In memory of
Joseph Patrick Dunkley
April 4, 1949 - September 18, 2026
Joseph Patrick “Pat” Dunkley died on September 18, 2026, at the age of 77, after living more than three decades beyond what he once believed his heart would allow.
Born on April 4, 1949, in Kingston, Jamaica, Pat was a husband, father, grandfather, brother, musician, friend and neighbour. He had little interest in attention or recognition and was far more comfortable quietly doing something for someone else than standing in the spotlight himself.
Family came first.
Pat was the proud father of Renee, Dana and Janelle from his first marriage to Joan “Cherry,” and later, in his marriage to Sonya, welcomed her son Nicholas into his life as his own. His family grew to include his grandchildren Chase, Warner, Jaiden, Rhianne, Justin, Calia, Corina and Remy. He is also survived by his younger brother Ken and his wife, Joyce.
Pat took pride in his family without comparing one person to another. He noticed what was unique about each of them and took pleasure in seeing who they were becoming.
Music was woven through Pat’s life.
Growing up in Jamaica, he developed a lifelong love of reggae and conscious music—music with something to say. He had an exceptional ear and seemed to understand music almost as another language. As a young man, he even built a guitar for his younger brother Ken.
Pat later became a devoted bass player himself. His bandmates became some of his closest friends, and he quietly became part of the glue that kept the band together. When he and Sonya went to concerts, they chose seats only a few rows from the stage so Pat could watch the musicians as closely as he listened to them. Afterward, he could comfortably talk music with professional musicians, not because he wanted to impress them, but because he genuinely understood the craft.
That curiosity extended well beyond music. Pat loved tools, fixing things and figuring out how things worked. He had an engineer’s mind and could be equally comfortable reading the Canadian Tire flyer or Marcus Aurelius—and have something worthwhile to say about either.
He was generous with people and had little interest in judging them. When he and Sonya entered a gathering, they would greet everyone and then quietly notice who was standing alone or being left out. More often than not, that was the person they found their way toward.
Pat also had a deep respect for his elders. As long as his mother was alive, returning to Jamaica to see her mattered deeply to him. He showed that same care to Sonya’s mother, visiting regularly and taking her to bingo. When they picked her up afterward, Pat would ask, “Did you win today, Mom?”
And Pat had a wonderfully quiet sense of humour.
One day, while cutting the grass at home, a solicitor approached him and asked if he knew the owner of the property.
“No,” Pat replied. “I just work here.”
He was, of course, the owner.
Anyone who knew Pat also knew that the grass itself mattered. He took pride in keeping his home and property looking good. After his death, when neighbours asked Sonya what they could do to help, her answer was simple: cut the grass. It might seem like a small gesture, but for Pat, it would have meant something.
At the centre of Pat’s later life was his marriage to Sonya.
Their life together was built as much from ordinary mornings as from the many places they travelled together. Every day began with the same simple rhythm: good morning, a hug and a kiss, then breakfast and conversation. Their conversations could go almost anywhere—life, ideas, family, music or whatever had captured their curiosity that morning.
Those are some of the things Sonya misses most now: his voice, his hugs, their conversations and simply having him beside her.
Pat lived for decades with serious heart disease. In his forties, he believed it might take his life early. Instead, he outlived those expectations by more than three decades.
And he didn’t merely survive those years. He lived them.
He travelled. He played music. He built and fixed things. He loved his family. He watched his children and grandchildren grow. He made friends, played bass and kept cutting his grass.
Even the many hours spent in hospital during his final months gave Pat and his family something unexpected: time together. His daughters were able to sit with their father one-on-one; ask questions they had never asked before and hear his answers. There was laughter, tears, honesty and conversation. And there was Pat, still unmistakably Pat, holding court from his hospital bed and putting in requests for KFC, stew peas and a Red Stripe.
Perhaps one of the truest things about Pat was that the person you met was the person he was. There wasn’t a public version and a private version. Whether you met him with family, among friends, playing music, working around the house or sitting across the table from him, you got the real thing.
No hoopla. No need to impress.
Just Pat.
For Sonya, his children and grandchildren, his brother, his extended family, his bandmates, friends and neighbours, there is now an unmistakable space where he used to be. But for his grandchildren, and for generations who may one day know him through photographs and the stories passed down to them, his life leaves something enduring.
If they ever wonder what a good man looked like, they can look to Pat.
In lieu of flowers, the family kindly requests that donations be made in Pat’s memory to Southlake Hospital in Newmarket, Ontario. Please visit the Donations tab at the top right of this page for more information.
For those joining Patrick’s Celebration of Life by livestream, please return to this page at approximately 11:45 a.m. on October 9th. The livestream link will appear at the top here 15 minutes before the service begins.
Born on April 4, 1949, in Kingston, Jamaica, Pat was a husband, father, grandfather, brother, musician, friend and neighbour. He had little interest in attention or recognition and was far more comfortable quietly doing something for someone else than standing in the spotlight himself.
Family came first.
Pat was the proud father of Renee, Dana and Janelle from his first marriage to Joan “Cherry,” and later, in his marriage to Sonya, welcomed her son Nicholas into his life as his own. His family grew to include his grandchildren Chase, Warner, Jaiden, Rhianne, Justin, Calia, Corina and Remy. He is also survived by his younger brother Ken and his wife, Joyce.
Pat took pride in his family without comparing one person to another. He noticed what was unique about each of them and took pleasure in seeing who they were becoming.
Music was woven through Pat’s life.
Growing up in Jamaica, he developed a lifelong love of reggae and conscious music—music with something to say. He had an exceptional ear and seemed to understand music almost as another language. As a young man, he even built a guitar for his younger brother Ken.
Pat later became a devoted bass player himself. His bandmates became some of his closest friends, and he quietly became part of the glue that kept the band together. When he and Sonya went to concerts, they chose seats only a few rows from the stage so Pat could watch the musicians as closely as he listened to them. Afterward, he could comfortably talk music with professional musicians, not because he wanted to impress them, but because he genuinely understood the craft.
That curiosity extended well beyond music. Pat loved tools, fixing things and figuring out how things worked. He had an engineer’s mind and could be equally comfortable reading the Canadian Tire flyer or Marcus Aurelius—and have something worthwhile to say about either.
He was generous with people and had little interest in judging them. When he and Sonya entered a gathering, they would greet everyone and then quietly notice who was standing alone or being left out. More often than not, that was the person they found their way toward.
Pat also had a deep respect for his elders. As long as his mother was alive, returning to Jamaica to see her mattered deeply to him. He showed that same care to Sonya’s mother, visiting regularly and taking her to bingo. When they picked her up afterward, Pat would ask, “Did you win today, Mom?”
And Pat had a wonderfully quiet sense of humour.
One day, while cutting the grass at home, a solicitor approached him and asked if he knew the owner of the property.
“No,” Pat replied. “I just work here.”
He was, of course, the owner.
Anyone who knew Pat also knew that the grass itself mattered. He took pride in keeping his home and property looking good. After his death, when neighbours asked Sonya what they could do to help, her answer was simple: cut the grass. It might seem like a small gesture, but for Pat, it would have meant something.
At the centre of Pat’s later life was his marriage to Sonya.
Their life together was built as much from ordinary mornings as from the many places they travelled together. Every day began with the same simple rhythm: good morning, a hug and a kiss, then breakfast and conversation. Their conversations could go almost anywhere—life, ideas, family, music or whatever had captured their curiosity that morning.
Those are some of the things Sonya misses most now: his voice, his hugs, their conversations and simply having him beside her.
Pat lived for decades with serious heart disease. In his forties, he believed it might take his life early. Instead, he outlived those expectations by more than three decades.
And he didn’t merely survive those years. He lived them.
He travelled. He played music. He built and fixed things. He loved his family. He watched his children and grandchildren grow. He made friends, played bass and kept cutting his grass.
Even the many hours spent in hospital during his final months gave Pat and his family something unexpected: time together. His daughters were able to sit with their father one-on-one; ask questions they had never asked before and hear his answers. There was laughter, tears, honesty and conversation. And there was Pat, still unmistakably Pat, holding court from his hospital bed and putting in requests for KFC, stew peas and a Red Stripe.
Perhaps one of the truest things about Pat was that the person you met was the person he was. There wasn’t a public version and a private version. Whether you met him with family, among friends, playing music, working around the house or sitting across the table from him, you got the real thing.
No hoopla. No need to impress.
Just Pat.
For Sonya, his children and grandchildren, his brother, his extended family, his bandmates, friends and neighbours, there is now an unmistakable space where he used to be. But for his grandchildren, and for generations who may one day know him through photographs and the stories passed down to them, his life leaves something enduring.
If they ever wonder what a good man looked like, they can look to Pat.
In lieu of flowers, the family kindly requests that donations be made in Pat’s memory to Southlake Hospital in Newmarket, Ontario. Please visit the Donations tab at the top right of this page for more information.
For those joining Patrick’s Celebration of Life by livestream, please return to this page at approximately 11:45 a.m. on October 9th. The livestream link will appear at the top here 15 minutes before the service begins.