the girl from away.

friends, i have a new project.  you can check it out here if you like. i've been blogging there as well, which makes me wonder if there's a point to keeping bright red hoodie up.  as you may have noticed, i haven't taken much time for it lately.  but i've decided to keep it up for now.  and will try to check in every now and then.

i hope you're all well!
xo.

jena malone's touching philip seymour hoffman instagram message.

There won't ever be enough flowers in the world to shower you with once you are lost to me. But why wait for separation to herald the beauty in the world. So much beauty in the world it's blinding. And can be paralyzingly. It can be terrifying. And yet we wake up each day and live. And keep living. In fear , in love , in madness. We keep living. And then one day we don't wake up. I don't want to wait for that day to bring you flowers. I want you to know I love you today. That you inspire me. That I am here for you. Cause maybe you haven't been reminded of your beauty in a long time. And all it takes is one person to reach out and be a mirror. Can we all just be a mirror and go out of our way everyday to support the human heart. That can go blind from too much beauty. Can we just try ? #RIP Philip Seymour Hoffman

cover of the day: hurray for the riff raff (covering john lennon).

my friend victoria introduced me to this cover yesterday; i'm obsessed.



you can download it for a $1 here.

like the sky, spread over everything.

on the first weekend of july 2013, as most people were basking in the glory of the first hot, summer days, i drove to the kingston general hospital in kingston, ontario, and was told that my step-dad had esophageal cancer.

he could no longer eat or drink, had lost almost 30 pounds, and had suffered a small stroke.  we were told by the doctors that the cancer had spread to his surrounding lymph nodes but not to any other major organs. they inserted a feeding tube in his nose, and, later, in his stomach. he was in the hospital for 10 days before we were able to bring him home.

the doctors wouldn’t tell us what to expect in terms of my paps' life expectancy. what one doctor did say was that he’d seen patients with esophageal cancer live anywhere from 3 months to 5 years. though we tried to remain hopeful, we also couldn’t help using those numbers to figure out the average. it seemed safe to assume that we had at least 2 years left together. after all, he was only 56 years old, fit, and, otherwise, in good health.

as we started to try to wrap our heads and hearts around what was happening, my paps began a series of 3 treatments of a type of radiation therapy called brachytherapy, which, we were told, would help shrink the tumour in his esophagus and allow him to eat and drink on his own again. but the treatments didn’t work. so we waited. for the next series of treatments. for chemotherapy. for maybe a surgery. for the doctors to figure out the best plan of action. for someone to make my paps better.

in the meantime, there were visits from home-care nurses. he continued to eat through the feeding tube in his stomach. he read, and went for little walks up and down the road outside my parents’ house. he played with the neighbour’s dog. we'd sit on my parents' bed and he'd tell us stories. he didn’t want us telling too many people. he was going to get better, he said.

on august 15th, my mom drove him to ottawa to get a PET scan, which, from what i understand, was to help determine whether or not the cancer had spread to any areas aside from the ones we already knew about. when they got back home from ottawa, he began to feel unwell.

in the very early hours of monday, august 19th, after a few days of not feeling well, his condition worsening, we brought my paps back to the ER. he was confused, hallucinating. he'd fallen over and i'd had to lift him up and carry him back to bed. the doctors in the ER couldn’t figure out why any of this was happening.  they did some tests.  they didn’t know what was wrong. we suggested that perhaps he'd had another stroke. they didn’t think so. they mentioned the word delirium. they wanted to keep him so he stayed overnight at the hospital.

the following morning, when we arrived at the hospital, he appeared to be sleeping. he wasn’t.  he'd fallen into a coma. no one had noticed that my paps had fallen into a coma.

when we realized what had happened, a team of nurses and doctors rushed him to an isolation room.
the running team is what they’re called. like a scene from a TV show. with doctors and nurses, frantic and yelling. people running. noise. chaos. medical terms i didn’t understand. my mom and me, in the corner, crying, in disbelief. other people in the ER, grateful to not be us.

how is this our lives?

they inserted a breathing tube down his throat.
they rushed him in for an emergency head scan.
they rushed him up to the ICU.
wait here.  we’ll come get you when he’s settled.

how is this our lives?

things are not good.  we still don’t know what’s wrong with your father but if you have family to call - people who would want to see him - you should do that now.  

my paps died the following day.
surrounded by our cousin cathy, her husband joe, my mom and me.
"surrounded" is maybe not the right word.
"engulfed" might be more appropriate.

august 21st, 2013
the day we lost our anchor.
the day our ship went missing at sea.

it’s been over 4 and a half month now.  nearly 5.
does that sound like a long time?
it doesn't feel like it.

it's still almost impossible to believe.

how? 
how is this real?
what the fuck has happened to my family? 
we spent 26 years loving this man, and we don’t get to say goodbye?
that can’t be right.
there must be a mistake.  
there has to be.

find a way to come back, paps.  please.  please, find a way.

we need him. we’re not a family without him. we're just 2 people. 2 people isn't a family; it's just 2 people.

give me back my paps!
you mother fucking assholes, give my paps back!

yes. there is still disbelief. and anger. and tears. there are still lots of tears.

but, somehow, i'm a functioning human being again, which is more than i could have said in the first 2 months.  i work.  i answer email.  i buy groceries.  i talk to friends.  all signs point to a functioning human being.

when i found out that my paps was sick, i wanted to make videos of him telling stories. it seems to be in my nature to want to make things, to document. and he was a fantastic storyteller. the best. i wanted his stories on video so my mum and i would have them. so they would always be with us. but everything happened so fast. and then it was too late. the only video i have is the one featured in this video below, of him telling us a silly story about a man he worked with. something about a sex change. i'm not even really sure what he's talking about. it doesn't matter.

the day i recorded that video, i had my phone on my lap and didn’t want him to know he was being recorded, which explains why you can’t see him all that well.  still, i’m grateful for that video.  grateful to hear his voice, to see his eyes, to see him move.

i guess i just always want to remember what this period was like.
so i made this video.
not that i'm likely to ever forget...

and i wondered about sharing it.  and then i remembered something elizabeth gilbert said:
deep grief sometimes is almost like a specific location, a coordinate on a map of time. when you are standing in that forest of sorrow, you cannot imagine that you could ever find your way to a better place. but if someone can assure you that they themselves have stood in that same place, and now have moved on, sometimes this will bring hope.

i haven't moved on.
i'm still in the forest.
but maybe you're in the forest too.
and maybe it will help to know
that you're not there alone.

the song in the video is "blue spotted tail" by fleet foxes.
the title of the video is from a grief observed by c.s. lewis

cameraversary.

december 31st marked my one year anniversary with my camera.

in its first year, it captured some of my favourite faces.

cover of the day: miley cyrus (covering "lilac wine").

if you were around in the nineties, you may remember jeff buckley's beautiful version of this song.

i find the first part of this version a bit rushed but it gets lovely at the first chorus, at the 56 second mark.  i like how she sings the word "heady"- i re-watched that bit about 4 times.  queen of nerdsville.

notable quotable.

cover of the day: julia nunes (covering "baby, please come home").

musical OCD: tanya davis.

remember the brilliant how to be alone video?  i've been listening to this album by the talented lady who made that video.  can't get enough of it.

disturbing.

this is disturbing.

cover of the day: mark mulcahy (covering shania twain).

taken from an album entitled "guilt by association', which is a compilation of artists/bands covering their favourite guilty pleasure songs.

(it kicks in at the 39 second mark)

like knows like.

i just discovered a series of inspiring, little artist portrait videos (thanks to got a girl crush) called like knows like.  there are a bunch to watch on their site but these were my faves:

beam like the sun.

love this little clip, and russell's unwavering commitment to his own beliefs regardless of the reporter's slightly patronizing attitude.

notable quotables.

musical OCD: oscar isaac & marcus mumford.

oh my.

musical OCD: gregory alan isakov.

i just joined rdio, which i highly recommend, and where i discovered this gem (amongst the songs my friend christian has been listening to).

coming attraction.

 

let's get real here for a sec: even the worst wes anderson films are better than almost every other movie out there.  trailer coming october 17th apparently.

how to help someone you love when they've lost someone they love.

the most heartbreaking part of getting older is that people you love die.  and, sometimes, even if you or they are not old, they just die anyway.  it's hard to know what to say to someone who's just lost a loved one.  having recently become all too well acquainted with grief, and also having been surrounded by some outstandingly kind, thoughtful people during this time, i thought i'd share some of the things that have helped me.  maybe they'll be of help to you too.

let's start by reminding ourselves that, unfortunately, there is absolutely nothing we can say to someone who's grieving that will make their loss any less painful.  grief is the mother of all pain.  the kind that feels like it should kill you because it's so unbearable and unrelenting.  but it doesn't.  it doesn't kill you.  even though you sometimes wish it would.  there is no light at the end of the tunnel when you're grieving.  you're at the bottom of a deep, dark well where no one can reach you.  so, yeah, let's start there.

acknowledge their pain.  sit in the pain with them.  don't try to make it better.  you can't.  the only thing you can do is accompany them through the pain, and that, in turn, will make it better for them.  i have an ex-boyfriend who, when i was sad, used to say: "everything is NOT going to be ok."  and i always loved that so much because it was his way of telling me that i had a right to be sad, and that he wasn't going to try to rush me through the sadness so we could get back to normal, and that always made me feel better.

encourage them to do whatever feels good and right to them.  i've spent the better part of the last month and a half in my pyjamas, writing.  grieving reveals the true nature of who you are.  it's the coles notes version of you.  just let them be who they are, and, if it applies, tell them how much you love/like who they are, just as they are, even through this period.  especially through this period.  

people who are grieving are barely functioning. nothing matters anymore.  at least, that's how it feels to them.  grief gives you an amazing ability to see right through bullshit.  though they likely love and care about you, they don't have the mental energy to care about your everyday problems right now.  this is not the time to talk about yourself.  this is their time.  if you love them, make this about them.  not about you.

hug them.  often.

talk to them about their loved one.  and let them talk to you about him/her.  if you've got stories, share them.  all they have left now are memories and stories.  and if you didn't know their loved one, ask questions about them.  ask what they were like.  what they liked best about them.  what kind of things they did together.  there's a fear when you lose a loved one that they'll be forgotten.  help them to keep their loved one alive in their head and in their heart.

make them things to eat.  they won't feel like eating.  they barely feel like living.  but make them something anyway.  when your life is a living hell, which is likely how they feel, a homemade muffin goes a long way.

be sincere.  if you can't be sincere, don't bother them.

if you don't know what to say, you're allowed to tell them that.  they will appreciate your honesty.

don't tell them to focus on the good times they had with their loved one.  of course they're remembering the good times.  that's probably 90% of what they're doing all day, every day.  they don't need you to remind them to do that.  of all the things people have said to me during this period, this is my least favourite.

offer your help.  try to be specific if you can.  lots of people are telling them things like: "if there's anything i can do..." but they may not even have the wherewithal to know what they need right now.  try to think ahead for them.  offer to water their plants.  to get their groceries.  to mow their lawn.  to take their kids out.  to clean their house.  to drive them where they need to go.  to come sleep over.  whatever you can think of.  if you're dealing with someone who has a hard time asking for and accepting help, maybe try to present it as something like: "i would really love to help you right now.  can i do this for you?"

be patient.  people can be weird when they're grieving.

if you're feeling sad too, share that with them.  you don't need to be a pillar of strength for them.  they feel alone in their sorrow right now.  it'll be a comfort to them to know that they're not the only one feeling that way.

check up on them often.  call, email, text.  you might feel like you shouldn't bother them but they won't answer if they don't want to.  just keep checking in.  even if they don't feel like talking, they'll appreciate just knowing that people care about them.  it's a nice touch to add something like: "you don't need to answer me if you're not up for it."

remind them that there is no time limit on grief.  let them know that it's ok to feel sad for a really long time.  and that it's normal.  it's understood, in the first few weeks after you lose someone you love, that it's ok to be sad because it's just happened.  everyone gets that.  they'll let you cry all you want.  but later on, when the dust has settled, after the funeral has come and gone, after the bereavement bouquets have long died and been put in the trash, when most people are getting on with their lives, it feels like you should be feeling better but that's not generally the case.  "it's been 7 weeks, i should probably be doing better than this."  no, you should not.  you just lost the most/one of the most important people in your life.  and he/she is never coming back.  you will never be hugged or kissed or loved by that person again.  ever.  so, no.  you're allowed to be sad for a very, very, very long time.  and that is TOTALLY ok and absolutely justified.  and i will love you no matter how long you're sad for.  THAT is exactly what you want to say to someone who's grieving.

that's all i've got.
over and out.

i'm listening to this right now and it's pretty stinkin' fantastic.

cover of the day: danielle ate the sandwich (covering "ooh child").