I know this friend well.
Very well. She came to me in friendship much later in life, far later than my
other dear friends. I met her six years ago when we started working together on
the TV series Little Mosque on the
Prairie. We met that first day and instantly knew that we were meant to be
friends. As we looked into each other’s eyes for the first time it was like,
“Hello there. Where the hell have you been all these years?”
Much to the chagrin of
directors, makeup artists, and everyone in-between, we were connected at the
hip and at the mouth, as in we NEVER shut up. We could spend fourteen hours a
day talk talk talking, laugh laugh laughing, and then we’d go home and start
text text texting. It was a curious joy,
this new friendship forged in my fifties. As my friend loves to recount, one of
her favourite memories is when my husband said to her and her husband Pete, “We
were at the point in life where we thought we had enough friends, no time for
more. Then we met you guys”. And it’s true.
Colin and Pete also became
friends during this time and they loved and admired each other greatly. Pete
convinced Colin to return to the stage after a 23-year absence and do the play Art with him. To my husband’s
everlasting joy it remains not only a professional highlight but a deeply
personal one as well.
We lost Pete just over a
year ago on January 8th, which ironically happens to be Colin and my wedding
anniversary. I did a tribute to Pete and Sheila on this blog the day he died,
which I went on to read at the two memorial services held for him in Toronto
and Stratford respectively.
Sheila and her daughters
have just completed their year of firsts
without husband and father so it was important to me to go out to Halifax and
support her in her first artistic venture of the new year, the beginning of her
new life. I knew she would be wanting for company and thought it would be nice
to fill that gap. Plus, I missed her.
Isn’t it always the way
when you think you are doing something nice for someone and then, surprisingly,
the gifts come to you instead? This was the case during our three days
together. And this is where I make my case for the value of the sleepover.
Dinners and days spent with friends can be rewarding, fun and silly, meaningful
and valuable. But what I discovered on this trip was deeper. Often when Sheila
and I get together for a night, a day or an event, we end up just playing
catch-up. We while away the hours riffing and digressing with rapid fire and
sharing the intimate details of our lives side by side in boutique dressing
rooms or across a coffee shop table. When Pete was ill we would forge our way
through clothing shops, weeping and whispering one second and screaming, “Oh my
heavens, this dress is YOU!” the next, and then laughing our asses off at the
irony. It was a year of conversation with only one looming subject. No matter
how rich the gossip or bit of news, our minds and hearts were focused on
Pete—his illness, Sheila’s handling of it, her daughters, their state of mind,
our collective sorrow, our fear, her terror, her inevitable life without him
and her stoic handling of all of the above.
When Pete died in January
we had no idea that within weeks and months she would also lose her darling
parents one after the other. She soldiered on and I was one of her many
lieutenants, offering thoughts and ideas and just listening, trying to will her
pain away but knowing I couldn’t. It was exactly what it needed to be and I was
... “happy” is the wrong word ...I guess
I was ... grateful to be able to serve as shoulder, advisor, court jester. I
had so much experience with death and dying and she had none to this point, so
I was the perfect person at that time for her. It was a job I wished I was not
qualified for, but there you have it. When Pete’s diagnosis first came in, I
said to her—and I know this might sound strange—but I said of death and dying,
“Sheila, I am good at this. Let me help you.”
But as fate would have
it, we helped each other equally the whole time and it strengthened our bond
even more.
This weekend was
different. As a result of the sheer luxury of time, our relationship expanded.
Yes, of course, we talked about Pete, but she in turn listened through my tear-choked
voice to my fears and heartbreak around my parents changing lives and this time
served as my shoulder, advisor, and
court jester.
But it was more, for the
first time in a long time. We talked and talked as we walked, shopped, and lay
in bed. We talked of dreams and our futures. We talked of God, and our different
upbringings. We talked of hopes and wishes, failures and regrets. We talked of
aliens and of the universe. We talked of life and the getting on with it in the
face of adversity. And we talked of the expanse of love. We talked of middle
age and old age and worries and pride and schoolgirl memories.
Last night was the last
night of our sleepover weekend and we were both blissfully tired after a full
day of Friend. I wanted to be fresh for my flight home to my darling for
Valentine’s Day and she for her last week of performances, so we hunkered down
to sleep. I LOVE my sleep and always look forward to its coming. But damn, this
is one sleepover I did not want to end in sleep. There was so much more to
share. And we will. And I, for one, cannot wait.
Barbara: You guys have
been through so much together! Makes me weep. But also so very happy you had
this chance to bond in an organic and relaxed way. And look what happened! Girlfriend
magic. I’ve had the chance to enjoy a few great adult-friend sleepovers in my
time and, you are so right, it is completely different from the lunches or shopping trips or glasses of evening wine. It harkens back to those days of youth when you’re
aching to keep your eyes open, straining to stay awake just a bit longer, the deepening
darkness like a warm blanket making your secrets and dreams feel safe enough to
come out and play.
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| Sheila snapped this as Deb harmonized with the singer! |
