It has been one year since we lost Nick. Even now, those words feel foreign, as if they describe someone else’s life. Grief, I have learned, does not follow a pattern or a plan. It drifts in and out like the tide, sometimes gentle, sometimes crashing over you with a force that takes your breath away.
People have been kind and generous in offering advice on how to heal, how to “move forward,” how to find peace. But if there is one thing I have come to understand, it is that grief is profoundly personal. There is no map for it, no right or wrong way. What soothes one heart may leave another untouched.
I cannot say that I have advice for anyone walking this same path. Some days I still feel lost in the space that Nick once filled so completely. Other days, I catch myself smiling at a memory, or feeling the quiet joy of being surrounded by family, friends, and the extraordinary people who have walked beside me this past year.
It is in those small, ordinary moments that I find the light again, in the laughter of my grandsons, the dedication of our teams at Anse Chastanet and Jade Mountain, the beauty of Saint Lucia’s sea and hills that Nick loved so deeply. These are the things that steady me, that remind me of how much life still holds.
As I reflect on this first anniversary of Nick’s passing, I find myself returning again and again to that extraordinary day on January 10, 2025, when we came together in Saint Lucia to celebrate his life. It was a day filled with love, laughter, tears, and stories, an outpouring of affection from near and far for a man who touched so many lives.
Standing before friends, family, and colleagues that day, I tried to express what Nick meant to me and to all of us. It was impossible, of course, to capture the full measure of him in words. How do you condense more than half a century of creativity, curiosity, and conviction into a single tribute? How do you describe a spirit as complex, brilliant, and tender as Nick’s?
Nick’s journey began far from the Caribbean, in Blaine Lake, Saskatchewan, within a close-knit Russian-Canadian community shaped by the Doukhobor tradition, people of faith, peace, and resilience. From those roots grew the independent thinker, the dreamer, the architect who refused to accept limitations and who believed deeply in the harmony between nature, art, and humanity.
When he came to Saint Lucia in 1968, he found more than a home; he found a canvas for his ideas, a place where his imagination could take flight. Saint Lucia became his universe, and the people of Soufrière his extended family. Over the decades, Nick built far more than the remarkable resorts that now stand as his architectural legacy. He built relationships, empowered communities, and nurtured a deep respect for the land and sea that surrounded him.
Long before words like “sustainability” and “community tourism” became part of our shared vocabulary, Nick was quietly putting those principles into practice. He believed in using local talent, local materials, and local creativity. He trusted in people’s potential long before they believed in it themselves. Jade Mountain, his final and most visionary work, was not just an architectural marvel, it was his love letter to Saint Lucia, to its Pitons, and to the people who helped make it possible.
Nick was many things: an artist, a philosopher, a perfectionist, a man of deep curiosity and humor. He could be enigmatic, sometimes infuriating, always fascinating. Life with him was never ordinary. He pushed boundaries, demanded excellence, and inspired greatness in others.
He was also a man of enormous heart. His love for family ran deep, for his children and his grandsons, who brought him endless joy. He loved good food (perhaps too much), fast cars, music, and the quiet moments of connection that balanced his intensity.
On that January day, as friends shared their memories and the sun dipped behind the Pitons, I could feel his presence everywhere. In the laughter, in the music, in the way people spoke of how he had shaped their lives. It was as if his spirit hovered above us, smiling, perhaps even making one of his wry comments that he wished he could have been there to hear all the wonderful things said about him.
A year later, his absence is still deeply felt. But so is his presence, in every beam of light that filters through Jade Mountain’s open walls, in the sound of the sea below Anse Chastanet, in the countless lives and landscapes he helped shape.
Nick’s legacy continues to unfold around me. Every stone of Jade Mountain carries his spirit, the courage to dream differently, the conviction to build with purpose, the artistry that fuses nature and imagination into something timeless. His vision was never about architecture alone; it was about creating harmony between people, place, and the planet.
He built more than resorts. He built communities. He believed that architecture should celebrate nature, that tourism should serve communities, and that love – whether for a person, a place, or an idea – should guide every decision.
I miss him every day. Yet, as I look around at what he built, at the beauty he brought into the world, and at the people who carry his vision forward, I am reminded that while death may have taken him from us, his spirit remains, woven into the very heart of Saint Lucia, and into all of us who loved him.
Forever loved. Forever part of us.
You can still view the Memorial Booklet and the January 10, 2025 Celebration.
