Scorched

C.C. and I set out late one afternoon for the west coast. We didn’t know what the drive would be like. Fires burned throughout the interior. The news was grim. Had we left the next day, we’d have been forced to take a long detour as the Highway closed due to one of the fires swooping down from the mountain side, jumping the highway and cutting off access.

We couldn’t see the numerous fires burning all around but the air was heavy with the smell and feel of smoke. The sky ominous. Apocalyptic.

We made it through to the coast and spent ten wonderful days with family in Vancouver and on Gabriola Island. C.C. was happy to spend the week on Gabriola with my sister and her husband — gracious hosts they share their beautiful home on the mountainside overlooking the ocean with open arms, hearts and kitchen. Despite having broken a kneecap two months ago, my sister never fails to cook up delectable and copious amounts of vegan fare.

In Vancouver, I savoured time with my daughter and her family, my grandchildren filling my heart to overflowing with joy and laughter.

On Monday, the highway once again open for passage, we drove back beneath smoke-filled skies while fires continued to burn out of control, though not as pressing up against cities, villages and homes as before.

When we reached the area where the fire had jumped the highway, it was grim.

Burnt out trees. Downed powerlines. Shells of cars littered driveways where once a garage stood in front of a home that was now vanished.

The devastation was both surreal and terrifying.

I stand in awe of the courage shown by firefighters and those families who frantically safeguarded their dearest belongings, escorting their children and pets to safety.

A friend relayed a harrowing account: ash and smoke blanketed the sky for days. They were away when the winds changed, steering the fire towards their home. News of their community’s fate was scarce, leading to an agonizing night of uncertainty. Miraculously, the fire forked around their property, sparing them and their neighbors. But not everyone was as fortunate. On their side of the lake, 170 properties were either damaged or devoured by the flames, with another 139 in West Kelowna also lost.

And still, the fires persist.

Driving through the fire’s path, witnessing its unyielding march to the lake, was both a humbling and heart-wrenching experience. The scale of the devastation was overwhelming.

But in the midst of this tragedy, I find solace. No lives were lost. I’m grateful for the brave souls who confront such perils head-on, ensuring others find safety. And I’m relieved that our friends have a home to return to.

Namaste.

Scorched
By Louise Gallagher

Red hot
forest
earth
scorched black
grasses seared
grimy soot scattered
beneath billowing clouds
pregnant
with smoky vapors
wafting
on the wind
like ghostly messengers
telegraphing 
Mother Nature’s losses
to distant horizons.

Far above, soaring
swoops
of blue-sky sail
effortlessly to infinity.

In every ending 
a beginning
opens the door
to new tomorrows.

Sugar and Spce and Everything Nice – but no red wine please

There are things that make my world go quiet. Things that make it sparkle and shine. And things that settle around me like being wrapped in a cozy blanket in front of a roaring fire on a chilly winter’s day.

This week held all three.

Arthritis, and a night without sleep, quieten my world. I’m not sure what’s triggered it this week (I have my suspicions – no more red wine on this adventure for me), but my feet decided it was their turn to make their presence known.

Softly, gently I walk. Each step a careful examination of how to place each foot to radiate the minimum amount of angst. And with each step, I remember to pay attention to my surroundings, to be aware of the beauty in every moment.

My sister makes the BEST charcuterie trays ever — though I do think she might have thought I said 100 people instead of 10…

Father’s Day dinner was a weekend of sparkle and shine. Sure, it could be that mixing two days on my feet with red wine may have contributed to Sunday night’s sleepless nature, but even arthritis can’t diminish the joy of sharing time, food (and wine) with those I love, not to mention the joy I get setting a pretty table. It all mixes up into a wonderful a recipe for love, laughter and life full of sparkly moments! Add to the mix the anticipation of my eldest daughter and her family arriving this weekend for a week’s visit, and the sparkle amps up to kleig light velocity!

And, the feelling of being wrapped up in a cozy blanket? Well, that comes from spending time in my studio (after a long hiatus) creating a tiny book for my granddaughter’s 3rd birthday.

I had created one for her brother’s first birthday, which she recently found, and according to my daughter, is fascinated by it. Not so much the story but the fact, her YiaYa made it.

I couldn’t resist the call to make Ivy one of her own! (and thanks to that sleepless night, I’m half finished!)

The beauty of a sleepless night is, it doesn’t diminish the muses calling, and it does open up time to dive into creative expressions!

For me, it is the ‘Big Thing’ in all of it….

No matter what life throws or pours or drips onto my plate, my life is richer when I stop, breathe, centre myself and find the value in all things.

From trauma to little moments of doubt, there is always an opportunity to learn and grow and expand beyond what I know or think are my limits, or the walls of my comfot zone, to experience the more of what life has to offer.

I’ll take it — with a side of sugar and spice and everything nice, of course, but no red wine please.

Thoughts By A Mountain Pond

Does this work? I write the question at the top of my empty journal page. The answer follows effortlessly – It all works. Sitting on a bench beside the tranquil waters of a pond. Mountains reflected on their surface. A duck floating along the water. Sounds of the mountain town of Canmore all around. Life is full of wonder and awe.

High above, a periwinkle blue sky dotted with cotton candy clouds stretches out like a dreamy watercolour landscape, white clouds blending seamlessly into sky, mountains soaring tall and proud, their peaks piercing the sky like spears of stone.

In the midst of this tranquil moment, my thoughts drift through my mind like the clouds floating by above me. I am witness to the beauty of this earth and still, thoughts of the impact of our human actions on earth’s delicate ecosystem darken the edges. In standing so tall and proud, have the jagged peaks of these mountains inadvertently contributed to the holes in the ozone layer, I wonder? Does Mother Nature mourn the damage we humans inflict upon her intricate tapestry of life on earth, day after day? Or, like her mountain guardians, does she steadfastly weave a blanket of healing in her endless quest to stitch earth back together, despite our efforts to keep taking her creations undone?

My pen stills upon the journal page. I stop and take a breath, inhaling all the beauty that surrounds me. The warm mountain air against my skin. The gentle breeze caressing my hair. The still waters of the pond and the solid earth beneath my feet.

Breathing out, I whisper a silent prayer of gratitude for this present moment. This quiet interlude in a day that will witness the binding together of two people in Love. A day that holds promise, possibility and the potential for so much joy, laughter, happiness and wedded bliss.

Moments like these are meant to be lived through with an open heart, an open mind, and a sense of openness to the world around us.

I inhale once more, an overwhelming sense of joy embraces my entire being. Exhale. The world seems to breathe in harmony with my presence.

In that fleeting moment, peace envelopes me, assuring me that all is well with my soul.

I breathe in again, the moment passes like the river flowing into the pound. In. Out. Continuing on.

And stil, the moment lingers, A gentle reminder of the beauty and wonder that coexist with the dark and threatening in this world.

I cannot change the darkness in this world, but I can be a beacon of hope in its midst.

I can choose to share kindness, spread joy, love and compassion wherever I go.

And who knows? Perhaps my light will inspire others to shine their own until, together, our light shines so bright, the darkness recedes and the world is illuminated in the human magnificence of our lights shining bright.

Yes. Sitting here by a pond on a beautiful June morning, the possibility of that light feels as real as the mountains standing guard over Mother Nature’s exquisite beauty.

And in this ehemeral moment, I imagine that all of humankind stops, takes a breath and reflects on the beauty and awe in this world. And in that collective thought, our light grows so brilliant, we transform darkness into light.

And so it is.

P.S. – I wrote this post in my journal yesterday morning on my walk along the river and then through Canmore.

The wedding was later in the day. 16 people gathered together to witness the vows of two souls joining as one.

It was, a beautiful day.

___________________________

Scenes from yesterday:

Thanks Dad for the Life Lesson!

Cheese-braid Loaf fresh out of the oven

My father taught me how to bake bread. I was 17, in my final year of high school. We were living in Germany at the time and I was busy trying to make a plan for the rest of my life. It wasn’t going well.

“Here, I’ll teach you how to bake bread,” my father said one day in his usual gruff voice that left no room for argument.

From the first knead I fell in love.

It’s a love affair that has never ended, though there have been times when the challenges of baking sourdough during Covid’s lockdown almost soured me on my passion!

But I digress.

Baking bread from scratch is one part science, one part alchemy and one part Love with a hearty dollop of magic thrown in for good measure.

Along with its capacity to lighten any burden I may be carrying and calm my fears or tears, baking bread also deepens my connection to the ‘now’. It brings me full circle back to life’s mysteries, beauties, and sometimes inexplicable inconsistencies.

On Monday, while snow fell and the temperature began its steady climb down into the sub-zero zones of Arctic climes where it currently rests in defiance of my demands it rise up again, I heated a cup of water to just the right temperature (110F), poured 3 teaspons yeast onto the water in a large bowl, threw in a pinch of salt, gave it a stir, and let it rest for five minutes.

The water, salt and yeast responded well to each other’s presence and frothed joyfully in the bowl.

A cup of flowr. A cup of grated cheddar. A good healthy whisking, a second five minute rest and the ooey gooey mess was ready to receieve its final ministrations.

It is the simplicity of bread-making I love the most. Three ingredients (plus whatever extras, like cheddar, parsley and herbs, you want to throw in). A bit of attention to measurements, the water to flour combination does not require accuracy, just a good feeling in the dough’s bounce back response prior to its first rise.

Of course, it’s important to pay attention to the details – the water can’t be too hot or it will kill the yeast. Too cold, the yeast won’t awaken. The biggest demand on the breadmaker is our willingness to let the magic happen without poking and prodding it along.

Bread-making, if you’re doing it from scratch and by hand, requires patience, time and muscle. After the second five minute rest, when you start adding flour to the mixture to create the doughball, arm-strength is vital. Not only are you thickening up the gooey mess, you’re moving it around to make sure the flour, water and salt are combined and the gluten is stretched and coerced into activation.

And that’s where the ‘stress-relief’ comes in.You get to punch and roll, punch and roll as you apply your full arm power to the process, ’cause it’s the kneading that puts the gluten to work. Plopping the dough onto the counter and giving it a couple of tepid roll-overs just doesn’t make it work!

You gotta knead that baby doughball into an elastic-like consistency where the gluten knows, with great certainty, that its only job in life is to stretch in all directions beyond the confines of its small-spongle like birth-form to become what it is destined to be – a baked to perfection, crispy on the outside, light and airy on the inside, delectable concoction whose only calling in life is to inveigle you into smearing a copious serving of butter and jam onto its fresh out of the oven goodness and devour it with moans of delight.

Kneading is the stress relief. Consuming is the delight.

On Monday, in anticipation of our family dinner of ten that evening, I baked a cheese-braid loaf of bread in honour of my eldest daughter who would not be joining us at the table. It is her favourite and I have never created a family dinner without one loaf gracing the center of the table(or two if she’s present as, as along with C.C., she tends to nibble away at the loaf until the product that appears on the table looks like a horde of gophers had free-reign with its preparation).

It is an act of Love. A reflection of the strength and stretchy nature of our family circle that has spanned decades and generations, been stretched at times to its maximum capacity to hold pain and grief, sorrow and sadness and still bounce back to hold us all together.

I baked a loaf of bread on Monday. The family circle remains strong, reminding me that no matter the times, or weather outside, we are all connected through Love’s enduring embrace.

Thanks dad for the life lesson! You taught me well.

These are the faces of love

Alive in Love
By Louise Gallagher

These are the faces of love
flowing
between hearts
beating
wild
the song that never ends
in the key of life
running full
with the joy
of being
alive
in this moment where
small hands
touch my tender heart
breaking
open.

These are the glorious moments
that fill my world
overflowing
with the exquisite nature
of one tiny raindrop
plump with an entire world
of beauty
reflected in its perfect
orb
suspended
in life’s 
unfathomable mysteries
holding me
tenderly
in this moment
where the only place to be
is alive in Love.

Love is Always With You

6:30 am. I am sitting at Gate 54 waiting for my flight. Which doesn’t depart for two hours. And already, the airport is busy. The waiting area getting crowded.

The drive was fast. Security even faster. The line at Starbucks the only thing with a wait.

I sip my latte and watch and listen to the people all around. The wheels of someone’s rollie suitcase thrums as it rolls along the tile floor, its reveraberations rattling like a train chugging along the tracks. Its owner is walking quickly. I imagine his eyes focused on the Starbucks sign just ahead. In his intent to grab his first coffee of the day he is oblivious to his surroundings. Or perhaps, his flight is boarding and he is rushing to get to his gate.

He’s gone. Rolls out of my mind like a cloud passing-by on a sunshiney day.

Airports fascinate me. That opening sequence from Love Actually, of people joyfully, some tearfully, greeting one another at the International arrivals gate one of my favourite all-time scenes.

Smiles. Laughter. Tears. Music to stir the heart.

There is no music at the airport. No ambient tunes or annoying elevator music being piped in to fill the space, keep things calm. .

I haven’t noticed this before. Even though I pass through this terminal many times a year. I haven’t noticed that there is no music playing at the airport.

People are the music. The sounds of voices, suitcases rolling along the tile floor, voices in many languages chatting. A child laughing. Another crying. A man on his phone. Talking loud in a language I do not understand. I wonder if he thinks he is alone. Not at the airport but in his language here at a terminal filled with many voices, in many tongues, speaking languages from far and away. I wonder if speaking in his native tonue gives him a sense of security, of believing no one can understand so why bother to try to soften his voice? Or perhaps, he just always speaks in a loud voice and never worries about anyone else’s comfort?

I wonder how many hopes and dreams, disappointments and regrets those around me carry. I wonder if they are going to something with great anticipation, or dread. I wonder who will meet them at the end of their journey, and who will not. Will they come through the exit doors, search the crowd only to realize. ‘They’ did not come. What then? What happens next.

Lives interesecting, paths crossing, people travelling in different directions. Some towards. Some away from. Some, not sure where they’re going or what or who will greet them at the end of the line.

when I arrive in Vancouver, I shall wait for my suitcase, (hoping it turns up while keeping hold of the confidence it will), suitcase in hand, I’ll walk the length of the terminal, take the elevator to the third floor and board the Canada Line to downtown.

My daughter and grand-daughter will be waiting for me at the end of the line. We’ll greet each other with hugs and smiles. My heart will feel full and overflowing with joy and love and happiness and anticipation of the celebrations to come.

It is my grandsons 5th birthday.

I am so excited to spend it with him. Excited and grateful to have the gift of time to be part of his life, to watch him grow and mature as he steps into his future confident that the past, the present and the future is full of LOVE. That no matter what happens, no matter what wrong roads or right, no matter what tumbles he may take, what pitfalls he may navigate, he was, is and always will be part of this family circle that begins in endless, enduring exquisite LOVE.

I sit at Gate 54 waiting and know, no matter where I am, or where I go, LOVE is always with me.

Namaste

Creating Beauty: the gateway to possibility

I love to cook and entertain. Fortunately, my beloved enjoys entertaining almost as much as I do and finds my desire to ‘create beauty’ umm… amusing/admirable/adorable… Yeah. That’s it.

Anyway, I do love to create a beautiful experience for everyone who comes to our home. To have the table look as good as I hope the food tastes.

This is why I spend a lot (read that – an inordinate amount) of time creating placecards for each guest and a unique look for the table-setting along with a menu that is inspiring and intriguing, as well as appetizing and fulfilling.

It pleases my creative heart and soothes my yearning to create beauty in the world.

I tell you this because I believe the world needs more beauty.

I believe that the only way to offset the ugly out there, is to create beauty, in here.

It doesn’t mean I’m ignoring the ugly in the world. It’s hard to ignore when newsfeeds are full of graphic accountings of humanity’s ability to destroy one another and the planet we depend upon for our very breath.

But there is little I can do about the bigger world beyond my own sphere of influence. And so, I do my best to ensure my sphere (some might call it a bubble) is as devoid of conflict, strife and hard edges as it can be.

That also doesn’t mean I cannot be prone to being edgie at times or behaving badly. It does mean that when I do miss a step or fall down in my behaviour, I do my best to get accountable and take responsibility for my missteps by cleaning up my act whenever I can.

And sometimes (read that most times) cleaning up my acting out requires I come back into integrity with my own self, inside me.

It means getting authentic inside so that who I am in the world is aligned with who I want to be in every aspect of my life.

When I used to coach at Choices, I remember every Sunday evening at the end of the five-day training, I’d think about how I am in ‘the room’ and ask myself, “Is how I am in the world outside this room aligned with how I am in this room?”

Often, I’d find gaps in my behaviour, in how I was presenting myself out there that were not aligned.

See, in a sacred space like the Choices room where hearts are broken open to the power of love and possibility (Discovery Seminars now that Choices no longer operates in Alberta) it is easy to be authentic. Not only is the room a safe space, it is a brave space – a space where no matter your human condition, you know without equivocation, you are loved, lovable, Love in action.

In the big world out there, it doesn’t always feel safe, and being brave can feel not only scary but dangerous.

How do you stand up to a bully when that bully has a gun?

How do you speak truth when truth-speaking could cost you your life or your family’s freedom?

And how do you create beauty when everything and everyone around you feels shrouded in the darkness of anger, fear and hopelessness?

I don’t have answers for the world ‘out there’. I do, however, now that what I create in here will ripple onward, out into the world in ways I can’t imagine.

And for that ripple to be filled with beauty, wonder and awe, I must release droplets of beauty, wonder and awe into the world around me with everything I do.

We live in times that feel unprecedentedly uncertain, at times confusing, at times nullifying and frightening.

I don’t know if what I feel today is worse than what my parents and their cohorts felt during WW2, or when I was a child and the Bay of Pigs was unfolding and we children were practicing hiding under our desks at school in case of an atom bomb going off. But, what I do know is, like my mother who wanted only to create beauty and peace in her world, I am doing my best to walk in her footsteps and do the same.

It is only the steps I am taking that can fill in the gaps between fear, hopelessness and possibility.

Sometimes, knowing I am imbuing each of my steps with beauty is all I need to bring myself back into integrity.

Namaste

PS. It was my youngest daughter’s 35th birthday yesterday. To celebrate her, we held a dinner on Sunday night for family and friends. These are some of the photos. (thank you @ChristieeJames for the photos!)

And PPS. I used to avoid making cakes. I’m learning to love it! She wanted a “sprinkle cake’ – read that – Confetti Cake. I loved how it turned out!

Ah yes. This is Christmas

Joyfully, we gathered around the Christmas tree. We hung decorations. Teased one another. Laughed and shared memories of Christmases past and hopes and dreams of Christmases to come.

This morning, I walked into the living room, switched on the tree lights, made myself my seasonal eggnog latte indulgence, sat at my desk, and watched early morning traffic cross the bridge. It is sparse at this early hour. Car lights moving west to east, crossing over the river that flows in an indolent stream of shimmering waters growing ever slower as Arctic air swoops down to envelope us in its icy maw.

Baby it’s cold outside.

Inside, my world is wrapped in the scents and scenes of Christmas á la 2022.

Like pocketbooks all over the country, my yearning to decorate the house is thinner this year. Perhaps the austerities of the pandemic have invaded my senses.

The big [;astoc tubs full of boughs and decorations lay unopened. Some of them didn’t even make it up from the storage room downstairs.

The tree stands tall in all her glittering light, festooned with glass balls and ornaments, delicate butterflies and feathered friends.

I wonder if this simple yet beautiful display is enough.

If maybe this year, it’s time to pare down the excess of Christmases past and cull the bountiful stash of Christmas ornaments I’ve accumulated over the years.

Perhaps, in keeping with the austerity these inflationary times seem to naturally have ignited in so many, it’s time to declutter Christmas.

I sit at my desk and watch the river slowly shifting-shape from flow to frozen shape. The reflection of the Christmas tree lights shimmer in the window in front of me. Darkness holds the night still.

Long before Christianity appeared along the human journey, people gathered around evergreen trees to celebrate Solstice. For our ancestors, the evergreen and its constant colour, needs and scent, represented the promise of longer, warmer days to come.

In our gathering last night, we decorated the tree connected through time to this ancient symbol of the light regaining its strength over the dark.

In our gathering, our laughter, our shared history and love, we wove the magic of time and this season together into a beautiful tapestry full of the promise of Love. Hope. Peace and Joy.

Ah yes. This is Christmas.

.

L’Chaim! To Life!

Last night, as my beloved and I lay in bed reading, he suddenly asked, “Do you know what day tomorrow is?”

“Monday?” I glibly replied.

“Our anniversary,” he clarified with a laugh.

Well my goodness! Seriously?

Neither of us had noted the date.

For C.C., it’s partially because of being immersed in pulling together financing on a business deal. He gets consumed.

For me… well recent events have taken up a great deal of my mindspace. I just hadn’t realized how much until C.C. reminded me of the significance of this date.

As many who read here regularly know, C.C. was in hospital with pneumonia for 10 days at the beginning of the year.

His recovery has been slowed by the presence of COPD in his lungs which makes his breathing laboured. My thoughts have been consumed with making sure COVID doesn’t impede his recovery.

And then, a month ago, while I was in Vancouver, he fell and fractured three ribs. “They’re only bruised,” he told me. “No need to come home. I’ll be fine.”

Sisters surrounded by sisters

Fortunately, my youngest daughter was able to care for Beaumont as he tried to heal and my sister Jackie kept him supplied with food while I was away! It wasn’t until two days before my return that he went for an X-ray and discovered his ribs weren’t bruised but fractured — no wonder moving was almost impossible. All of which has made his breathing even more laboured.

Colour me worried, ’cause I am.

Worried he’ll catch COVID. Worried his breathing will not improve. Worried…

Charlie’s Angels

Add the passing of my dear friend Andrew and I’m hoping you get the picture… my mind is not a calm and clear view of distant horizons and shimmering seas of peaceful waters capable of holding thoughts of health and well-being and death and living alongside dates of note.

The fact is… I have been feeling overwhelmed by it all. Not just these recent events but the whole landscape of this world where war and disease and climate events march in seemingly unending waves of turbulent thoughts engulfing my peace of mind.

It’s time to find my centre, my middle ground as Val Boyko calls it. It’s time to breathe into the chaos and worry to remind myself of that which is always present, always the answer… LOVE

Tolstoy wrote, “Love is life.  All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only because I love. Everything is united by it alone. Love is God, and to die means that I, a particle of love, shall return to the general and eternal source.”

On this, our 7th Wedding Anniversary, I choose to consciously release worry and fear, sadness and sorrow, to celebrate all that makes my life so rich and vibrant, all that creates such beautiful meaning and joy in everyday.

Our love. Our commitment. Our union. Our marriage.

I can’t change the course of war or disease. I am not powerful enough to cure or heal all the woes of the world.

What I have the power to do is to ensure my own world is filled with all that creates better in this world. Beauty. Art. Joy. Compassion. LOVE.

Today, I celebrate US as I surrender all fear and fall with grace into the eternal source of it all… LOVE.

l’chaim! to LIFE!

Farewell my dear friend

It is his laughter I shall always remember.

It rolled up out of his belly frothing with mirth too big for one body to contain. It spilled out like waves crashing against a rocky shoreline, splashing everyone in close proximity with its insistence we give up all resistance and join in the frivolity at hand.

It is his laughter I shall always remember and his loving friendship I shall carry with me forever.

My friend Andrew Z took his last breath on Friday evening. And, just as he did in life, he surprised us with how he did it.

Andrew was not a quiet man. A larger-than-life character, in business he was a tough negotiator, a fair boss, a brilliant strategist and visionary. Revered by many he lead, he commanded his domain with deft hands and an uncompromising demand for excellence from everyone who sat around him at the board room table. He knew what he wanted and went after making it happen, with gusto. He loved the chase he once told me and dreamt of building a billion-dollar company before he retired.

When he’d succeeded (which he always did) and the time came to let go, he did not go into retirement easily. He sat on many boards, sharing his knowledge and wisdom freely.

We often talked about how challenging he found retirement. And, while he admired me for my work and volunteerism, he knew himself well enough to know not-for-profit boards and volunteering were not for him. Though, when Christmas dinners came around and I insisted our guests first go serve dinner at a homeless shelter, he did not balk. And, when I organized Thanksgiving dinners at a building that housed formerly homeless veterans, he and his beautiful wife, Ula, were the first to join me in making it happen.

Along with his laughter and unwavering friendship, I shall miss sitting around the dinner table diving into conversations about everything from China to the MIddle East, Canadian politics and Indigenous issues and what he considered the ineptness of certain governments to take care of business first.

Andrew read voraciously. He consumed news like a fire consuming oxygen and had a discriminating mind that could drill down into salient facts revealing perspectives I would never have seen without his insight. And, though throughout our over 40 years of friendship I failed to convince him to use “Indigenous Peoples’ and not ‘Indians’, as Andrew read more about Indigenous history and colonialism in Canada, he shifted from asserting ‘it’s a business problem that could be fixed with good management’ to acknowledging that as we ‘the white man’ were the architects of the intergenerational trauma and poverty, racism and discrimination that has destroyed Indigenous culture, lives and well-being, we did not have the answers, nor the right, to dictate the future of Indigenous peoples.

Andrew was my friend. Warm-hearted, generous, loving. I always knew I could lean on him, call on him when times were tough and count on him when times called for a celebration.

Once, when I had ended a relationship I knew needed ending but felt the pain of loss deeply, he called to invite me for dinner. When I walked into their home, Andrew wrapped his arms around me and said, “You can always come here Louise where you know you are loved.”

And, after five years of an abusive relationship, Andrew and Ula stood by my side, helping me stand up again, always supporting me and surrounding me, and my daughters, with their love.

My dear friend Andrew took his last breath on Friday evening. I had spent the day supporting their friend Mark in organizing around-the-clock nursing and palliative care and a hospital bed and all the things that needed to happen for Andrew to have his wish after Covid pneumonia had taken its toll – to die at home.

Mark had promised he would not let him be taken back to hospital and worked feverishly to ensure it didn’t happen.

And then, when the arrangements were all in place and the first nurse due to arrive for the overnight shift, Andrew surprised us all by slipping quietly away while Ula and their son sat in the kitchen quietly chatting and he lay in the living room on his own.

And while I so wish I could have been there to hold his hand as he slipped over, I know this is exactly how Andrew would have wanted it.

No lingering death. No waiting. No tears. No fussing over him.

In an article on death and dying I read on my flight back from Vancouver on Wednesday night, the author suggested something we should all consider, “What will the world look like without me in it?” Imagine it and find peace with your imaginings.

Andrew, my world without you in it has a big hole. To find peace within that void I imagine only Love filling the space you left behind because Love is all there is left to hold onto in your passing.

Thank you my friend for your constant love and care. Thank you for the laughter, the joy, the meals, the times we shared in Barbados and Mexico and the times spent at your beautiful home here and on Barry’s Bay.

Thank you for always being there for me and my daughters. Thank you for loving us all so fiercely and for always letting us know how much you cared.

Thank you for being you. You taught me how to be myself no matter what. And no matter what, I shall always love you.

Namaste