Following nearly three decades of waking Torontonians up with her warmth, spirit, and humour, Erin Davis will sign off as the voice of mornings on 98.1 CHFI. The whole CHFI family is going to miss hearing Erin’s voice each morning but we’re sending her best of wishes as she embarks on a new chapter in life. And this isn’t goodbye! Erin will return for future specials and features on CHFI.
Watch as Erin made the announcement live on CHFI and Facebook. Click here.
My Dear Friend –
You may have heard my announcement on CHFI today, Wednesday Nov. 9. Here’s all that I have to say…more than I could have gotten through on the radio, but everything that’s in my heart. Please take a few minutes to read this. I mean every single word.
In 1988 I came to CHFI to do morning news with Don Daynard. I was 25, he was 54, our ages reflecting the exact demographic that our show was hoping to attract: 25-54.
Even with my youthful drive and dreams, I couldn’t possibly have envisioned the ride that was ahead. And now, coincidentally, I find myselfat that second number. Somehow the roundness of it all feels…right. It’s time.
Next month – on December 15 at Casa Loma – I’ll be doing my final morning show on CHFI. Without a doubt, this has been the hardest decision of my career – of my life – and Rob and I do not take it lightly.
But we’ve had to face much harder things in the past 18 months and they have all led to this moment. And so has the accumulation of years: since the age of 18, I have arisen every day between 3 and 4 am to go to a job I love.
My day has never ended when the show did; passion for what I do has meant my work and life were one. And both have been, almost without exception, wonderful. We are grateful. But we are also exhausted.
The day after that last show, a moving van will point westward and we’ll go almost as far as one can travel in this glorious land of ours, to British Columbia and family that awaits us. There, we will begin a new life – a different life – and one that we hope will bring us the peace for which our broken hearts have yearned.
Losing our precious Lauren at just 24 years old last year – so suddenly, so senselessly – made us realize as a couple how very few promises this life holds. Everything we thought we had figured out – our lives – vaporized in the time it took for one beautiful heart to stop beating.
The ensuing months have also brought us to the realization that everyone has had the opportunity to move on – to continue with their lives and to grow forward – except us. That’s why we have to try to start anew. We are not giving up; we are starting over.
This is hard. There are three gut-wrenching elements to this decision, the first of which is moving away from our beloved grandson Colin, who’s just two years old.
When Colin and his father needed us most, we were there for them: physically and in every other way we could be. But now, as they move into what we pray is a bright new future together, and two have become three, we need to give them all room to grow without a constant reminder of “what was”; without Rob and me (at least with the same frequency).
We plan to (and have promised we will) be a part of Colin’s life, just as my grandparents were an integral part of mine from a distance.
Phil knows we’ll all be only a five-hour flight instead of a five-hour drive apart. Our visits will be regular; our love for Colin, as it is for Lauren, without bounds. Always and forever, no matter what.
Secondly, as you can imagine, it is extremely difficult for us to leave our friends – from former longtime bandmates to hockey buddies to dear and close radio co-workers who’ve been like family to Rob and to me.
While we have few actual family members in Ontario, every person who’s been kind to us, who’s been there for us and shared their lives with us over our 30+ years here together, is cherished and will be missed more than we can imagine.
And finally…you. Oh my friend, you.
Some 8,000 mornings (minus vacation and a brief sabbatical here and there, or the years before we found each other) we’ve shared stories, laughs, tears and memories.
You sent gifts when Rob and I married, cards and hand-knitted booties when Lauren arrived, emails and comforting words when I left CHFI and notes of congratulations when I returned.
But it’s been since May 11, 2015 that you’ve saved me – saved us – by writing, by calling, by praying and simply by being there. Your words and support during the worst days a parent can ever endure helped us to realize, and then to help others realize, that we can survive anything.
I want you to know that my leaving this wonderful career I’ve enjoyed doesn’t mean I’m giving up! It only means that we’re choosing another path. When the glass appeared to be emptying, we chose a smaller glass, that’s all.
As the days before our final show tick away, I’ll be sharing with you here our plans in the west, how this isn’t the end of you and me (the journal at erindavis.com will continue, if you’ll keep coming by) and what CHFI has planned for the future for you in the mornings, going forward.
My relationship with the station is not coming to an end, I am happy to tell you.
I can’t say enough about the understanding, love and compassion that have been extended to Rob and to me by the management at CHFI and Rogers since that awful day in May, especially by our friends Julie Adam and Wendy Duff.
They happen to be my bosses, too, and have been there with hugs, tears, support and constant reminders that, whatever we needed to get through this, we would only have to request.
Not for a moment did they question our decision to end this part of a beautiful relationship, and we will forever be grateful to them for the depths of humanity they’ve shown in what is, at its core, a business.
Julie and Wendy and the entire staff at CHFI and Rogers have shown us that, when we call ourselves a “family” at work, that is more than just a word.
Let me close for now by saying how grateful I am – and will always be – for the love, the kindness, the life you have given our little family.
Believe me when I say to you that, as the old Gladys Knight song goes, “If anyone should ever write my life story – for whatever reason there might be – you’ll be there, between each line of pain and glory – ’cause you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
I mean those words – about you and to you. Of course I include Rob, Lauren and Colin, our parents and our siblings in that sentiment as well. And it comes from the bottom of an endlessly grateful heart.
This is not good-bye; it’s just a change.
Additional audio from Erin explaining why she is stepping away. Click here.