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October 15, 2013

In Memory of My Incessant Cheerleader, Auntie Barb

I was eight years old when I decided I wanted to be just like my Auntie Barb. At the time, she was the lead singer of the Vancouver band, Broadway. (My dad was the guitar player.) I remember because I had painstakingly learned all the words to Bonnie Tyler's "It's A Heartache" and was invited by my aunt at the last minute to get up and sing it at Vancouver's Kejack's nightclub where Broadway was playing that evening.

It was the Spring of 1979 and totally normal for an eight year-old to be sitting at a bar at ten o'clock on a Friday night, so long as he was related to a member of the band.

I had never felt such an intoxicating mixture of electric superstar excitement and run-for-the-hills terror. But with her unquestionable faith in my ability to knock it out of the park, and her knack for working a crowd, I took control of my bladder, jumped down from my stool, and made my way to the stage.

When I was done, I received a standing ovation and a bowl of spumone ice cream on the house.

My life changed that night. In ways I couldn't have foreseen at the time, music would now somehow be a part of my life forever. All because she had faith in me when I didn't have it in myself. Because she saw a golden opportunity where my limited imagination was only able to detect failure and embarrassment.

Every eight year-old should be so lucky.

For the next thirty-five years, Barb stood behind every single creative endeavour I pursued without the faintest whiff of doubt that I would succeed. Every band I played in, every song I wrote, every novel or script idea I came up with, every film I scored music for. Not oblivious to the fact that every aunt believes her nephew was delivered directly from the gods, I also sought the unbiased feedback of professionals to my creative work, just in case. Meanwhile, she continued to listen, to stand in awe and smile, to assure me with a zealot's belief that I could do anything - absolutely anything - I put my mind to.

A faith that extended beyond my art to my relationships, my parenting, my work life, and. . .well, pretty much everything else.

Don't get me wrong, she was no Pollyanna. She wasn't afraid to tell me when she thought I was spinning my wheels, wasting my time, squandering my opportunities, or generally full of shit. But in all things and at all times, she was my tireless cheerleader. The sun in my life that simply never, ever went down.

Until October 12, 2013 when at age 60, she ended her battle with cancer and sank into a sweet sleep.

It's funny how life smacks us in the head sometimes and gets us back in the driver's seat. For the past year, I've drifted in and out of what I'm assuming is the mid-life crisis I was certain I had avoided when I turned 40. A period of intense introspection, anxiety, and self-doubt my older friends keep telling me is "perfectly natural" (though, I might add, "completely unwelcome") when you suddenly realize you've got as many years behind you as you do ahead. What am I doing with my life, what difference will I have made, and all that stuff. I've got to admit, it's left me more than a little unhinged at times.

But as I looked into my auntie's face for the last time in the dimly-lit silence of her hospice room, I suddenly remembered that night in 1979. I remembered her stepping down from the stage in the middle of her set and taking my trembling, eight year-old hand. I remembered her prepping the audience, assuring them that this next number was going to blow their minds. I remembered her smiling from ear to ear when it was all over, clapping and cheering wildly.

And as I stood to leave her room for the last time, I blew my cheerleader a final kiss and made her a promise: I would never let fear stop me from doing anything. Ever. Till the day I died.

Love you, Auntie Barb.

5 comments:

  1. Paul, thank you so much for this beautifully written memory. It brought much needed healing cascades of tears. Barb was indeed an amazing woman, and so important in the lives of so many. Thoughts go out to you as you navigate through your grief journey xoxojanice

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  2. What great memories Paul, you hit it on the nose, That's the person she was, putting everyone ahead of herself. I miss her so much it hurts. I know we're all going through this sad time together and memories of Barb will never be forgotten. xoxo uncle Bob

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  3. Thank you for this Paul. Barb was truly an amazing woman and I will never forget her. She was very proud of you Paul :)

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  4. I have never met you Paul, but the love you had for your Aunt is felt in reading this. She was a very very special lady and will be remembered in all whom loved her. She is dearly missed.

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  5. That was beautiful Paul.Auntie Barb could sing.She loved music.Her voice was one of a kind.She saw the talent,the desire,and the passion you have for music,she embraced it and it changed your life forever.That is one incredible Auntie.

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