed. Ron and Olive are remarkable parents and exemplary role models in every sense of the word. Beyond their warmth, as of March 16th, 2001 to September 16th, 2004 I have now been blessed with having had the opportunity to meet my entire biological roots: Mother Carol; Father Carl; Step-mother Debbie; Sisters Dawn, Tanya, Yvette; brother-in-law Mark; Sister-in-law Debbie; 8 uncles and 1 aunt on my mothers side; 3 aunts and 1 Uncle on my fathers side; innumerable cousins, neices, nephews. My biological familial roots have never met my father. For now, I am pleased that they learn of my father, and OUR FATHER, through their reflections in me as my values and warmth are mirrors of my dads soul and how he and my mother raised us.
Kids in our neighborhood recognized how special dad was. It was a one and a half kilometere walk from our home to the local bowling alley. Most kids in the neighborhood had to find their own way to the bowling alley early on Saturday mornings, by bike, foot, or ski as most parents preferred to sleep in on Saturday mornings. Not infrequently, other children would show up on our doorstep, knowing that Mr. Moulden could be counted on to get out of bed, and provide warm vehicle transport for his own children as well as for any children on our doorstep.
Dads generosity of spirit and compassion for humanity is reflected in the anguish he shared with the world when three thousand people were killed during the 911 crisis. Dad and I shared our dreams for a good land flowing with milk and honey, a kind of Utopian state. The World Trade Centre calamity reverberated painfully in our souls. Dad could not fathom the live evil reflected on CNN. September 11, 2001 was a testament to the failings of humanity to self govern, peacefully, with integrity, respect, and compassion. I recall dad being mystified when the airline industry was grounded worldwide on September 13th, 2001 in the wake of the 911 calamity. I spoke with dad earnestly during this horrific time.
(For ALL the PROOF IN THE WORLD that Israel pulled off the 911 attacks on the WTC complex, (I will be bringing justice against Israel also for perpetrating the Amerithrax Anthax mailings later this year) go to the following youtube internet address: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NUbTe50UUgM Ron likened some of the insanity of 911 to my own experiences with the vaccine-autism research I was working on. On June 13, 2001 I had submitted, the the College of Physicians and Surgeons of Ontario, and to some senior psychiatric supervisors, a draft manuscript outlining my evolving model on how the MMR and other vaccines appeared causally related to the autism epidemic sweeping the globe. My work met with incredulity, ridicule, and discreditation. My supervisors wrote my work off as preposterous and grandiose. My concerns and explanatory model, although hypothetical, were well researched, referenced, reviewed, and detailed with what we might be missing and what we might need to do next. I stated that, although the current rate of autism is 1 child in 500, based on the impaired blood flow model I think think exists, I stated that that the incidence of autism is likely to continue to climb, if we maintain a universal, mandatory repeat vaccination schedule via public health protocols, to an incidence of 1 child in 20 or higher! I could not believe the resistance I experienced. It was irrational. It was as though I was attacking the very foundations and support infrastructure of Western medicine. Indeed, I was. I was attacking the pharmaceutical industry, whihc supports all organized medicine and academic centers. I was attacking the cornerstone of Western medicine - Germ Theory. I was proposing that it was not the germs, in and of themselves, which cause diseases/disorders, it was the odies response TO germs and heavy metals (healing) over activated whihc was causing disease/disorders, including autism and sudden infant death. No matter How I put it, my
attempts to bring forth new knowledge to help us, was like trying to steer a train on a straight path when the tracks are set in a circle.
As I continued to express and expound my concerns that the childhood vaccines were causally linked to autism and neurodevelopmental disorders, it came to a point that the regulatory powers in my professional life were convinced that there indeed was something wrong with me and that I must be in need of treatment to get straight. In essence, the College of Physicians and some of my colleagues, some of whom I have never met personally, to this day, asserted Dr. Moulden is mentally unstable and in need of treatment - he must be 'MAD.'. I am. I was. I continue to be...MAD..I AM DAM MAD, and I have scientific proof of cause effect on vaccine induced autism at the 99.99th percentile level of statistical confidence. That makes me MAD, in temperment, not insanity. Despite my unwaivering belief, in vaccine induced brain damages (I could measure and see it), the College of Physicians and surgeons own indepndent assessors could find nothing wrong wth my mental faculties other than being 'stressed.' I was stressed. We are causing harm...nobody seems to care. Nobody wants to rock the boat. I just want the truth to be known so parents can make informed decisions and children and infants are no longer killed or harmed. Despite the College of Medicine's own independent psychiatric assessors (there have been several) findng I was sane, the College was not satisfied with this and ushed for a diagnosis of some form of mental instabilty as only such a label would justify how I was not fitting into their dogmatic world of compartmentalized beliefs and preventative medicine panacea - one size fits all global vaccines. Indeed, the College of Medicine went as far as stating Dr. Moulden must have pharmacological treatment for his delusional disorder in order for him to continue his medical practice and receive licensure. My own lawyers took a strong stand on my behalf. In the end, it was easier to simply go along with the College and its requests rather than subject myself to time lost from career and training. I also learned to shut my mouth on issues of vaccination and autism. Although effectively silenced, it did not shut my curiosity, and I
have continued to research my autism-vaccine model, behind-the-scenes, and fully intend to continue doing so provided the evidence suggests this is the right course such is life, my father recognized this, I recognized this, and news worthy events, around-the-world, indicate, in many ways, the system is sicker than the individual.
I think I would rather change the system, to help the individual, rather than change the individual, to help myself. Ron agreed with this philosophy and in many ways lived by it.
I promised Dad that I would press on with my research until I found he absolute undeniable truth whatever that would be before I die with the purpose of using our life histories as a backdrop for challenging science over faith, humanity over inhumanity, truth over deception, and unravel the mystery behind one of the causes of autism and schizophrenia. But dad knew what I was really up to, I was searching for proof of th existence of GOD - in medicine, by studying the brain - my secret, something hidden, from all, but my father, and our FATHER. If I ever shared this goal, I would have been deemed crazy, and al my real scientific work would be invalidated by association - another delusion I guess.
I promised dad that I would change the world view of seeing is believing to believing is not seeing and try to open the eyes of the people of this planet that war is a malignant scourge and mans greatest sin it can no longer be tolerated, only abolished. We have reached a new era, if we cannot find some new more equitable means of settling disputed among nations, Armageddon will be on our doorstep, we have had our last chance (General Douglas Macarthur) The Mystery of Babylon series emerged in the wake of 911, and dad realized that I would unravel the mystery of autism and schizophrenia, as he and I have both solved problems together in life.
My sister and I basked in the love our parents shared for one another throughout our life. Affection in the form of hugs, kisses, kind words, and/or I love you pumpkin(Meranie) Drew-Boo(me) or Big-Browneyes (mom) were daily events in our formative years. One does not fully appreciate the impact this stability and security and consistency has on ones character until one is older. For my sister and I, the world became a safe, inviting, predictable place to explore, shape, conquer, and pursue our dreams. Our parents inspired in us, that any and all our dreams were possible, it just took hard work, dedication, persistence, and perhaps a dash of creativity, virtues our father modeled well.
It was hard to select a few short stories of dads life that reflected his personality and us as a family as there are many. Our father had a subtle sense of humor and a sweet tooth. He was humble. He had a remarkable ingenuity at figuring things out. He was modest in much of his endeavors. You could sense his genuineness immediately. The purity and lovability of his heart came through in the content and the tone of his conversations, as well as in the nuances of his behavior. These few stories of our times together capture some of these charming qualities.
Perhaps the funniest time I recall as a young family was my sisters graduation from Easy bake oven to the big-time; real kitchen, real oven, real mixing bowls and electrical appliances. The Iron Chef would have been proud with her degree of preparation and how astutely she glided through the kitchen. What was the prize on this particular occasion? It was one of dads favorites. A lemon meringue pie. One can just imagine how perfect this creation could be with the lemon filling cooked to a succulent, solid, gelatinous form, peaked with mouth watering swirls of meringue in the shape of a rolling pyramid slightly browned and oven glazed to a point peaking in the middle.
Well, to my sisters demise, and my fathers chagrin, design and outcome clashed that day. The four of us were sitting at the dinner table with Dad at the head as always. We had just finished dinner. Meranie uncovered her masterpiece for our father. Clearly, my sister was terribly disappointed with her creation. My father, a sensitive man, with a good sense of humor, in addition to his sweet tooth. Unfortunately for my sister, these three traits combined on this occasion. My sisters lemon pie had no form. In fact, the end result was a pie shell filled with of a watery, shapeless, but delectable smelling goop. Neither to disappoint nor discourage my sisters culinary skills, my father did not turn his nose up at this offering. Meralies eyes were welling up at this point if I recall. With out losing a beat, my father boldly asked for a straw to eat his dessert. Unfortunately for my sister, my sensitivity was not yet honed. I was written off my sisters
dessert menu for some time when I respectfully chymed, no pie for me, I am not thirsty. Thankfully, my sister recovered from this ordeal, and she has continued to create marvelous dessert selections for birthdays and Christmas from that day forward. I am certain my sister will miss baking dessert selections for Dad, especially at Christmas time. Ron truly marveled at Merales culinary creativity, in hunger and in thirst.
One year mom looked up the origin and meaning of Dads name. As it turned out, the name had its semantic origins from the term Mighty Ruler. Mom playfully appeased our doting father with a T-shirt that year emblazoned with his new name Mighty Ruler.' along with the 'Moulden' coat of arms whihc has an insignia of 'Faithful to the King' (the King of Kings - there is only ONE). I do not recall dad wearing this T-shirt too often, he was too subtle, modest, and humble. He was, nonetheless, creative. He enjoyed boating and owned a boat in Montreal and in North Bay. He had a flag for his vessel in the form a battle-axe. In medieval times this was a long-handled ax used as a weapon. In modern times, it symbolizes a formidable woman. In our youthful naivety, we never appreciated the humor in why Dad would hoist the battle-ax flag only when mom was on board the boat.
Formidable mom, or mighty ruler dad, our parents depended on each other and could depend on each other. Nothing can compare to their affection and devotion and respect for one another than what we have observed in this formidable woman in caring for our father all his life, these past few years and months. As dads health became increasingly frail, this formidable woman stood up to the difficult and heart-wrenching challenges and nursed her love unwaveringly, up to his final days, by his side.
One of my fond memories with dad is captured in one of our morning breakfast rituals during grade school years. Dad would always be first up during the school week. He would serve breakfast for my sister and I, and make coffee for mom. The breakfast selections we had to choose from were typically healthy, low sugar content offerings including corn flakes, eggos, porridge, muffets, bran flakes, and cheerios. Occasionally we were treated with a sugar rush like Frosted Lucky Charms with candy flavored marshmallow chunks. The sugar cereals usually ended up in house only when mom and dad caved in to our incessant pleading at the grocery store, or by our placing the contraband cereal box in the grocery cart unnoticed. My favorite cereal for some time was weetabix. This cereal consists of small wafers upon which you pour warm milk, which we would then top with a light sprinkle of brown sugar. This was a healthy cereal, scoring 0 out of 10 on my taste buds sweetness scale. Why did I like it? Well, unlike the pre-sweetened cereals, the sugarless variety opened a door of opportunity. We were allowed to add a little bit of brown sugar to sweeten these bland items. A bag of brown sugar on the breakfast table I discovered was like being given keys to the candy store. It was not until I was older that I realized that dad was on to my tactics much earlier than I had imagined. He was subtle even in his reprimand.
This was the morning ritual. Dad and I each had two weetabix wafers in an empty bowl. Dad tended to the stove top warming up the milk. His back would be facing me when he stirred the milk. Just short of the boiling point, dad would bring the pot to the table and pour the milk over our wafers filling the bowls usually to the brim. The weetabix would disintegrate into a delectable whole wheat and fibre mush. There were small windows of opportunity in this regimen. Weetabix was a healthy cereal, but this kid craved sugar and sweets. Well, sweet brown sugar and little boys do not operate on under the same rules of modesty. Dad was the enforcer, One small scoop of brown sugar Drew, no more. The brown sugar came in a clear plastic bag and was usually sitting right in the middle of the table beckoning me every morning. It was impossible to load up my cereal with more than one scoop of sugar after dad sunk our weetabix with milk since he was sitting right in front of me at that point. I tried unsuccessfully a few times to sneak in a few extra scoops after the milk was poured but always got caught. These botched attempts resulted in dad becoming more vigilant in the future. I thought I was a child genius when I discovered the magic formula. Whenever dads back was turned to the stove, I would dig into the brown sugar bag with my spoon and hide 2 to 3 extra scoops of sugar under the weetabix wafers.
When dad poured the milk atop my cereal, the evidence of my sugar-fixing crime dissolved away. As it turns out, brown sugar becomes rock hard in the bag if it is not stored correctly. One morning, dad placed the brown sugar bag directly in front of me. Oddly, this particular morning I had a plastic rather than the customary metal spoon. With dads back at the stove, I charged my plastic spoon into the sugar bag. The spoon shattered and the handle snapped in two as the sugar was rock hard. When dad finished at the stove his smile was as warm as the milk when I told him I accidentally broke my spoon. He did not say anything, but he clearly knew what I was up to and had set me up. He was subtle. I am sure there were many times I thought I got away with something when, in fact, Dad simply let it pass, either to study me further, or to be pleasantly and silently amused by my antics. I dont think I was ever as smart as dad allowed me to think I was. I will miss amusing him, and being amused by him.
There is one final story of dad that I would like to share. My mother, father, and grandmother (Jesse) were at the Fairview Shopping Mall in Montreal. My sister and I were in tow. Meranie was four years old and walking. I was two and a half and in a stroller. Dad was wearing a houndstooth hat. We had just come from a store where Meranie and I each received a bright helium filled balloon. My balloon was secured to my stroller with a slipknot. My sister was clinging to her balloon string, and prancing proudly. My sisters grip slipped momentarily. The colorful balloon that moments ago captivated my sisters imagination and affection gently floated up to the skylights hurried along its ascent by my sisters ear piercing wails. We were in the foyer part of the mall, the balloon had floated very high to the mid-point of a cathedral style ceiling resting at a skylight. The illumination teased my sister further as her balloon glistened smartly well beyond anyones reach. Dad could not allow his little girl to be teased so painfully. His solution was ingenious and determined. Meranie did not want any balloon replacement. She wanted the balloon that got away.
Dad obtained two rolls of string from the cashiers at Laura Secords. He tied these rolls together and then attached my balloon to this string and floated my balloon up like a kite until it was beside my sisters at the skylight. After several swirls, dad succeeded at wrapping the string from the two balloons around each
other. Dad proceeded to pull Meralies balloon back down to ground level. A crowd was beginning to form. This was quite entertaining. It was hard to resist the appeal of a father creatively trying to retrieve something so important to his distressed little girl. My sister continued to wail and was not easily consoled by dads valiant efforts. It was hard for dad to wrap the strings tightly. Merales balloon slipped free at least twice during the reel in and floated back up to the skylight. After about one half hour of these antics, a large crowd had amassed and all had their gazes fixed on Dad. The ooohhs, ahhhs, and the concentrated silences of the crowd elevated our father and the Fairview Mall foyer to an entertainment status worthy of Tiger Woods and the putting green of the 18th hole at a PGA Masters finale. Finally, dad succeeded. The balloons wrapped firmly, Dad pulled them in. The crowd was silent. Meranie had stopped crying. When dad had both balloons in hand, the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers.
With the flair of a Circus Ringmaster, Dad extended one leg straight in front of his body, leaned back, and bowed deeply while tipping his hounds-tooth hat to the crowd. The hat tipping was accented with two tiny circular swirls in front of dads head followed by a deep pendular arc, which stopped at the height of Dads bow with the hat graciously pointing to the crowd. Mom described dads hat-tipping flair as worthy of a Musketeer. That was it for Dads moment of limelight. He was humble, but pleased to have retrieved something important to his daughter. He quickly and quietly went about his business that day, amidst modest deflections of praise and ovations, and thanking people for their enthusiastic commendations. Dad had many reasons to feel proud in life. On this particular day, it must have been uplifting to be appreciated by a crowd for ones dedication, determination, desire, and ingenuity at pleasing his family, and figuring things out. We certainly appreciated these qualities, without fanfare, all dads life.
These past few months, we tried to wrap ourselves around our father as tightly as we could. Unfortunately, despite all our efforts, his included, we were unable to secure a strong enough hold, to pull him back down to us.
Ronald William and Andrew Moulden - Last dance - 2003 - One beautiful soul with MASS Soul Weight worth more than ANY materialistic possession...Heaven headed.. We believe he was comforted as much by our efforts as we were by his attempts to hold on for us. For even in the end, his thoughts were as they have been all his life, my family. Like the balloon caper so many years ago, dad once again tried as ingeniously as he could, to retrieve and hold on to something his family loved dearly, this time it was not a balloon, it was is his soul and life force. These past few months he kept floating up higher and higher, we all tried to wrap around, but unfortunately, the distance became to great.
THESE PICTURES OF MY FATHER WERE ON HIS CASKET. AS IT TURNED OUT, THE REVEREND WHO TURNED UP TO OFFICIATE MY FATHERS FUNERAL IN KICTCHENER, ONTARIO, A MAN WE HAD NEVER MNET BEFORE, WAS REVEREND AL KIRKER. WE LEARNED AFTRE THE CEREMONY THAT REV. AL KIRKER FLEW HARVARD TRAINER AIRPLANES DURING THEN SECOND WORLD WAR. MOROEVER, REVEREND KIRKER WAS THE REVEREND THAT BAPTISED ME, AS A TODDLER, IN A RANDOM CHIRCH MY NEWLY ADOPTED PARENTS BROUGHT ME TO IN MONTREAL, QUEBEC, AFTRE THEY ADOPTED ME, AND EN ROUTE TO NORTH BAY ONATRIO WHERE I GREW UP. REVEREND AL KIRKER 93 NAMES 16 LETTERS) INTRODUCED MY GRIEVING MOM TO HIS COLLEAQUE, REVEREND ED LAKSMANIS, WHIH HEADS THE ST. JOHN CHIRCH IN WIARTON, WHERE MY MOTHER HAS FOUND SUSTENANCE FOR HER GRIEF OVER THE DEATH OF OUR FATHER TO THIS DAY. MY MOTHER IS NOW AN INTEGRAL PART OF THE ST JOHN CHUT=RCH...AND COMMUNIYT. I WAS BORN IN ST JOHN, NEWBRUNSWICK, ON THE 316TH DAY OF THE YEAR, AT THE ST JOHN GENERAL HOSPITAL. I MET MY BIOLOGICAL MOTHER FOR THE FIRST TIME ON 3-1601 - THE DAY I COMPLETED MY FIRST AUTISM-VACCINE MANUSCRIPT TO THE COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANS. THE NEUROLOGICAL TEST THAT I EVENTUALLY CREATED TO ESTABLISH THE CAUSE OF AUTISM 9IMPAIRED MICRO CIRCULATION BLOOD FLOW) IS BASED ON THE 3RD AND THE 6TH CRANIAL NERVES BY TRIANGULATING THEOR SYMMETRY MEASURES ABOUT EACH EYE. THIS IDEA CAME FROM THEN CALL SIGN NUMBERS I SAW ON THE HARVARD TRAINDER PLANE MY FATHER FLEW IN THE SUMMER BEFORE HE DIED WHIHC WAS ATOP MY FATHERS CASKET WHEN I DELIVERED THIS EULOGY. RONALD'S BIRTHDAY 1-3-19 TWENTY. I COULD GO ON AND ON, BUT YOU GET THE POINT - THERE IS DESIGN IN COINCIDENCES IF YOU LISTEN AND FOLLOW. I DID, AND NOW I AM READY TO HEAL THE
WORLD..I WILL, OR SO I HAVE BEEN TOLD...COINCIDENTALLY, IF YUO BELIEVE AND HAVE FAITH.
WHAT IS THIS ALL ABOUT? IT IS ABOUT TWO VERSES IN THEN BIBLE - MIRRORS OF ONE ANOTHER: 1. ST JOHN 3:16 (CHAPTER 3, VERSE 16) VS, 2. ST JOHN 3:19 (CHAPTER 3: VS. 19) I ENCOURAGE YOU TO LOOK THEM UP, AND PONDER THEOR MEANING IN PRESENT TIMES AND IN WHAT IS GOIUNG TO UNFOLD OVER THE UPCOMING YEAR ;-)0 BEYOND THE HELP COMING (healing) THIS 316-19 ATTACK IS GOING TO BLOW YOU AWAY AS YOU SEE THINGS LAID OUT ON THE WHO IS WHO IN THIS VACCINE-AUTISM DEBATE, FOR ALL ARE NUMBERED...THE SAME - STAGGERING ODDS. ...back to the eulogy... We have to imagine, with our fathers customary wink, and generosity of spirit, and loving affectionate ways, as he slowly floated out of our reach this past few weeks, he recognized, this is not something that any of us can retrieve. Our balloons are too far apart now.
Like the gliders and planes he recently flew in, he recognized it was now time for his spirit and soul to soar freely amongst the clouds.
Ron and Olive Moulden, Orlando, Florida, Hotel Room 136
At this junction, it is easy to imagine the youthful man from the Fairview Shopping Mall so many years ago.
I can see dad looking down on us, with a sheepish, modest grin, tipping his hat, and thanking us for our life and times together and the ovations received. His loving, generous eyes would be saying Now, go on about your business, and take care of yourselves and each other. I love you all. I look forward to being together in time. I will leave a long string attached to my soul. See to it that you find your way to wrap yourself around it in the future. I will be waiting, and will draw you near me when the time is nigh. Our family and friends will never be alone, in life or in death.
Dad you will be missed, but you will be remembered in our hearts and in our family gatherings as a man of integrity, warmth, and gentle kind words. Although Meranie and I could not articulate it as infants, thankyou for answering our prayers for a warm, loving, kind, soft-hearted, dependable, consistent, tolerant, loving father who loved his wife, children, and family unconditionally, consistently, and wholeheartedly. You have our blessings. We will meet again. Rest assured we will take care of ourselves and each other with the same gentle spirit as you have instilled in us. Whenever we see a balloon, from this day forward, our memory will be of your love, ingenuity, kindness, thoughtfulness, gentle ways, and your timeless Wink. God bless all of you in attendance for having taken time from your life to pay tribute to our father this day. Reverend Al Kirker, although you never had a chance to meet our Father these past 39 years, we thank-you for your kind words and participation in our fathers funeral services on behalf of the Plews family. We are certain that you had much more in common with our father than meets the eye, least of which was your flying of dads Norseman planes during the second world war. Thank-you all for participating in Dads life in your own unique ways. We hope you will treasure your memories of Ron as much as we cherish our dad. As one of the beatitudes in the book of Matthew state, Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. We are certain Ron has seen God now. We hope and pray that someday you as well will once again see our father, and Our Father, as in St. John 3:16. Through reflections on this biblical passage, I pray that each of you may have fellowship with my father, and our Father, and his son, Jesus Christ. That which is
hateful to me, I have not done to my neighbour. Now I study commentary. Dad, you are my Alpha and Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.
Father, I welcome all tests you see fit to lay before me. I am up to the task of learning. I will trust in you with all my heart. I will lean not unto my own understandings but submit to your will, your guidance, your direction. I will follow. Please guide me to the answers I seek and guide my fellow human beings to a place wherein they may know you and have greater fellowship with one another and their place and purpose in this life - a gift, for which I remain thankful, come good, come bad, come joy, come sorrow. Please help us understand your purpose for us that we are living a test, a test of faith, a test of mankind, a testament of Faith whihc we must choose blindly, to Love as we are loved,, as we were created, in your loving image. We all have value, as your creations. Please care for my father until we meet again, and thank-you for blessing my life with this kindred mild mannered soul, I will do my utmost to emulate his light in my life and YOUR light for others to see TRUTH in all matters, comes from the FATHER, GOD, our Creator, you have shown me your ways, coincidentally, I must follow, I will NOT walk away, I promise.
Father, I will continue to trust in you with all my heart, and I will lean not unto my own understandings, in all my ways I will acknowledge you, and I pray that you shall continue to direct my paths. You are my campanitas de crystal, a birth song I listen to for your rightful guidance on what to do, where to turn, how to proceed, in darkness and in light. You are always with me, this I know for sure. FATHER, I am not wise in my own eyes; I fear you Lord; I depart from evil; Your everlasting life is health to my navel, marrow to my bones (Proverbs: 3: 5-8), Shechinah to my soul, fruit to my lips, resolved mysteries to my Babylon, a lawn mower to the grassy cheeks of Akiba, an awakening of a descendant of David, and a 13 and year post-secondary education figured out . She has fallen! Babylon the Great has fallen. Father I share your hope and dreams for humanity. I shall rejoice your memory and implement your plan while singing a new Song Ha-Tikvah
November 21, 2003 A.K.A. Dr. Mohammad Ahmad Mahdi BA MA MD PhD, 2012, Caliph to Allah / God The FATHER Dr. Andrew J. Moulden BA, MA, M.D., Ph.D.
3-16, 2010 - Slidell, LA, USA
ALL GLORY BE TO OUR ONE CREATOR - GOD THE FATHER - COME SAY HELLO: GOD IS THE LIGHT...EVERLASTING.
http://www.awaitedmahdi.com/index.php
HARUN YAHYA.com

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A Son's Tribute MASS Ischemia Discovered in Euology

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