Monday, May 12, 2025
Dear Judy, Nicole, and Karla,
I’m so sorry about Uncle Karl. I’ve been thinking of you all constantly. I really wish I could be there to give you all a big hug and raise a glass in his memory—he’d appreciate that, I’m sure.
Even though I’ve lived away from you for years, you’ve all left a mark on me—especially Karl and Judy. You might not have known it, but you’ve shaped who I am more than you probably realized.
Uncle Karl was the first person who ever made me understand the magic of good music. As a kid, I’d be banished to the basement while the adults partied upstairs (which I now understand completely). But down there, surrounded by those giant speakers and his epic record collection, I remember thinking: this man is cool. And as if that wasn’t enough, he had pay-per-view movies—which, to a kid, was the height of luxury. Music and movies on demand? It left a lasting impression. To this day, certain songs—or even just the idea of being able to choose a movie—make me think of him.
Karl and Judy were the original “power couple” in my eyes. You two were like the glamorous, no-nonsense duo from a Cape Breton rom-com. Always sharply dressed, dancing like no one was watching, getting a little saucy with each other—but full of love underneath the sass. I always admired how you managed to look fabulous while also not putting up with anyone’s crap, including each other’s.
Your relationship was also an inspiration to my own marriage. The way you interacted, joked, bickered, laughed, and stood proudly together shaped a vision for the kind of relationship I wanted. Mike and I argue, we do fun things together, and we always take pride in our appearance—for ourselves, but also for each other. And yes, I now proudly carry on the family tradition of banishing children to the basement and fiercely believing in the sacred art of adult time. Karl would have appreciated that.
One of the greatest joys of my adult life (yes, this is serious) was being promoted from the kids’ table to the grown-up table. The day I was allowed to join wine night or head to Daniel’s Pub with Karl and Judy—I felt like I got a promotion. Like I was a proper adult now. It meant a lot to be included by people I’d always looked up to.
Karl taught me so much without even trying. He showed me how to not give a damn about what other people think, how to laugh loudly, argue passionately, and show up for people even when it’s inconvenient. He was one of my favorite people to debate with—because even if it got loud, it was always entertaining. I got my passion for arguing directly from him and my father, no doubt about it.
Karl, along with my dad and my Uncle Alan, was one of the strong male figures in my life who helped shape the person I’ve become. I’ve definitely inherited my ability to be loud, sarcastic, loyal, and stubborn from the men in the Marshall family—and Karl proudly played his part in that legacy.
I’ll always picture him at the head of the table—smirking, telling stories, probably throwing in a sarcastic jab or two. He’ll always be the guy who was a DJ at Smooth Hermans, a black belt in Taekwondo, the host with the pool, the man with the pay-per-view, and the reason the kids were exiled downstairs. He was one of a kind. Truly iconic.
The world feels a little less bold and a lot less fun without him in it. But I’ll carry him with me—especially in the moments when I need to remind someone to piss off with flair and confidence.
I love you all. I’ll miss him deeply, and I’m so sorry I didn’t get to spend more time with him. But I’m incredibly grateful for the memories I do have.
With love,
Shannon Marshall
