Friday, October 17, 2025
In Loving Memory of Mervyn Ivan Moroz
In Loving Memory of Mervin Ivan Moroz
We gather here today to celebrate and remember the life of Mervyn Ivan Moroz — a
man whose stature may have been small, but whose presence filled every room,
every job site, and every family gathering.
Merv wore many hats in his lifetime — and if you knew him, you know that’s not just a
saying. There was almost always a literal hat involved somewhere.
Whether it was for work, for warmth, or just because it was part of his look, Merv’s
hats changed with the day — each one a quiet reflection of the many roles he played:
husband, father, Gido, friend, co-worker, storyteller, and teacher.
He was, above all else, honest, hardworking, and dependable. From the long hours
behind the wheel as a trucker to his years with the City of Lloydminster, Merv took
pride in everything he did.
He ran the Civic Centre and the outdoor pool, and was even involved in the building of
Lloydminster’s indoor pool — helping create spaces where families would gather and
make memories for generations.
He also brought that same dedication north — running the Department of Public
Works in Cambridge Bay, Nunavut. Even in the Arctic, Merv showed the same work
ethic, humor, and patience he was known for here at home.
He had that steady, prairie kind of patience — the kind that keeps things running when
others might give up. He was calm, thoughtful, and always ready to share a laugh or a
bit of advice. If something was worth doing, Merv believed it was worth doing right.
He also had an eye for documenting the world around him. He took countless photos
of construction projects, local developments, and everyday life in and around
Lloydminster — small moments of history that might’ve gone unnoticed if not for him.
Outside of work, Merv had a world of interests that made him who he was. He loved
music, he loved to travel, and he loved being on the computer — keeping up with the
world and learning new things. He rarely missed the news, and if you sat down with
him for long, you’d probably end up talking politics, weather, or the Riders.
And of course — his collecting. Merv had a passion for electronics, tools, cords, hard
drives — you name it. The family often joked about his “organized hoarding” — that he
probably had exactly what you needed… if only you could find it. He truly believed everything might come in handy someday.
He was also a proud Saskatchewan Roughriders fan, loyal through every win, loss,
and rebuild. That green ran deep — maybe it’s what gave him all that patience.
Merv’s roots were pure prairie. A Canadian through and through, and deeply proud of
his Ukrainian heritage. Even his birth story reflects that — his birth certificate didn’t list
a hospital, just a land location. He came into this world on the land itself, and I don’t
think there’s a more fitting start for a man like Merv.
More than anything, Merv was there for people. Family, friends, neighbors — if you
needed him, he showed up.
When my adoptive mother passed away, Merv didn’t hesitate. He gathered everything
together — a vehicle, a trailer, whatever it took — and got me back to Arizona so I
could face what I had to. He took charge of a moment I could barely comprehend, and
without his support, I would have been lost.
That’s who he was — reliable, steady, and quietly heroic. He didn’t talk about what
needed doing — he just did it.
He also had this beautiful way of sharing in your joy. When I bought my Dodge
Journey, Merv was so proud — maybe even prouder than I was. He came with me all
the way to Battleford to pick it up, and when it was time to leave, he started to climb
into the driver’s seat. Then he stopped, looked at me, and said, “Well, I guess I should
let you drive it first, since it’s your car.” We both laughed, and
that moment has stayed with me ever since — a perfect snapshot of his humor, pride,
and love.
Family was everything to Merv. He never passed up a visit, a coffee, or a
conversation. He loved being around people — especially his family.
And when he became a grandfather — a Gido — his heart grew even bigger. His
grandchildren, Ethan, Pacey, and Amaryn, were his pride and joy. He loved being
their Gido, bragging about them, laughing with them, and watching them grow.
He especially loved taking them out for morning coffee at Arby’s, where he’d sit with
them, share a cup, and tell stories about all the travelling he’d done. Those mornings
were simple but special — filled with his humor, his stories, and the easy comfort that
came from just being with him. They were Gido’s kind of mornings
And to Amaryn, those memories go even further. He loved taking her to get ice cream
whenever he got the chance, and playing games with her on his computer. They went
sledding together in winter, and for walks around town when the weather was warm. If
she wanted or needed something, he always made sure to find the very best he could.
That was Gido — always giving, always making sure his grandkids felt loved and
special.
The pride in his eyes whenever he spoke about them said everything.
Merv lived a full, genuine, and humble life — a life of laughter, labor, and love. He
contributed to every community he touched, from Lloydminster to Cambridge Bay, and
left behind the kind of mark that isn’t built in stone — but in people’s hearts.
Merv was also deeply sentimental. Finding the perfect gift for him was never a quick task, it was a heartfelt endeavor, a search for something meaningful enough to
make him misty-eyed when he finally opened it.
Through his humor, patience, and unwavering presence, he taught us what it means
to be reliable, compassionate, and true. He showed us that being a good person
doesn’t require attention or recognition — it’s in the small acts of care, the quiet
moments of support, and the laughter shared along the way.
And so, as we say goodbye today, we also say thank you — for the jokes, the hard
work, the patience, and the love. For the photos, the stories, the long drives, and the
lessons.
For showing us that a life well-lived isn’t measured in years or height, but in heart.
We’ll miss you, Merv — but we’ll keep your stories going, your laughter alive, and your
memory close — right where it belongs.
May he rest in peace, surrounded by love and light, and may we all carry a little of his
strength, humor, and heart forward with us.
