I’ve always tried to keep my distance from politicians despite covering them up close.

David Caplan was different. By chance, he was leaving Queen’s Park just as I was arriving.

And so I let my guard down. As did he.

He gave up on provincial politics in 2011 after being pushed out of cabinet by Dalton McGuinty, who was desperate to salvage his tarnished premiership amid the eHealth scandal. Blameless but scapegoated, Caplan opted not to seek re-election as an MPP.

The end of his promising career marked the beginning of an unlikely friendship.

Two weeks ago, we had what would be our last lunch. On Wednesday night Caplan died after a fire accident at his home. He was only 54.

Related: Former Liberal cabinet minister David Caplan dies at 54

In all our talks, he dispensed wisdom for future columns, offered critiques of past columns, but never expected me to write columns about him. I never did.

Until now. This is the column we never discussed, one I never imagined writing — a post mortem tribute to a political natural who lived and breathed public service until the last.

Every lunch began with a jarring ritual — he would suddenly and unselfconsciously raise his shirt, pull out a needle and jab his ample stomach with a dose of insulin as fellow diners pretended not to watch. His diabetes salved, the debate started — we dug into butter chicken washed down by mango lassis and masala chai. Or we would meet for borscht and smoked meat at the old Caplansky’s deli run by his younger brother Zane, who might wander over to join the session.

We talked politics and discussed family, presuming to solve the province’s problems and sometimes our own. The meal was truly food for thought as we digested the fine points of public policy or the low points of partisan politics.

I never covered Caplan as a columnist, but I first encountered him when he visited the editorial board of the Toronto Star at the outset of his ill-fated assignment as health minister, presiding over a budget of more than $50 billion and wielding life-or-death control over the care of 13 million Ontarians. I was taken by his single-minded focus on mental health, the neglected area of health care.

Bear in mind that this was the summer of 2008, before it was politically fashionable to talk openly about it. Caplan was determined to change this.

But before he could put his stamp on the portfolio, he was pushed aside to deflect opposition attacks over misspending and missed opportunities at eHealth. The scandal had long predated Caplan’s appointment, but under our parliamentary system he was answerable for the relentless attacks in the legislature’s daily question period.

He agreed to go quietly, taking one for the team in hopes it would satisfy the critics, but in the expectation that he would be returned to cabinet when the controversy died down. Bizarrely, unfairly, he never was restored to a portfolio, likely because the premier’s office came to resent his penchant for speaking his mind.

He bowed to the powerbrokers, but would not bend. He understood power, and so was not intimidated by it, perhaps because he had been born into a political family.

Caplan learned politics on his mother’s knee and soon followed in her footsteps. Together, they achieved the rare feat of a family act in real time, an unprecedented mother-son tag team with Elinor Caplan serving in the federal cabinet while David took a place in the provincial cabinet.

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In his political afterlife, he worked as a consultant and public volunteer, notably helping to fundraise for epilepsy in Toronto. Both in and out of politics, however, he manifested an uncanny ability to connect with adversaries — whether politicians or journalists.

He was not one of those skittish politicians who are afraid of the media because they are scared of their own shadow. He didn’t always get a fair shake from reporters, but he never resented them.

He understood that people in public life should be able to take a punch, and roll with the punches, without playing victim. He knew that politics is a blood sport, but he knew enough never to be bloody-minded about it.

He put it all on the line by placing his fate in the hands of others, again and again — as a school trustee, an MPP, a cabinet minister and, most recently, aspiring municipal councillor (he lost to the incumbent last year).

No matter his fate, he never bore grudges (well, almost never). He sat down with Tories to compare notes, and he volunteered for the campaign of lifelong New Democrat Olivia Chow when she ran for mayor.

As a journalistic spectator, picking his brain but also admiring his heart, I marvelled at Caplan’s resilience and patience. He struck me as a poster child for grownup politics, because he viewed political clashes like family arguments — best aired out, but ultimately resolved without hard feelings.

He showed me how politics was really played, and he embodied the human face of democracy. For without people like him willing to take chances — whether with cabinet selections or elections — who will be brave enough to put themselves forward, risking their reputations for humiliations?

Often I would send Caplan an early draft of a column that we had discussed, seeking his feedback. Not this one — no longer.

We were lucky to have him in public life and private life. But unlucky to lose him so soon.

I will miss him.

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