It was September 2010 when I first heard from him.

I was with friends on my way to the summit of Mt. Stelfox near Nordegg, Alberta.  I grabbed my smartphone from my backpack to check for reception to send an I’m-on-top-of-a-mountain text message to family.  While I was at it, I glanced through emails.

And there it was.

An email from Ralph Klein, former Premier of Alberta and a towering figure in the political landscape of my generation, agreeing to be part of my Miguelito’s Little Green Car photography project. (Miguelito’s Little Green Car is a long-term photography project for my nine year-old nephew meant to show that we are all connected.)

King Ralph was onboard.

One problem, though. The brevity of his email was so nearly off-putting. It didn’t offer a next step or offer options or otherwise define a plan. But I wasn’t put off. I’ve seen short, terse email mannerisms from busy people, particularly executives and those with assistants.  This, however, felt different.

Over the next few weeks we emailed back and forth until we eventually settled on a date to meet up for a photo.  In one email he said that he felt ill, revealing his medical affliction to me well before the media reported it.

He signed off on each email with a simple, folksy “…Ralph”.

Eventually, on New Year’s Eve 2010, I was invited to his home in Calgary. His wife Colleen answered the door and a moment later, there he was.  I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I’m sure it was mostly “hello, how are you?” and “are you ready for your photo?”

He answered, but again something wasn’t right.  He looked like Ralph, his eyes were full of Ralph, but his voice wasn’t his.  He answered in brief thrusts of ideas rather than in full sentences.

Colleen helpfully took on the role of interpreter, saying that Ralph wanted to hop into my car so we could drive to a cemetary overlooking the Calgary skyline for the photo, but asked that I didn’t let him breathe the cold air through his mouth.  I wasn’t feeling altogether comfortable with his state, so I suggested that we take the photo in front of their home instead.

He agreed and a few minutes later I had my photo of him holding Miguelito’s Little Green Car.

My partner at the time and I drove away in silence, shaken by the experience of witnessing a once-mighty communicator diminished to a pittance of his former self.  I have well-defined political views that strayed from Ralph’s at nearly every turn.  But this was Ralph Klein — a pivotal figure in Alberta (and in Canadian politics in general) during my political coming of age; a man who lived his choices and left a big imprint.

Ralph passed away on March 29, 2013.

Rest in peace, Ralph. And for the living, a reminder that our time is short and precious.