My Little Mosque

Deb: After six seasons, we wrapped Little Mosque on the Prairie in Toronto last night.

Deb on set with most of the Little Mosque cast

This last month has been full to the brim with emotion. We have been through a lot together, this cast. We have over the six years shared joy and mourning. We have welcomed babies into the world, and eulogized dear friends and family. We have celebrated weddings and lamented departures of cast friends who moved on to other things. The six years have not been without incident though and we have over time griped and gossiped and complained. That’s part of the gig.

But in these last months of the final season, all of that has just fallen away and all we are left with is friendship and adoration for each other, and a deep sense of pride for having been involved with this show.

Little Mosque on the Prairie will always be a highlight of my career because of its message of tolerance, inclusion and illumination. It is seen in almost 100 countries around the globe and hopefully the message they intended is getting out. Simply put, that people are people. I have learned so much about the Muslim faith on this show and have embraced the differences and the similarities to mine.

But what I will miss the most is the laughs. The only thing, and I mean ONLY thing, that can put a spring in my step at 5 am is the knowledge that I am about to start laughing and not stop for the next twelve hours. Honestly, it is the closest I get to feeling like a kid again. And anytime I want to complain I think, “Really? You come in and get paid to work with talented lovely people, you get free food and time between shots to check Facebook, and every time your feet are tired someone is there with slippers.”

My darling cast member and dear friend Sheila and I have been making a point this last season to catch ourselves when even the tiniest complaint threatens to permeate the laughter. We look at each other surrounded by fun and say, “What the hell are we complaining about?”

We have been brimming with emotion with each day that sees another cast member wrap. Last night there was just three of us left. Sheila, girl of my heart; Neil, the nicest man on earth whom I have known since he was a kid; and myself. We cried. Man, did we. For everything. For the show that we have shared and the life we have shared during that show. And then we dried our tears and laughed. And then we had drinks and laughed some more.

The show-biz family is a movable feast. When you are in the show, they become such a huge part of your life. When the show ends, some will remain and some will depart leaving just a lovely memory of a time of your life. And like most actors, I have no idea where my next job will come from. Right now, I don’t care. Mosque is going to stay with me just a tad longer.

Barbara: Oh, Deb, I so feel for you right now. It’s a close, maybe even uniquely close work-environment being on a set (if you share a similar experience in another job, please let us know!). You are thrown together by happenstance (okay, and talent), you must pretend to be other people with different relationships, you must bond with those around you whether you want to or not, you must put up with crap and be an unsuspecting shoulder, you often discover souls you would never otherwise have crossed paths with or chosen as friends, and you bond before you even know it. The gamut of this relationship can run its course over a day, a week, a month, or it can evolve over a few months a year for several years, as in your case, Deb.

It’s strange. And intense. And beautiful.

Kinda like a family.