The Month That Was

In just over an hour, August will have faded away.  To say I'm not ready is an understatement.

I'm not ready.

I'm not ready for early bedtimes and earlier mornings.
I'm not ready for the paper trail that marks the beginning of another school year.
I'm not ready for calendar squares filled up, with arrows and circles marking the mayhem.
I'm not ready for the shorts and tank tops to be put away, making room for sweaters and boots.
I'm not ready for deadlines and due dates and reading lists.

Somehow, the dates on the calendar don't wait until you're ready.
But if f I could, I'd plead my case.

I'd look back on this month that was and the story it tells.

Of a tragedy and a vigil that engulfed me in grief and moved me to help create something beautiful...

On the heels of which came a trek to the west coast, full of who we were and what we left behind.

To which we tacked on a week of decisions and choices and registrations and anticipation.

All clouded in the wish for time to stand still and lend me more time.
   More time to breath.
   More time to dig my heels into the hot sand.
   More time to snuggle a warm little girl's body into mine and talk about nothing.
   More time to sip and laugh on a patio until it's much too late.
   More time to whittle down my stack of books by turning pages, uninterrupted.
   More time to hope I'm not making too many mistakes.
   More time to not be in a hurry.

I'm not ready, but September is.
Knocking at my door and waiting.
Ready or not, here it comes.
 

For Lisa - Redemption's Song

This started with you.

This outpouring of support and love for people struggling everywhere.
It has your name all over it.

There are times that I can't believe that two weeks ago I didn't even know your name and I now I feel as though we'll be connected for a lifetime.

I never met you.
Never heard your voice or locked eyes with yours.
Never heard your laugh or watched you play with your babies.
But now we are joined and your name just rolls off my lips.

If it started with you, it needs to finish with you.
And so I find myself writing to you again - hoping you'll know that light has come to dark places.

When I wrote you a letter last week, I didn't know so many people would want to echo the very words I wrote.  I didn't know that thousands of women and men would read those words and want to join in the chorus of saying, "we know you loved them".

When I stood and looked out at the nearly 300 people who gathered at The Forks on Thursday night, it took my breath away.

There were lots of moms there, Lisa.  It made me smile to see toddlers running around on the grass in front of me making noise and being silly.  I thought you would have liked to have seen that kind of life spilling over and out.  There were moms holding babies close and others holding the hands of their big kids.  Some of the moms brought their teenage girls along and I was so thankful.  Those girls are so close to being moms too.  They need to hear the message you've sent.  They need to know mental illness is a battle that can find anyone.

There were dads there too.  Some of them sat alone.  Others with their arms around women who were overcome with tears and sadness.  Some of them held hands of babies and toddlers and ushered them in toward a message of hope.  I think you would have loved seeing that.

When the procession made it's way down toward the river, with arms holding white blooms and blossoms, it was impossible to not know it was sacred ground we were standing on.
I watched that line from on top,  and with each flower thrown, the white spilled into the darkness.  Beauty infiltrated sorrow.

But the real power came on the way up, Lisa.
There were so many tears.
There were arms supporting and surrounding.
And when it was all over there were stories.

There were stories that had never been told before.
It felt like I had been given the honor of being offered the richest of deposits.
Those tears brought the words,
    and the words brought the light,
       and the light pushed back the shame,
           and the absence of shame brought some healing.

I wonder what you would have thought and felt, if you had been there...
If you had been able to be a witness to those stories and those first moments of exposing secrets and shame that had been hidden for forever.
There was light in dark places on Thursday night.

Lisa, your name doesn't stand for tragic deaths -  not in my mind.
In my mind it stands for hope.
     That change is coming.
     That people are beginning to talk and ask for help.
     That where there is great light, there is great healing.

I am honored to be connected to your name.
Your fight is mine.
For Nicholas and Anna, I'll keep going.
For you, and with the 300 compassionate and generous souls who stood with me on sacred ground.
There is hope, Lisa.
That has to be redemption's song.

Be at peace.

For Lisa, Rest in Peace

Late last week I wrote a letter to Lisa Gibson as a blog post.  I had to do it.

It was the day after her children had died and she was still missing.  Her story consumed me.
It still does.

On Saturday, a female body was found in the Red River and yesterday it was identified as Lisa's.
Again, I am consumed with thoughts of her.

I experienced such relief knowing she was found.   But hand in hand with the feelings of relief, was such great and unspeakable sorrow.

I know that I am not the only one.

I know this because after I published my letter to Lisa on this blog, the response was immediate and  overwhelming.  The letter got shared, re-posted and tweeted and made it's way around to people who I had never met, but who all seemed to stand together with great compassion, understanding, and sorrow.     In our standing together, the message seemed to be, "there is no judgement here".

As I heard of the news of Lisa's death yesterday, I knew that only words on a screen would not be enough this time.  There had to be more.  There are too many people who have been so impacted by this woman's battle against an illness that would not let her go.  There had to be a way to communicate to her friends and her family that there are people in their community who understand and offer only compassion and share their sorrow.

As I communicated all this with my dear friend Joyce late last night, an idea was birthed as a way to remember Lisa and her struggle and to and publicly communicate the message of compassion for her and her family.  A gathering of those who want to both show their support and be supported will take place on Thursday, August 1st at 7:30 p.m. at The Forks on the steps leading down to the River Walk.  If you are coming to join us in the gathering, you are welcome to bring a candle to light in memory of Lisa and her children.   Those gathering together can also bring a white flower to place into the Red River in memory of Lisa and the struggle she faced.  These organic deposits will travel down the river by the current adding light and reminders of hope and peace to the dark waters as they flow.

Please spread the word through conversations with friends or social media.

Rest in peace, Lisa.

We know you loved them.
There is no judgement here.

--------
If you are planning to come on Thursday night and are on facebook, please respond to the event page so we have an idea of how many people to expect.  Click on this link to take you straight to the event page.

For Lisa Gibson

I haven't been able to think of much else today, except you.  I keep coming back to the computer - checking the Winnipeg Free Press web site to see if there have been any developments and hoping that you've been found.  I want you to be found, Lisa.  You deserve that.

I don't know much about you except that you are 32 and were a momma to two.  I imagine that Anna and Nicholas were two gifts you must have hoped for your whole life.  I know you are a pharmacist at the Concordia Hospital who is on maternity leave, as Nicholas was born only three months ago.  A pharmacist.  That means you knew and understood the pharmacology that existed to help you overcome the dark dogs that were obviously lapping at your heels.  All the knowledge in the world can't help you sometimes.

I know that.
I hope you know that many people know it too.

You had a husband and other family who were helping you.  They must have tried so hard.  It must have killed you to watch them try.  In moments when the light found a way to sneak in, you must have looked over at your daughter, or your newborn son and everything in you must have wanted to extend your hand.

Only you couldn't.

I don't know what the darkness or the voices were telling you to do yesterday morning.  It must have been so convincing and so terrifying.  You must have felt like you had control for just a fleeting moment.  You took that control - the feeling that must have been absent for so long - and you acted.  I know you didn't understand what you were doing.

I know you loved your beautiful babies.

I am so sorry that the darkness that plagued you was bigger than anyone knew.  I'm sorry there wasn't enough help or understanding.  I'm sorry that you found yourself alone with your babies, even for that short while.  You must have been so afraid.

I know you loved them.

I don't know where you are today.  No one does.  I hope that you were able to find a place to truly rest yesterday, even with those dark dogs chasing you.  I hope your soul and your spirit found a way to rescue you from your tormentors.  I hope you found peace.  I hope you are at rest.

There is no blame found here, Lisa.  Not at the end of these words that I write.  I look at the pictures of you and those of your children and I know you must have loved them.

I am grieving for so much today.  For your husband, for your babies, for all who knew and loved them.  But mostly I am grieving for you.  It wasn't you, Lisa.  I hope you know that so many of us believe that.

You were educated, middle-class, supported, and surrounded, but still it wasn't enough.
It was too big for you.

I know you loved them.
I'm sorry.
Be at peace.

--------------------------
At the time of writing, Lisa Gibson is still missing.
Update - Lisa Gibson's body was recovered from the Red River on Saturday, July 27th.

Things to Love About Summer

The rich chocolaty brown of Ellie's skin, getting deeper and darker by each moment she spends under a sunny blue sky.

Freckles appearing, more and more, on noses and cheeks and foreheads.

Sipping gin and tonics (with extra lime) and lime margaritas on outside patios.

Powerful, loud, crashing, lightening flashing thunderstorms that only a prairie sky can produce.

Seemingly endless evenings when the dark stays away.

"Sev" walks down St. Mary's Road for Slurpees, 3 girls and me.

Dirty, filthy, stinky, deliriously happy people at the end of a week at camp.

A tub full of brown water and sweet smelling clean bodies after washing the week at camp away.

Fresh picked strawberries.

Alarm clocks on "off".

Days full of pajamas till noon and empty calendar squares.

Unfolding your patchwork beach blanket and laying it down on the sand - fresh and ready for the day of adventure.

Lunch kits put away, out of sight and out of mind.

Watermelon juice running down a chin.

Bathing suits hanging to dry on the hooks in your laundry room, recovering from another day of action.

Little curly-haired boys holding frogs and toads in one hand, with their other hand cupped over top.

Cold beer, BBQ on, and a makeshift potluck with neighbors on their deck till the mosquitoes start to bite.

Stacks of books on your bedside table that you want to read, not that you have to read.

Time for new dreams and new plans to permeate in your mind and soul.

Golden fields of canola lining your highway travels.

Anticipation of friends and visits waiting for you at the end of your long holiday journey.

Piles of flip-flops in your entrance.

Pretty dresses.

Not leaving the house without your sunglasses.

Feeling the hot sun warm you from the inside out, thawing away the harsh winter you survived.

Confessions of a Fairy's Daughter

Several months ago the Winnipeg Free Press had a short review of the book, Confessions of a Fairy's Daughter, that immediately made it onto my "must read" list.    Just a few weeks later I was listening to Shelagh Roger's "The Last Chapter" on CBC Radio one afternoon and heard her in conversation with the book's author, Alison Wearing and her dad discussing the book and the stories it tells.  I was taken with the warm and witty banter between Alison and her dad, but also with the immense courage it must have taken for Alison to have written the book, and even more, for her parents to have given their blessing for her to tell their story.

This week I was thrilled to discover that Alison Wearing was bringing her one-woman play (from which the book is based) to the Winnipeg Fringe Festival this year.   Mike and I were able to take in her first performance at the Winnipeg Fringe last night, and I can't recommend it highly enough.

Alison takes the audience from the time her mom and dad met through to the present using family pictures, music, a simple set, and monologue.  The story weaves its way through what her life was like as a child in Peterborough Ontario pre and post her dad's coming out.  When Alison's dad did finally come out of the closet and began living as an openly gay man, Alison was twelve years old.  She makes the ironic confession that it was just as her dad had broken free of his "double life" that she felt she had to begin living hers - terrified that neighbors and friends would find out her dad was gay.

I laughed a lot through out the show.  There are handfuls of funny moments, especially for those who also grew up and came of age in the 1970's and 80's.  I knew there would be emotionally charged moments and themes, but I was caught off guard by how deeply the show would impact me.  It was the ending, when Alison again takes the role of her father and begins to "conduct" the Toronto Gay Men's Choir through a recording that began my emotional response.  Alison later states, "my father could not help being gay any more than bats can help hanging upside down." Her journey through her father's story of coming out resulted in a woman with a deep and abiding love for her father, his partner, and the life he made for himself.

After the show ended, Alison turned to the audience with tears welling in her eyes, thanking us for coming to see the show.  She wasn't expecting many people in the crowd and was overwhelmed with the nearly-full room of people.  It was amazing for me to again see the power that "story" holds for people.  Even though she has written her story into a book and performed her play countless times, the telling of it and the reaction of people around her still holds power for her.  It held power for me too, as my tears began then too.

As we were leaving the room, a 30-something year old man approached Alison, held her hand and said, "I am your dad".   I could only imagine the way watching and experiencing Alison's story and discovering the beauty with which it has played out was deeply impacting for him.  After walking from her, he turned to his waiting partner who embraced him and pecked him on the cheek, and they walked out, hand in hand.   It was profound for me.

There was a short time for Alison to sell and sign her book afterward.  I walked toward her with red eyes and nose and thanked her for offering her story.

 Confessions of a Fairy's Daughter is playing at Venue 11 a the Red River College Princess Street campus  until July 27th.

Return to Folk Fest

After a two-year hiatus from Folk Fest while we lived in Vancouver, we returned to our happy place this weekend.  Yesterday was a scorcher.  We found us a little piece of heaven in Shady Grove for our first workshop of the day...

Where else, than at a Folk Fest workshop stage, would you combine a Danish brass-infused polka/folk band, a bluegrass fiddler from the States, and an old-time string band from Winnipeg?  Stranger still is that it worked.  They made beautiful music together.

After a banjo workshop at Shady Grove, our next stop was one of the new stages - Spruce Hollow.  It's a bit of a trek to get to, but there were glorious pockets of shade and an amazing fiddle mash-up.

After three great workshops, I was getting a little worried.  I still hadn't found my "one" new glorious discovery of the folk fest.  I didn't have to wait long.  We pulled up close to the stage at Spruce Hollow for the "Songs I Wish I Wrote" workshop.  It was an eclectic mix of singer-songwriters playing cover tunes written by some of their favorite writers.    They covered songs by The Talking Heads, The Clash, Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Stevie Wonder, Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, Dire Straits, Elvis Costello and more.  It was ridiculous.  In a goose-bump inducing sort of way.

One of our discoveries was the deep deep voice of New Yorker Sean Rowe...

Mike was feeling the vibe of Bhi Bhiman.  Chill.

But the guy that stole it for us was Canadian Danny Michel.  He's like a merger of Elvis Costello and Paul Simon.  He's just released an album with the Garifuna Collective from Belize that we've been playing on "repeat" all day long.  It's reminiscent of Paul Simon's Graceland album.  We found our "one" of the festival for sure.

The new space for food vendors was up and running and we feasted!

Some people dozed.

Our girls lapped up their return...

Can you spot the teensie folkie caterpillar?

There was a glorious prairie sky for the main stage show.

... which included treks for Whale's Tails and...

.... kettle corn (which can also act as a stand in for a guitar).

It was late into the night when Dr. John started his groove on stage and the Penner dance party ensued.

Once the dirty feet were washed clean and the kettle corn kernels were brushed out of my teeth I lay in my bed with a satisfied sigh.

Music.  People.  Magic.  As close to a perfect day as you can get.