On living and dying

Posted on February 27, 2012 by Louise Gallagher

I had another blog planned for this morning, but then I read Diana Schwenk’s mention of Hazel Gillespie’s passing, and clicked on the link she shared to Staying in Touch with Hazel.

Before I worked at the homeless shelter, I had never been to a hospice. The first time I went, it was by accident. A long time client, a photographer who found his gift through participating in the art program I’d started, was being moved from the shelter-owned apartment he’d been living in as cancer eroded his body’s strength, to hospice one cold December day in 2009. That evening, I called the hospice to find out how he was doing and they informed me, ‘he won’t last the night’. I didn’t want him to be alone amongst strangers as he passed over and so I drove out to the country where the hospice was situated and held his hand while he let go of life. It was one of the most profound and moving moments of my life.

The next time, was just last year when Terry Pettigrew, a man I’d grown to know and love at the shelter, also moved into hospice for his final days. He lived two weeks after moving in, and this time, his brother held his hand, a brother he hadn’t seen in 34 years. It was a blessed moment. I spoke about Terry during a presentation I gave on Saturday for the This is My City Festival panel discussion, On Common Ground and wrote about my experience of remembering Terry on my blog at Recover Your Joy today.

Both experiences with hospice staff have left me feeling grateful for their amazing grace in our world — they make a world of difference. Their humility and compassion, their ability to shine a light on the ‘ending’ while holding space for life to slip away with grace, has inspired me and given me great comfort.

And then, this morning I clicked on the link to Staying in Touch with Hazel that Diana shared and I was moved again by Love. In the beauty and tragedy of our lives, it is Love that carries us through. And, it is the love of people who share our journey, who light our path, who surround us in care that makes the journey hard to let go of, even when we must. In Hazel’s last few weeks on earth she was surrounded by four women committed to holding her hand, to reading to her, laughing with her, being with her in Love. I read back through their stories at Staying in Touch with Hazel, and I am in awe of their beauty.

The world is in good hands when those hands are the loving hands of those who work and care for the dying in hospices, and those who care for the one’s they love as Vicky, Christine, Barb and Judy cared for Hazel.

What an amazing difference they make in our world. What amazing light and grace they bring to living and dying.

Blessed journey Hazel Gillespie. May Love hold you forever more.

The Difference of A Dream

Posted on January 24, 2012 by Louise Gallagher

I was there when he took his last breath. I held his hand and waited in anticipation of an exhalation that never came. And in that one final breath in, the life-force left his body and James A. Bannerman was gone.

James was a client of the homeless shelter where I worked. Just after joining the team, I started an art program. One day, a box of throw-away cameras arrived in my office and I gave them to clients with the request they take pictures of their world. James was one of the ones who agreed to participate. From then on, a camera was never far from his sights. Whenever he wandered the streets of Calgary doing what he did everyday, picking up bottles along the riverbank, he would take photos. “Bottle pickings my civic duty,” he used to tell me when I’d pass him as I walked into work in the mornings. “I’m helping keep the city clean.”

Photography became his way of life.

That little box of a camera became a conduit for him to express the light and darkness of the city all around him. He became indefatigable in his ‘picture-taking’ as he liked to call it. Homeless for over 15 years when he received that first camera, picture-taking became his passion and, he laughed, maybe even his retirement plan. He became so immersed in his art that eventually, he saved up enough money from his odd jobs and bottle collecting to buy himself a digital camera, and then a laptop. And his picture-taking became an insatiable desire to express his awe of the world around him. Whenever we held art shows James would always turn up. A man of view words, he struggled to connect through words to those who passed his booth. He didn’t need words to speak. His photos spoke for him and to the hearts of those who purchased his work and gave it a home.

And then, cancer came and within months he was gone.

But not his photography. Not his view of the world he inhabited that he captured tirelessly where ever he went throughout our city. He didn’t take photos of people. He only took photos of buildings and bridges and water flowing in the river and frozen footprints in ice and the patterns of a manhole cover and an image of a street through the broken glass of a bus shelter.

James A. Bannerman had an eye for beauty and next week, on the day that would have been his fifty-fourth birthday James A. Bannerman’s first solo exhibit will open.

Yesterday, I met with the curator of the exhibit from The New Gallery (TNG) and two individuals who are part of hosting this year’s inaugural, This is My City Festival to finalize the selection of photos that will appear in the exhibit. As we sorted through Jame’s photos, looking for just the right one’s to include in the Plus 15 TNG Window Gallery that will be their home for the next two months, I shared stories of James and his indefatigable spirit and felt connected once again to this man who touched my heart in so many ways.

James would be pleased. His photos are out of retirement.

This is a difference worth making. This is a difference I have held in my heart since I sat and held Jame’s hand and listened to the last intake of his breath rattling through his lungs in the early morning hours of December 8, 2009. This is a dream I’ve breathed life into throughout the intervening days, a dream other’s have joined with me in bringing to light.

I am happy and I am grateful.

Namaste.

PS: For those in Calgary, or visiting over the next few months, the exhibit will be located at the Plus 15 at Epcor Centre for the Performing Arts — http://www.thenewgallery.org/exhibitions/plus15-window/the-compassionate-eye-of-james-bannerman-2012-02-01

Begin with turning up

Posted on January 6, 2012 by Louise Gallagher

It was a full house last night at the Joe Dutton Theatre for the live recording of The Eviction of Stuart Block, a radio play written and created by people experiencing homelessness and people who are working to make a difference in the homeless sector. Created by This is My City for this years High Performance Rodeo, The Eviction of Stuart Block tells the storied history of a three storey former rooming house in Calgary’s downtown core that now sits empty, awaiting demolition.

The cast was primarily actors from the homeless shelter where I worked for almost six years until I resigned at the end of 2011. A motley crew of troubadours, actors, writers, misfits, down and outs and up and comers as Col Cseke, co-director of the piece called them in his introduction. And everyone laughed and for the next hour and a half, everyone was enchanted. Seriously enthralled by this motley crew who brought the real life comings and goings, joys and traumas of a rooming house’s slide from inner city influence into skid row dereliction to life on the stage.

It was a moving, touching and compelling evening for me (and everyone there). As Max, one of the actors said to me after the play, “There will always be a bit of you up there on the stage Louise. This would never have come to be without you.”

I was touched by his words. Touched by the grace of this man whom I first met sitting on the second floor of the shelter painting by himself at a table, surrounded by the chaos and hubbub of the busy day area of the shelter. “Why don’t you come up and paint with us on the sixth floor?” I asked him almost everyday for a month after starting the arts program. “It’s much quieter up there and the view is awesome.” (and the view of the Bow River and the valley to the north of the shelter is awesome!) And eventually, Max did come and join the group that met every Thursday evening in the multi-purpose room. And eventually, he opened up to his creative urges to explore more, to give more of himself to not only his art but also to creating music at the shelter and in the community. And in his sharing, songs have been written, a singing group formed and performances shared all over the city.

In May 2006 when I began working at the shelter, I started an arts program which, over the years, evolved into full spectrum arts-oriented programming that encompassed all the arts from visual to theatrical to musical and written/spoken word. Over the years, the Possibilities Project, as it became known, created opportunities for clients, volunteers, staff and the community to connect in ways beyond the traditional “Let me help you” model prevalent throughout the homeless service sector. The Possibilities Project made it possible for people to connect on the common ground of creative expression — no matter the medium, no matter their address.

I had a lot of ‘me’ invested in the Possibilities Project and no longer being involved, I felt the sadness and the pull of separation anxiety when I arrived at the theatre last night. And then I walked in as the DI Singers (the singing group Max continues to sing with that co-director of the play, Onalea Gilbertson started in 2009) began to perform their pre-show concert. The performers waved and smiled when they saw me and I waved and smiled back. I sat in the front row (a place I never sit) and became immersed in their performance.

It was a night of magic and wonder. Of witnessing the human spirit in flight. It was a moment to let go of regret and savour the wonder of what happens when an idea takes wings on the spirit of human beings celebrating their magnificence.

I was touched by Max’s words to me last night. Touched and awed by the splendor of the people on that stage. And, I was humbled. Years ago I created a space for people to explore their creative yearnings. Today, they are still exploring those yearnings, still expressing their creative impulses and still creating special moments for all of us to witness and experience and enjoy.

As my friend Rachael said after the performance, “You made a difference by turning up tonight, Louise. It was important for everyone on that stage that you be here.”

I am blessed. I didn’t have to ‘do’ anything to make a difference. All I had to do was turn up and be part of the magic.

It’s all any of us have to do. To make a difference begin with turning up. Turn up and let the magic happen.

And here’s a great article by Stephen Hunt in the Calgary Herald about the play. Homeless build show from century-old building.