Making It Possible #9 – Paul Grewal

Through years of tireless effort, he built his businesses from the ground up and became a self-made entrepreneur. But even more than what he built, it was who he was that left the deepest mark—my dad was positive, hardworking, generous, and deeply devoted to his family.

In 2019, our lives changed in a way we could never have imagined.

We had never really known what ALS was. Like so many families, it was something we had heard of but never understood. We had no idea that those three letters—A-L-S—would one day reshape every part of our world, quietly and permanently.

It began with something small. My dad noticed changes in his fine motor skills. Everyday things that once came naturally—buttoning a shirt, gripping small objects, twisting open a bottle—suddenly required effort. At first, we hoped it was something temporary. He tried chiropractic care and acupuncture, believing it would pass. But when it didn’t, he was advised to go to the hospital.

After a series of tests, we received the diagnosis: ALS.

I remember the way time felt like it stopped, even though everything around us kept moving.

But my dad… he kept going.

Even after his diagnosis, he refused to let ALS take away the life he had built. He continued going to work every single day, running his businesses while attending appointments and seeking treatment. He never stepped back from responsibility, never allowed fear to define his days. He held onto hope with everything he had—hope for treatment, hope for research, hope for more time.

When COVID-19 came and the world shut down, we made the difficult decision to have him isolate at home for his safety. It was the first time in his life he had ever stopped working. Even then, he didn’t stop living. He focused on his health, committed himself to daily exercise, and did everything he could to maintain his strength and independence.

Then, in April 2020, our family’s world broke open again when my younger brother, Sahil, passed away suddenly.

There are no words for that kind of loss.

Sahil had become one of my dad’s closest companions during lockdown—spending time with him, helping him, and simply being there. Losing him while already navigating ALS was a heartbreak that reshaped our entire family. And yet, even in the middle of unimaginable grief, my dad chose to stay strong for us.

He carried his pain quietly, while becoming the steady foundation my mom and I leaned on. He didn’t have the luxury of falling apart. Instead, he held us together while his own world was breaking.

A few months later, as his condition progressed, he also lost the business he had spent 13 years building. Another loss. Another life he had poured himself into, gone.

But if there is one thing I will always remember about my dad, it is this: he never stayed down.

No matter how many times life knocked him over, he rose again.

He kept showing up—to every appointment, every treatment, every day. He exercised five days a week with discipline most people would struggle to match even in perfect health. He continued to travel with us—to Mexico, Toronto, Los Angeles, Vancouver, Saskatoon, Winnipeg, and Edmonton—refusing to let ALS define the size of his world.

He found joy in the simplest things: time with family, going to the mall, watching movies, getting dressed up, and choosing his outfits with pride every single day. Even as his body changed, he never let go of the parts of himself that made him feel like him.

And through it all, he gave back.

In honour of Sahil, my dad supported charity lunches at the Mustard Seed. Even in pain, even in hardship, he found ways to help others. That was who he was—someone who turned his own suffering into something that could still bring good into the world.

Last year, when he became critically ill with pneumonia, doctors told us to prepare for the worst. They believed we only had weeks left with him. But my dad proved them wrong. He recovered—and went on to give us eight more months we never expected but will forever treasure.

Those months became a gift we will never take for granted.

Throughout his journey, everyone who met him saw the same thing. The doctors and nurses who cared for him often spoke about his smile. Even in pain, even on the hardest days, he never complained. He met suffering with quiet strength, dignity, and grace.

The ALS Society of Alberta became a lifeline for our family throughout his journey. They provided equipment, guidance, and support that allowed us to bring dignity and comfort into our daily reality. Because of them, my dad was able to stay in his home, stay connected to his life, and keep experiencing the world in ways that still mattered to him.

One moment I will never forget was when the ALS Society provided us with tickets to a Calgary Flames game. My dad was a lifelong fan, and hockey was something he followed closely throughout his illness. Sitting beside him that night, watching him smile, feeling him fully present in that moment—it is something I carry with me every day.

They didn’t just give us tickets. They gave us a memory we will hold forever.

My dad, Paul, passed away on February 17, 2026.

ALS may have taken his body, but it never touched his spirit.

He was kind. He was brave. He was patient. He was generous in every sense of the word. He taught us how to keep going when life feels impossible, how to find meaning in suffering, and how to love fiercely even in the face of loss.

He left behind more than memories. He left behind a way of living.

This year, my family and I will walk in honour of my dad.

We walk for Paul.

We walk for Sahil.

We walk for every family still facing ALS.

And we walk with deep gratitude for the support that made it possible for us to keep going when we needed it most.

Join us in honouring his legacy, and in helping make it possible for others to find hope, dignity, and strength in the face of ALS.