Denise Hand, formerly of Toronto and for the last 28 years of McKinney, Texas, passed away at 8:54 AM on March 12, 2025, at the age of 68. She was born on May 27, 1956, in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, to Fredrick Alexander McKenna and Grace (Kyte) McKenna. Exceptional was the best word to describe Denise. Denise was an exceptional woman who lived an exceptional life, full of love, adventure, and meaningful connections.

Attending Richview high school in Etobicoke and graduating from Caledon’s Mayfield high, Denise then earned her bachelor’s degree from the University of Toronto (Major in English and History, Minor in Political Science) before embarking on a successful career in finance. As a Mutual Fund Manager for Mackenzie Financial, she was known for her sharp mind, dedication, and commitment to her work. In working closely with Mackenzie’s founder, Alexander Crist, he agreed that her decision to retire and focus on raising her children was indeed the noblest and most important vocation, a loving, devoted mother.

When she had her first child, Lauren, a card and gift from the partners was titled, For Denise’s Little Dividend and her investment in that dividend, her second dividend, Dylan and her two grandchildren, Reese and Emma enriched everyone’s life.

She met the love of her life, David Hand, in May 1980, on her last day at U of T, which was extremely fortunate for her future husband and they were married on September 8, 1984, at Kingsway Lambton United Church with their reception at the Boulevard Yacht Club on Lake Ontario in Toronto and together, they built a beautiful family life filled with cherished memories and adventures.

The extravagant annual family vacation provided great times and fond memories that will last forever. While Europe and the Caribbean were two favorites, spending time on the pristine lakes in Ontario, attending theater at Niagara on the Lake and spending summers at Cape Cod were her favorite places to go. Discovering East Hampton beach in 2024 would have been a return vacation spot and having the opportunity to travel to Edinburgh in December with one final visit to London will be cherished.

Denise was an avid skier growing up, skiing every weekend at Horseshoe Valley Resort in northern Ontario with her good and lifelong friend Cathy (Walker) Morrison. Tales from the storybook like cottage (read mansion/lodge/estate) called Edgewood, with one of Canada’s premier financial families, the Moysey’s. Stories about Daddy (Malcolm) and Mommy (Betty) Moysey, Gunther the massive mastiff and the adventures of two young girls was the great Canadian novel, never written. Denise was the golden child because she did everything well, sports, music, writing, she was polished and elegant and well read.

Horace Mann once said that “a house without books is like a room without windows” and Denise was surrounded by books with an extensive library of classic literature, history, art and architecture and when asked by she had read Jane Austen’s or the Bronte sisters’ books, 20+ times each she said, “if you loved a work of art, would you only look at it once?” Reading great literature to her was like visiting an old friend so she appreciated well written prose.

She didn’t restrict her reading to literature but read the works of Samuel Pepys, Boswell, Chaucer and the great philosophers including Samuel Johnson, “When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life, for there is in London all that a life can afford” wrote by Johnson in 1777 and one of her favorite quotes. A deep understanding of Rembrandt, Durer and the masters of the Renaissance made her appreciate seeing their works in person and owning woodcuts of Rembrandt and Durer in her home. To say Denise was a classic herself was an understatement. She was modest and wouldn’t accept praise but not many people were as well rounded and gifted with a classic education and understanding of yesterday’s and today’s world.

Denise was a person of high intellect who constantly challenged herself and kept a notebook with the definition of anything she read and didn’t completely understand. A lifelong student who appreciated art and architecture and enjoyed many trips to Rome, Venice, Florence, Paris and London. Fine dining at some of the greatest restaurants in the world and accommodation at some of the finest properties, she enjoyed life and everything it offered. Travelling and travelling well with David was wonderful and every wedding anniversary included spectacular weekends around the world.

Golf was taken up on her honeymoon in 1984 but alas the children always came first so the very skilled skier found it difficult to perfect golf in the same way, but it didn’t stop her from pleasing her husband by spending hours on the course for the simple reason that Denise and David like spending time together. She belonged to Islington Golf Club in Toronto as well as the Pete Dye Stonebridge course and Eldorado course in McKinney and enjoyed many golf outings in Bermuda and all over the world but again, time with family was the focus vs time on the golf course. The perfect mother and spouse needed time away and for 25 years Denise enjoyed her times away at Lake Austin Spa with her beloved friend Kim Gardner. She loved traveling with friends, dining out or cooking for friends and family.

She was meticulous and her home and kitchen were always in showroom condition. She loved gardening and taking care of a large property with 10 gardens and she did it all on her own, slinging 70 bags of mulch every spring in the hot Texas heat and over the years she took notes to understand what would grow in this very hot climate with its clay soil. Denise’s family recipes that she carefully prepared will be a staple at the kitchen table now for years to come in remembrance of her. She will never be forgotten as her memory will last forever in our hearts.

With all the richness of Denise’s life, nothing gave her more joy than her grandchildren. Reese Marie spent almost every day of her 4 years with her grandmother, and they had an unbelievable connection from day one. Lauren added another gift to Denise in Emma McKenna, who’s middle name bares Denise’s maiden name. She was indeed the greatest mother to Lauren and Dylan, an unbelievable and irreplaceable friend to her spouse David and a great sister to Joanne and Paul. Great memories of growing up with Jo and Paul. Comments from friends describe her as a “Force”, a “Great Shining Light”, gracious, oozing with class and decency, dignity, generosity of spirit and kindness to all. This was truly a person of high standards who remained consistent in her behavior towards everyone she met. She will be fondly remembered and dearly missed by those who knew and loved her.

Denise is survived by her beloved husband, David Lawrence Hand of McKinney, Texas; daughter, Lauren Elizabeth (Hand) Chadbourne and husband, Jacob Michael of McKinney, Texas; son, Dylan David Hand of Fate, Texas; grandchildren, Reese Marie Chadbourne and Emma McKenna Chadbourne; sister, Joanne Giancola of Toronto, Ontario; brother, Paul McKenna and wife, Lee of Halifax, Nova Scotia; nieces Denise and Katie and numerous other loving family members and cherished friends.

She was preceded in death by her parents, Fredrick and Grace McKenna and her brother Fred McKenna and her in-laws David Joseph Hand and Lillian Margaret Hand.

Finishing with a quote and a poem Denise felt was worth writing down:

Historian H.A.L Fisher described history as “One damn thing after another.”

Denise’s history was one wonderful thing after another. A life worth living. Well done, Denise!

And from a poem by Abraham Cowley upon the death of Charles II,

“Let Nature & Art do what they please,

When all is done,

Life’s an Incurable Disease.”

I should also include one of Denise's favorite poems that both she and her friend Cathy memorized to perform in front of Daddy and Mommy Moysey, "The Cremation of Sam McGee", by Robert W. Service.

There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee. Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows. Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows. He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell; Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell." On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail. Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail. If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see; It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee. And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow, And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe, He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess; And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request." Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan: "It's the cursèd cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone. Yet 'tain't being dead—it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains; So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains." A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail; And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale. He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee; And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee. There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven, With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given; It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains, But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains." Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code. In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load. In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring, Howled out their woes to the homeless snows— O God! how I loathed the thing. And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow; And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low; The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in; And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin. Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay; It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May." And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum; Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum." Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire; Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher; The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see; And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee. Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so; And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow. It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why; And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky. I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear; But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near; I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside. I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide. And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar; And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door. It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm— Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm." There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee.