I don’t usually write about personal stuff on this blog. This weekend, however, offered an such impressive juxtaposition of real world events that I am driven to muse about and share it.
The first event is my son’s first birthday. The first picture (blue) was taken a couple of weeks ago, and the red one was from a few days after his birth. The difference is tremendous, of course, just look at the relative sizes of our heads for the sake of comparison.
It has been an interesting year, watching my little man grow. It has seeped its way into everything, including my writing. The Seeds of Ruin was completed about a month ago, and written while he was learning to crawl. The themes dance with his presence and my reaction to his birth.
His birthday was fun, but not too overwhelming, as a one year old’s party should be. We took him on a train ride and to a carousel and watched him eat ice cream by the fistful. It was a profoundly happy day for us and spilled over into the rest of the weekend.
The second event was less sweet, but still profound.
On the same day that we were celebrating the first year of Ronan’s life, we were also shedding tears over the end of an Era. The Tragically Hip, Canada’s Band, played the last show of their latest tour and possibly their last show ever. The lead singer, Gordon Downie, was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer well before the tour was even announced.
The Hip are to Canada as Springsteen is the US. They are my go-to band most of the time. I have always wanted to watch them live in their hometown (Kingston) on New Year’s eve with my Brother and Sister, and we frequently tried to plan how we could make it happen despite the miles and schedules that separate us.
The show has such great meaning for Canadians, young and old, that it was picked up and broadcast by the CBC, our public network, and preempted Olympic coverage.
The concert was great. At times Gord seemed frail and overwhelmed, ready to collapse or break down right there, and yet at others it seemed impossible that he was even sick, that someone of such energy and vitality could be so close to the end.
When they played my favourite song (Nautical Disaster) and then Viv’s favourite (Scared) it felt like a gift. When they ended the concert with one of their most positive tunes (Ahead by Century), in defiance of death and sorrow, it was simply incredible.
Add to that a long night of talk the night before with one of my oldest friends, who just lost his mother, and it has been an odd and memorable weekend, sad and sweet, far greater than the sum of its happenings.
Even now, I am left shaken and awed.