It was inevitable, I thought through the last fortnight, and perhaps fitting, that our Games would be driven by success and pockmarked by hardship.

Outside the often misty, sometimes super-vibrant images, sat dank and rather notorious, the bare realities that the most significant moments realized by this country during our 16 days on the world’s stage, were those born of despair and loss.

The loss to the Georgians was our loss too.

When a young skater watched in horror, as her dying mother was being carted away, she cried.

But those were our tears too.

And when a man jumped from his wheelchair to salute a brother whose unending love he could not have better honoured, and even carried; and whose success he could not have better inspired, none of us could have leapt any higher–or wept with greater joy.

If there was a magic to these Games of the 21st Winter Olympiad, it was watching us, all of us. We set aside out differences and became a nation for all to see–a pride not only to ourselves, but to the world.

This cannot be said of Beijing: An international fraud of monumental proportions; a disgraceful mockery of the humanity that should be the hallmark of every Olympic dream. Their Communist government serially abused human rights before, during and after the lighting of their torch.

We redeemed that light and it shone as brightly and innocently, as that first fateful day in Olympia so very long ago.

In Canada, we reveled in the warmth of our winter and wonderment: We laughed, we cheered, we loved, we cried. We were the perfect hosts.

But nothing could come close to how we handled those tragic circumstances which took the lives of a courageous athlete and then a giving, dedicated mother. Nor will we, should we, ever forget that out of such hardship often comes triumphant results: The Georgian team bravely remained,  and competed with great courage and honour, while Joannie Rochette carried her mother’s spirit–and the love of a nation.

And never will we see again a more enduring symbol of a pure Canadian resolve or determination than in the never broken smile of Frederic Bilodeau. Challenged by cerebral palsy, but buoyed by a life-long sense of dogged audacity and uncommon daring; his is the personal constitution as solid gold as the medal he inspired that now hangs from his brother Alexandre’s neck.

Joannie and Frederic, without knowing it, perhaps, have become Canadian emblems. For what better describes a Canadian than to persevere through insurmountable odds or deep tragedy.

It has served us well, this one great characteristic effort–our perseverance. We did this in Vimy and in Normandy–no more nobly than at Juno Beach.  We were ahead of the curve on extending equal rights to all, caring for our sick, protecting our cultural diversity. We would not stand down when a fellow named Mandela was still in shackles. We are emphatic in our disdain of treachery.

At every juncture, Canada is best described as a brilliant fighter. A gallant and upright one at that. Nothing could have stopped young Frederic from his brothers arms, as Joannie was letting go of those that raised her. Two moments, hurtling in opposite directions, but ones which defined us.

Nothing could have been more uplifting, for any of us. As in anything we do, as Canadians, we must always live and pursue that great fight–to ultimately carry the day.

I have been very critical of these Games–appropriately so. I will not relent that we delivered them on the backs of the poor and most needy–this is a reality. But as a true Canadian, I felt no greater pride that the best examples of our successes at these Games came not from a historic goal, a great run or a superb skate.

Instead, I want to remember that the magic, the real magic we all should be so humbled to recall, when once again reminding our children at some point in the future of those magnificent triumphs, came from loss, resurrection and love.