One year later...
A roll of toilet paper and a bucket of tears isn't exactly what you'd expect as a pre-sketch comedy show routine. But that's what happened when, a year ago today, I learned the devastating news that a family member had been killed in a snowmobile accident.
Theatre Sainte-Catherine is the last place I'd ever picture myself feeling so intensely sad. It is usually the place where I, and the many other comedy bums hung out, riffed, and laughed louder than anyone, ever. That's not to say I haven't ever felt sad there, I have. It's just that the profundity to which I felt pain that night outweighed the intensity to which I'd ever felt joy there. And for a place that breeds creativity and comedy and had been a witness to my funniest moments, I felt a strange mess of alienation come over me.
I wanted to run, I wanted to be in a dark corner in the freezing cold so that I could sob in solitude like I normally do. I wanted to rip my insides out because it hurt so much. I'd never cried surrounded by so many people before and I felt like an inconvenience because of it. Talk about Debbie Downer. We were still rehearsing sketches for the show. But these were exceptional circumstances, and the people around made every effort to bring me comfort and for that, I am so grateful.
Grief, or death, is one of the few things that every single person on this planet has in common, yet it's the hardest thing to relate to. It's my pain, and you can't feel it. I can't feel your pain and I'm sorry because if I could I would take it away from you. Such helplessness.
We can try, we can support each other, we can send messages and post pictures and reminisce and cry and write, but none of it can repair the loss that we're actually facing. It's just our way, or the lens through which, the medium, we choose to look at this death. It helps to bring the feelings into focus and to set them free at the same time. And that feels good, for a change.
Any time I have a bad day, I hear James' voice egging me on and it totally totally helps.
This morning I woke up very aware of the anniversary and I asked myself what can I do differently today. What can I do that will reflect more of who I know I can be and will honor the life of our good friend. Compassion came to mind immediately. "Be kind to yourself."
That has been a hard thing to do lately, to be honest. So, on this day, I'm reminded to be patient and loving, and to be thankful for the life James led, as he has inspired me to bring myself closer to my goals.
Katie
Theatre Sainte-Catherine is the last place I'd ever picture myself feeling so intensely sad. It is usually the place where I, and the many other comedy bums hung out, riffed, and laughed louder than anyone, ever. That's not to say I haven't ever felt sad there, I have. It's just that the profundity to which I felt pain that night outweighed the intensity to which I'd ever felt joy there. And for a place that breeds creativity and comedy and had been a witness to my funniest moments, I felt a strange mess of alienation come over me.
I wanted to run, I wanted to be in a dark corner in the freezing cold so that I could sob in solitude like I normally do. I wanted to rip my insides out because it hurt so much. I'd never cried surrounded by so many people before and I felt like an inconvenience because of it. Talk about Debbie Downer. We were still rehearsing sketches for the show. But these were exceptional circumstances, and the people around made every effort to bring me comfort and for that, I am so grateful.
Grief, or death, is one of the few things that every single person on this planet has in common, yet it's the hardest thing to relate to. It's my pain, and you can't feel it. I can't feel your pain and I'm sorry because if I could I would take it away from you. Such helplessness.
We can try, we can support each other, we can send messages and post pictures and reminisce and cry and write, but none of it can repair the loss that we're actually facing. It's just our way, or the lens through which, the medium, we choose to look at this death. It helps to bring the feelings into focus and to set them free at the same time. And that feels good, for a change.
Any time I have a bad day, I hear James' voice egging me on and it totally totally helps.
This morning I woke up very aware of the anniversary and I asked myself what can I do differently today. What can I do that will reflect more of who I know I can be and will honor the life of our good friend. Compassion came to mind immediately. "Be kind to yourself."
Katie
Miss you, ya big goof.
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