WWW.PINKPANTHERFAN.CA That is about me! This blog is my view of the world around me, the absurdity of the inhabitants and how we fit in. I have written diaries for nearly 30 years of my life, at times this will be an extension of that in so much as I will be writing about life as I experience it. Mostly just my personal musings about whatever thought(s) pop into my head and flitter there until I let it out. ENJOY!
In the past month or so I have been lucky enough to rub shoulders with artists whose talent I admire deeply and share with the crowds some amazing music. From the east coast local Rasta Gumbo, to the visiting Royal Wood and Peter Katz. And on my travels to central Canada to see My Kind of Karma, Devin Cuddy Band and Blue Rodeo as well as some local talent at some Queen Street haunts. Severely sleep-deprived and frantic about being late I attended a long awaited reunion show with Peter Cash and the Skydiggers.
I can't turn off the great music running like many ear worms in my brain and I don't want to!
I missed some serious photo ops and will forever regret and kick myself for those, however, these are a few I can share. But please, if you want to share off this site please credit the source. They are my creative brain cells and I can't afford to give them away :)
All pictures are the property of the subject and www.pinkpantherfan.ca
Peter Katz in Halifax
Royal Wood in Halifax
My Kind of Karma in Ontario and from the west coast
James Hockin on bass Garrett Scatterty on guitar
Isaac Balson on ukulele and banjo
Taylor Gross on drums
Mid song trombone solo
The Devin Cuddy Band
DCB - Nichol, Devon, Zach, Devin and special guest keyboardist
Devin Cuddy away from the keys and killing the vocals
Zach Sutton...my favourite drummer of all time!
Nichol Robertson makes those string dance and sing
Devon Richardson - vocals and bass!
Another picture of Devin - because I like this one :)
BLUE RODEO!
Old friends still close after all these years...magic!
The One The Only GREG KEELOR
The melter of ladies hearts coast to coast - JIM CUDDY
Colin Cripps - musician and all around talent
Greg
Jim
Hi'ya you! ;)
Standing at their feet in awe!
l -> r Colin Cripps, Glenn Milchem, Jim Cuddy, Bazil Donovan, Bob Egan and Mike Boguski
Jim
Greg
Best playlist I've heard in awhile! Awesome
Even his promo poster at the Cameron house has a boo-boo!
I wasn't there in its Hey Day and in the middle of the day there were no performers...but I was there!
I think that by the end of this post, the song selection will make a lot of sense to those who ponder such things. And if you are so inclined you can check back at a later date for the posting of pictures to go with this story.
From the time that I moved from Ontario to the East coast of this great country, I knew that I would be back to visit. But the dates were up to me, so I chose to come at a time that I could see an awesome concert, oh yeah and spend some time with my adult children and their significant others while I was here.
There are many things that unite this vast county from coast to coast and from triumph to tragedy. Terry Fox from British Columbia who gave us the Marathon of Hope to the recent slaughter of 3 RCMP (Royal Canadian Mounted Police) in the small eastern community of Moncton, New Brunswick. And music. From Stompin' Tom Connors and Matt Mays in the east to Bachman Turner Overdrive and Matthew Good in the west. And for 25+ years, live from every corner of Canada, Blue Rodeo.
A true band for the people. Blue Rodeo made a name for themselves by playing the small towns and out of the way hockey arenas when they could clearly sell out larger venues. There is greater opportunity to connect with your audience if they rock out at your feet rather than if they are just a face in the darkened crowd of a stadium. Not that they don't play and sell out larger places like Massey Hall in Toronto and Metro Centre in Halifax, because they do. The Blue Rodeo family of fans (or Crazies) are a dedicated bunch and follow the Blue Road wherever they may travel. For me, never before have I cultivated such strong friendship by just having the love of Blue Rodeo in common.
Debra is my Blue Rodeo buddy. We met by fate as winning guests to see Blue Rodeo perform on Canada AM. I didn't want to go alone, she was worried that she didn't get her official confirmation. The weather wasn't good, the drive to the studio in the early hours of the morning were concerns. We were one - two in line and became fast friends despite the odds of either one us not attending was great. I've met other people at concerts but the Blue Rodeo bunch is a dedicated crowd like nothing I've seen before. You've got your contingent that love Jim Cuddy and go to drool and curse his wife (lol), or the rugged introspection of Greg Keelor chewing gum as he sings, you've got some who have formed an attachment because the catalogue of songs has been defining moments in their lifetime. I'm too old to say my lifetime, but I will say my adulthood. I've been a fan from the first release 25 years ago..
Blue Rodeo has been playing a small community venue for nearly 20 years and I have attended since hearing about it three years ago. The story is told, that in the beginning a member of the management team knew someone in the town and the gig was booked as a fundraiser (and still is for the local group that hosts the event). Tickets are limited and sell out quickly. The small hockey arena is 1/3 stage and the rest for people. We plan to arrive very early so that we can stand and savour the music from front and centre for the entire performance. Bus-loads of people arrive from surrounding areas and some hire limos. Security is tight and spirits are high.
The artwork on the tickets is absolutely beautiful and are a treasured keepsake. We were fortunate to meet Karen who offered to get us one of the advertising posters that mimic the tickets. Chuck, went to the local Home Hardware for us so we wouldn't have to leave our coveted front of the line spot and came back with three. One for Debra, myself and our new friend Lynn. Thanks to them both for their thoughtfulness. I love it.
By the time the doors opened we had met some of the members of the opening band, My Kind Of Karma and were more than a little excited. I did a little happy dance being the first one into the arena and with a wristband affixed rushing the stage. Hugging that rail, we become a family. Total strangers ask you to close ranks while they go to the washroom and you happily comply knowing they are as dedicated as you are.
It turns out that last years opening act Who's Army has disbanded with various members pursuing other avenues. It's unfortunate, I really enjoyed them when we heard them the previous years. So this year we heard, My Kind of Karma from British Columbia. Many of the members are originally from the Southern Ontario area where they attended school and re-connected on the West to make music and a name for themselves. Do yourself a favour Kelowna and check them out at a bar near you. They don't play a pigeon hole style of music but rather a pleasing mix of rock/folk/reggae. I knew it was going to be different when I saw a ukulele and a banjo on stage. One song and I was hooked. The music, the words, the harmony and band members, they had karma and they shared with the audience. I look forward to adding the CD I purchased to my i-Pod.
I had heard earlier that Devin Cuddy had suffered an injury playing hockey but I had no idea how bad it was. It became quite clear when a fifth member joined the quartet and sat at the seat of Devin's keyboard. And Devin holding his right hand in an invisible sling was braced and sore looking. He had surgery the day before and yet he was here to entertain us! I appreciate his dedication as I was really looking forward to hearing him and his band again. They are amazing. Nichol Robertson on electric guitar can really make it sing, he is so talented, as is Devon Richardson on the bass. From the first time I saw Zach Sutton on drums, he made me smile. I am transfixed by the expressions on his face when he beats those skins. But Devin himself looked lost and lonely on that stage, singing while someone else tickled the ivories. It was good though, because you really got to appreciate the man and the vocals on a different level with him standing so vulnerable in front of us instead of seated behind the "NO NO" keyboard. His set included some tracks from this Volume One release and some that we may get to enjoy on his second instalment due out on July 29th. I can hardly wait, is to too early to start begging for a signed copy?
The band had left the stage, the roadies were setting the stage for Blue Rodeo and removing the Devin Cuddy Band equipment. Zach returned to collect his drumsticks and walking to the edge of the stage, reached down and handed Debra and I each one. It's amazing how a seemingly simple gesture accompanied by such an engaging smile can make another person feel. He is truly a wonderful human being and it was a pleasure to meet his Mom after the show and tell her the same. Mom's like being proud of their offspring. Zach's mom has good reason to be!
It seemed an interminably long wait for Blue Rodeo to take the stage, but I think that is because we were standing on guard of our posts. For as we were entranced by the music, the arena had filled up and the crowd behind us was jocking for position. Hoping that we would slip up and move. One even asked a rather tall gent if her friend could stand in front because she was short. He suggested that if viewing was an issue she could have arrived 3 hours early like him also. Yes we are Blue Rodeo fans that are standing at the barrier a drum stick length from the stage! Alcohol tends to get some a little more rowdy at a public event, and this year was no exception, I had part of a beer poured down my back and one lady got covered in the front. It's not intentional, it's people jostling for position and tipsy glasses :)
From the very first song I knew that we were in for a real treat! The entire set was a fine mixture of new and old tunes. From Mattawa to Diamond Mine. For what it's worth, probably one of the finest single set lists I have heard played live. Although I am saddened by Greg's struggles with hearing issues, I kind of like what it's done to the band. I mean it was really neat to see him on the electric, but strumming the acoustic just seems so comfortable that (like Devin) I get more of a feeling of the man behind the music. I quite like this new role of his, even singing at the mic with nothing but passion and that beautiful voice of his. Good to see that Jim looked more rested than the last time I saw him. Of course his voice was perfection as usual. I am in such awe of the talent of this band. I am literally mesmerised by the music, the men, the show. So much talent! Colin Cripps who took over much of the electric guitar work that had been Greg's was a welcome addition of skill and I do enjoy his addition of vocal accompaniment especially on songs from the latest release "In Our Nature". Mike Boguski really gets into his flawless piano solos with passion. Every time I see Bob Egan play his repertoire of musical instruments, I wish I could play them too. Glenn Milchem is harder to see these days as he is hidden behind the plexiglass barrier that was erected to help preserve Greg's failing hearing. Bazil Donovan is always tucked neatly against the back of the stage. He looks like his playing the bass is so effortless and then you see the energy he is putting into his riffs. I curse my camera as I try and try to get a decent picture of that legend in the shadows.
Not so entertaining was the woman who stormed the stage and tried to grab Jim. Not expecting that kind of intrusion must be a bit scary in this day and age especially. Seeing the vast number of security before the show and the three that rushed up to haul her ass off, I am surprised it even happened. Greg made light of the situation, suggesting she was an old one-night stand of Jim's. I hope that her drunken behaviour doesn't damper any plans to play this venue in the future.
We were hoping for a encore that included the return of the Devin Cuddy Band on stage with Blue Rodeo and we were not disappointed. I felt so bad for Devin, clearly his previous set had taken a physical toll on him, for he obviously went off-stage for some medication. His father even remarked on his dazed appearance saying "Over here Devin" urging him to come to the centre mic with him. Only Zach left his instrument of choice to pick up a tambourine and share the mic with Colin. Devon joined Greg and Nichol and Jim flanked Devin. The substitute piano player (I'm sorry I forget his name) took a turn on Jim's on-stage piano. Lost Together sounds amazing with that choir of voices and I love it when Zach tries to engage the gang into some choreographed dance moves. Well, not so much dance as moving to the beat :)
We were on such a high as the bands left the stage. We were in no hurry to let the feeling go and were milling about when Zach came out from the back and we had the opportunity to chat for a bit before being introduced to his mom. We eventually all made our way to the merch tables to get our new My Kind of Karma CD signed. And of course to express our appreciation one final time (that night) to Devin and his band.
That was the concert. This is about the day after. An amazing day for this musical junkie! We had decided to join my son and his girlfriend for a meal and some live music. We had picked The Walkervilles who were playing at the Rivoli on Queen Street, Debra knew of them and my sons friend was an avid fan and planning to attend as well. It was turning into a real party.
On the way to the Rivoli, as we walked on Queen Street I saw a familiar figure strolling towards us. I couldn't believe it, and I didn't believe it until I called the name Baz when he was parallel with us and he turned that it was actually him. We introduced ourselves and offered praise for the previous nights performance and then we let him go on his way. I was so gob-smacked star struck that I completely forgot to get a photo memory. Yes, I am still kicking myself.
After a quick bite to eat, the four of us decided to stroll the street in search of a watering hole to quench our thirst. I knew that without a doubt we would end up at the Cameron House because I wanted to share that intriguing spot with my son. And as I was looking up at the ants garnishing the side of the building I was alerted to a familiar figure standing on the side street looking at the same view as I. It was Devin! Ignoring traffic I turned in the middle of the intersection to make my way for yet another hello. I have so much admiration for this man and his talent, I can't even express it adequately.
Inside the Cameron House, Al Tuck serenaded us via recording as we enjoyed our suds and the atmosphere of the storied and historic venue. A final moment of star-gazing came when we spotted Whitney Rose sitting at the bar as we were leaving. That is one artist that I am anxious to see live as well. Our planned main event was icing on a perfect day spent with music, musicians and loved ones.
My mother and sisters have been gone for 40 years.
And my dad left us 50 years ago.
They were all too young. The oldest was 33, the youngest 10
They are my child angels.
Ron Sdraulig: Another Time, Another Place
By: Gigi Sdraulig
Part Three - The End
I was getting to know my brother as a young man. We still bucked heads,
but I didn’t know why. Ron and I had often discussed the irony of Dad dying in
1964 and Mom dying ten years later in 1974. “Bad things happen in threes,” the
old saying goes – what would happen in 1984? I tried not to dwell or worry but
yeah, it was a thought that wormed it’s way around my brain and popped into
conscious thought periodically. Ron feared for my mental health as 1983 drew to
a close. He knew how important is was to me to have him in my life. How
important is was to not be totally alone in this world. He knew that the
grandparents would never be a source of comfort – as they weren’t for him
either. How would I cope if something tragic occurred? I brushed him off. There
was nothing left bad to happen. If anything, the grandparents were old.
I was still pretty
clued out about Rons’ cancer. He never talked about his remissions, recurrences
or treatments. I never asked. I should have! He lost his hair from radiation
but he didn’t tell me that the newest tumour was in his skull. In the early
part of 1984, my short-lived marriage broke up. Ron’s concern focused not on
himself but his fear that I would end up alone with the music blaring and a
house full of dogs. I was still young (22) and cocky. In May 1984, I should
have seen the obvious. Ron called for me to come back to Thunder Bay to see
him. He was in the hospital. I renewed some old friendships, reconnected with
Bobbi and Gord and made a friend in Jim. Jim Scali was Ron’s closest friend.
Through Jim I learned a lot about my brother. He never referred to the death of
my Mom as an accident it was always a tragedy or devastation. I learned that
Ron was overly eager in his relationships because he was afraid he would not be
around long. He enrolled in university not to get a degree but for the
experience with his peers. His doctor arranged for him to be in residence despite
being local so that he could keep up with doctor visit and get out from under
Nonna’s claw. He didn’t feel he needed the education because he would never use
it. His first part-time job at McDonalds did not
last long. He was fired because of his frequent absences due to his treatments.
He did not think anyone else would hire him for the same reason. Yet despite
this new-found knowledge, I never allowed myself to entertain the idea that Ron
would not recover and leave the hospital. His spirits were good and we spent a
lot of time reminiscing and just visiting. He liked that I visited him in his
room even if he wasn’t very good company. I supplied the music and the games
that we played. “Wouldn’t It Be Good” by Nik Kershaw, Ron could have authored
the chorus to that song! The nurses often invited me to spend the night in an
empty hospital bed. Ron always dismissed this idea as unnecessary and confided
that he wished Nonna would not spend the night either, she had parked herself
in the family room many nights.
After I had been in
Thunder Bay for almost a month, I decided to return home to take care of a few
things and resume my job search for a week or two. It was Friday, June 1st
when I flew back to Toronto International Airport. That very night, I was at an
uncle’s house when I got a call from the hospital saying I should return. I got
a flight the following day and brought my cousin for moral support. When we got
there, we learned that Ron had passed a critical night and he was joking with
me that no one believed him that I had gone home for just one night.
Ron and I hanging around!
Sunday, I was in his room when a nurse came to straighten the bed. I
inadvertently saw my brother’s once thick, muscular leg. There was nothing left
of it. It barely looked like it would support him. I was shocked but suddenly
scared. Our eyes met, not a word was spoken, he hastily covered up. He didn’t
want me to know, he didn’t want me to worry. He just wanted me to be with him.
My uncle arrived that day from Toronto to see Ron. Things were not good. That
evening, a nurse approached me and told me that the room across the hall was
vacant. She offered me the room. Ron said no. But inexplicably this evening I
chose to stay. Nonna spent the night in the family’s room, as she had been
nightly for the previous week or two.
In the early hours of
the morning, Monday June 4th, a nurse summoned me to Ron’s bedside.
As I rushed in, I heard him mumbling. I got as close as I possibly could in an
effort to make out what he was saying. He was dying! Was he trying to tell me
something? I could only catch a phrase here and there. I heard “broken leg” and
I felt his life was flashing before him (he had broken his leg on one of his
first skiing outings). I struggled to hear more. I heard my name “Gigi”. My
heart was breaking, tears streamed down my face. He was leaving me. I was
consoled by the fact that it was peaceful; he did not appear in pain, his
expression was not strained. He died of heart failure. When he took his last
breathe, the entire room broke out in agonizing sobs and cries of sorrow and
anger. Why was this young 22-year-old man gone from this earth? That day was
the longest of my life. I didn’t think I would ever recover from the loss. I
was truly alone in this world. Picking out my brothers casket! I will never
forget that feeling of finality when I walked into the showroom, not to pick
out a new car but a finally place for my brother to rest. I felt it was an
indignation to go against his wishes. But I had no fight left in my shattered
heart. I shouldn’t have been so clueless, Ron was constantly preparing me for
this day. True to my style, if it’s unpleasant I push it away and pretend it’s
not real. We had discussed his final wishes. Under a cloud of morphine and the approval
of a lawyer (Petrone) he wrote a codicil to his will forgiving a loan. Legally
that loan is not forgiven and I haven’t forgotten either. Ron and I had discussed
organ donation, so he could live on in someone else. Nonna’s Catholic beliefs
would not permit this or the cremation and so we buried all of him but not his
spirit. His soul is in Heaven with the Mom he missed so desperately.
I spoke to his doctor,
trying to get answers. Dr. Leishman had cared for Ron for many years and he
told me that the cancer did not kill him. With the advancements in science,
Hodgkins patients can easily live to at least their 30’s and by that time, new
treatments would likely keep him going even longer. Ron, he said, had gotten
tired of the pain and the uncertainty. His heart quit because his will to fight
was gone. I couldn’t be angry, who was I to deny him what made him happy? He
had fought cancer for more than 10 years, most of it (he felt) alone. He lives
on in my memories and heart and when I look at my own son, I often see my
brother.
Ron Sdraulig March 1984
He never accepted thanks for pulling me from the burning car. Anybody
would have done it, he countered. I regret that he was never acknowledged as
the true hero that he was. He, in many ways earned a Medal Of Bravery. Ron was
a brave, kind, thoughtful person who put my survival before his own. I coped
with his death and was able to go on because he spent so much of his energy
making sure that I could deal with it. I couldn’t let him down. Is it a
coincidence that he died in 1984? I don’t think so. Back in the recesses of my
mind I always thought something bad would happen in 1984, it just never
occurred to me that it might be the passing of Ron.
He saved my life, but
I could not save his.
“Wouldn’t it be good to be in your shoes, even if it was
for just one day?
Wouldn’t it be good if we could wish ourselves away?
Wouldn’t it be good to be on your side, grass is always
greener over there?
Wouldn’t it be good if we could live without a care?”
from: Wouldn’t It Be Good by Nik Kershaw 1982
A tribute in song and pictures remembering the life of Ron Sdraulig and his family.
MacDonald Clock - Dan Gleeson
PS. A brief word about the songs that are always attached to stories about my brother. Wouldn't It Be Good by Nik Kershaw was an older song, but he enjoyed listening to it a lot as he lay in his hospital bed. The irony of the lyrics was lost on no-one who listened. A visitor who knew that we were searching for new tunes to listen to brought over a mixed cassette tape and this song was on it. And remembering his emotionally chocked words as he repeated the lyrics after first hearing it. "Wouldn't it be good"
The other song has meaning partly for the title C'est La Vie (And Now the Waltz). This is life, dance now before it's over. I get that it's a love song but the repeating chorus line "Another time, another place we'll be together again". It's a simple sentence with words put together in such a powerful away that I found comfort when I needed it the most. Especially on the day that I put my brother in the ground and walked away alone.
One-quarter mile north of Hinkley, Minnesota on Interstate 35, at 8:55
pm, we were rear-ended by a Geno’s Frozen Foods tractor-trailer. He rode up on
the trunk of the car, causing the gas tank of our car to drag along the ground,
explode and start on fire. We were pushed down the road for 250 feet, crossing
into the left lane before becoming airborne for another 80 feet (and an
estimated air speed of 60 mph) landing upside down on the opposite bank of the
Grindstone River – 15 feet below the roadway. The transport truck came to rest
partially on the riverbank and partially on the northbound roadway of the
divided highway. I remember Mom telling us not to breath the thick smoke, Linda
was pleading for help. Sandra was silent and I believe either thrown from the
vehicle or dead from the impact. I remember staring at the flames to my left
(through the rear windshield). I was dazed and didn’t know what had happened. I
felt a tugging at my foot and then my sock came off. I was pulled at until I
was able to squirm my way out of the mangled wreckage and was safely out.
Sandra watching over me, Ron and Linda 1973
It was Ron. He had
saved my life! We didn’t speak. The noise of the crackling fire was deafening.
The heat was intense. We slowly made our way up the embankment a ways and
stared at the burning car. Without speaking a word we both rose and were on our
way back down to the car to get the others when the first Highway Patrolman
came upon the scene. He wouldn’t let us any closer. Then reality hit and we
cried for our family to come out. We were quickly ushered into the patrol car
and were headed to the nearest hospital. On the way, word came over the police
radio, that a woman had emerged from the car (that woman turned out to be
Jenny). My brother and I cried, he suggested we pray that it was Mom. Through
tears, I said that I couldn’t because my hands hurt. But will overcame pain and
my severely burned hands went together in prayer. Mom would be okay, she just
had to be. At the hospital and on the stretcher, the ER personnel started to
cut off my clothes. I had no idea that I was injured – just my hands hurt – and
I complained that I did not want my favourite jeans and sweatshirt ruined. In
fact, I had suffered third plus degree burns to my hands, face, left arm and
left leg. I was immediately transferred to Miller-Dwan Hospital’s Burn Unit
back in Duluth. Torn clothing was of little consequence to those who knew my
life was in the balance.
Waking up in that
hospital bed, the first thing I saw was Ron, standing at my bedside. We talked
about Mom, Sandra and Linda. I knew I had been transferred and so we surmised
that they were alive but just more seriously injured and unable to make the
trip to the second hospital where ever it was that we were. We believed we
would be reunited soon. It didn’t happen that way. I got the “You’re a big
girl…” talk from my Uncle (mom’s brother). They were all gone. My best friends,
Sandra and Linda and my Mom. All gone to be with Dad.
Alone with my news, I
cried like I never cried before. My world was completely shattered. I felt no
physical pain but I felt my heart rise into my throat and fall into pieces like
the tears streaming down my bandaged face. There was no way, that at that age I
could attempt to comprehend the gravity of the situation. I didn’t know what it
meant to have third degree burns and I certainly didn’t know how to deal with
the sudden and devastating loss of nearly ever member of my family. I cried. I
felt sorry for myself and I pleaded for answers. Why?
Oddly enough, growing
up believing that Dad was in Heaven with the angels helped me to deal with my
plight. When I asked God “Why?” I got from within myself an answer that made
sense. Mom and Dad were very much in love and went through a lot to be together
– they missed each
other, so she died so she could be reunited with her love. Sandra died because
she was the oldest – you know how parents are about their first-born, Dad
wanted her with him. And Linda, she died because she was the baby that Dad
never knew and he wanted to get to know her. I didn’t like it, I was still
angry but I felt like I understood why. That understanding allowed me to let go
of some of the bitterness that I felt at the time. I didn’t want to be the one
left. But I went further than that. Ron was not injured in the accident, save
for minor burns on his ears and I decided that was because God had thanked him
for saving my life by taking away his injuries, besides he had enough to deal
with because of his cancer.
Ron and I spent many hours as he sat at the foot of my bed just talking
and trying to deal with it all. In the beginning my eyes were swollen and
bandaged shut, so I didn’t so much see him as sensed his presence. In the
relative seclusion of my hospital world, I was not confronted with the reality
of life without Mom. Ron had returned to school promptly and was adjusting to
our “new” life with Nonna and Nonno moving into our family home and assuming
guardianship. An Aunt from Thunder Bay left her own two children in the care of
her husband (my dad’s brother) and came to spend time with me. She made me
laugh, she helped me heal, she told me I laughed just like my Mom. She reminded
me of better times and helped me to see some hope for the future. After
spending nearly three months in the hospital, I was released. I had to go back
and face school friends as a totally different person. I was an orphan with a
tragic past and I carried the scars of my life plainly for all to see.
Generally, people were either kind or stayed away, but some hurt with comments
and stares. I was accepted by most of my friends. Many didn’t know what to say.
I couldn’t help them; I didn’t know what they could have said. What do you say
to a 12-year-old orphan whose appearance you barely recognize any longer?
Being so visibly
scarred by the accident was in some way therapeutic for me. I had to talk about
it. All of my life people have asked what happened. I re-told the story so many
times that I was often
concerned that I sounded callous speaking so matter-of-factly about something
so devastating. Dwelling in my sorrow was not my style. From the very beginning
I found the silver lining in the dark clouds. I still had my brother. Although
severely burned, it certainly could have been worse. And I did survive. Truth
be told, just barely. Despite all the trauma we had endured, there was no
mental after-care. There was no social workers who monitored the adjustment
period. Ron and I were left to our own devices to cope in any way we were able.
Unbeknownst to me, talking about it was the only therapy I would know.
For Ron it was
different. No one knew that behind his mischievous grin lurked a boy in a lot
of pain. Sadly, I was not there for him either. Ron and I were not particularly
close before the accident. The four of us paired off. Linda and I (both very
feminine) versus Sandra and Ron (both more sports orientated). Life was a great
deal different with Nonna that with Mom. Nonna followed the old Italian school
of beliefs that held that boys had more and different privileges from girls.
Mom grew up this way (and from all accounts suffered because of it) and
determinedly raised her children, girls and boys, equally. After 12 years of
being raised “New-fashioned” it was not easy to conform to these odd rules. I
rebelled and argued constantly. I am very strong-willed! To this day, I
maintain that I basically raised myself in accordance with Moms’ ideas. All
this open battling had a detrimental effect on Ron’s and my relationship. We
had frequent arguments because he did not understand why I was being so
difficult. At the time I couldn’t put it into words myself. He had everything
he needed (including freedom for a boy his age) and could not understand my
attitude.
Ron 1977
He had everything he
needed that is except his Mom. I had no idea of the internal turmoil that he
dealt with daily. What child doesn’t want his Mom by his side when he is sick
or hurting? He needed his Mom. Ron and Mom had developed a very close
relationship during those long hours in doctors’ waiting areas and in hospital
rooms. Ron knew things about Mom as a person, as a wife to Dad, as a single
parent that no one else in the family did. But, his trips to Rochester
continued on without Mom, Nonna took him now. He had more operations, chemotherapy, painful
tests and the uncertainty that goes along with having a disease. In fact he had
at least seven recurrences in the following 10 years. I remember the Shingles
that he contracted when he was about 16 and we were told he was contagious and
that we should stay away. I snuck into his room to keep him company anyway.
This was the first time we discussed his mortality and he began to understand
my civil unrest. He eventually landed in a local hospital to rid his body of
this infection. This was also the first time that I visited my own brother in
the hospital and sat at the foot of his bed as he had so often done with me.
Just talking.
Ron and I developed a relationship with a very special family that
essentially took us on as their own. They were Bobbi and Gord Law and their children,
Kerri and Craig. Gord was Ron’s sixth grade teacher at the time of the
accident. While I was still in hospital, Gord took it upon himself to drive Ron
to Duluth to visit me. Things progressed and soon we began to tag along on
their family outings. We went camping, biking, skiing, even celebrated
birthdays as a family. We did the little family things together too. Shopping,
BBQ’s, playing board games, watching TV, hanging out, sharing dreams and even
arguing. In many ways, Bobbi and Gord became surrogate parents. I can’t imagine
life without them, even today.
Ron and I in Thunder Bay
I moved out of the
house two weeks after my 18th birthday. It was a good time for me. I
could finally live my own life. I remained rebellious but level-headed
(sort-of). I got a job in the kitchen of a Nuns’ residence, while I
contemplated my career choices. Ron visited often and although he did not
approve of my relationships, he was supportive. And he finally fully understood
my dissatisfaction at home. I went on to college just outside of Toronto. I had
decided on Early Childhood Education because I did not want to raise my kids
the way my grandmother parented me, I wanted to learn how to do it right. I was
afraid I would follow the destructive model of my own later life. Ron stayed in
Thunder Bay and spent some time at Lakehead University. He loved the excitement
and opportunities available in the Toronto area so he visited
frequently and stayed with me (much to the chagrin of Nonna, who hated his
being away from her). And hated his being with me more!
