262 THE ADVOCATE
VOL. 79 PART 2 MARCH 2021
a good place to acknowledge the kindness shown to Mike by his boss Chris
Armstrong who, after letting Mike dangle for three weeks, accepted him
back into the firm and even allowed him to work from home in Kamloops.
(One of many kindnesses that continued through Mike’s illness and even
after death.)
Having moved to Kamloops, we saw Mike only periodically. “Wolfson’s
coming in today” was a welcome announcement to all the lawyers that we
would be seeing our lovable almost-mascot.
The other indicator that Mike was in the office was the smell of hot sauce.
Mike was merciless in drowning his lunch in hot sauce. It would have been
impossible to taste the underlying food. Perhaps that was his intention
given that his lunch in those days was often bean and cheese burritos from
the 7-Eleven on the corner. No connoisseur, he kept several large bottles of
generic-brand hot sauce on his bookshelf. To this day, Mike’s hot sauce sits
in the M&A kitchen fridge, none having the heart to chuck it.
Just before he left Vancouver for Kamloops, I gave Mike a set of old crosscountry
ski gear. He told me that he enjoyed skiing with his daughters at
Stake Lake in the surrounding hills outside Kamloops. The Wolfsons crosscountry
skied, and they also enjoyed hiking and camping together.
I had grown up in Kamloops in the ’80s, and I appreciated it for its
weather and beautiful geography. But Mike was forever telling me how it
was now a really hip place. From his city upbringing by intellectual parents,
Mike had moved away from the centre. He preferred the life he and his partner,
Beth Dilabio, had created in British Columbia’s interior. Even in his last
weeks, Mike was promising he was going to take me for lunch at a kick-ass
ramen spot. I laughed. But I was touched by Mike’s belief that we would
again be sharing another meal together.
It’s impossible to write about Mike without mentioning his wife, Beth,
with whom he eloped in October 2004, or his two young daughters, Abigail
and Alison Diwolfio (ages seven and five). Mike spoke often of his family.
He delighted in talking about the early days of his relationship with Beth.
Mike told of American road trips: motels, dead-end bars and chatting up
furry old alcoholics. In telling their story, there was no denying the excitement
and pride he felt about his relationship with Beth. E-mailing Beth the
other day, I told her that Mike had shared those stories with me, and she
replied, “Oh man, good times.”
And he enjoyed, just as much, telling stories about his two hilarious
daughters. After I learned my wife was pregnant with our first child, Mike
sat with me almost every morning and told of the madness he had encountered
the night before. His daughters are unusually literate, and they share