No dress rehearsal, this is our life
No dress rehearsal, this is our life. - Gord Downie (Ahead By A Century)
Canada is dead smack in the middle of a multiple-day hangover.
You see, on Saturday night, time stood still for our nation as we sang together and cried together as we watched the Tragically Hip’s final concert, streamed live from their hometown of Kingston, Ontario. Frontman Gord Downie was diagnosed in May with glioblastoma, an incurable brain cancer.
We were gutted when we heard the news. Gutted then stunned when he responded to the diagnosis with the courageous decision “to take his group on one last tour”, as Eddie Veder said in his tribute to the band on Saturday night in Chicago, inviting the crowd at his concert to send up energy and dedicating “Light Years” to Gord. A song, of course, about the death of someone close.
"Your lights reflected now, reflected from afar," he sang. "We were but stones. Your light made us stars."
From backyards and docks and, we tweeted #CourageForGord, shared our favourite Hip songs and memories and marveled at just how good he looked, in his shimmery metallic suits, feather boas and preposterously fantastic tall hats, our beloved unofficial poet laureate with his very own stage presence and that soul of a troubadour.
We reveled in the depth and breadth of the canon of songs he’s written, dotted with his brand of social and environmental activism, listening for references to uncertainty and endings.
We held our breath and gripped hands when he paused to dab his eyes with his handkerchief, then found his way to another rousing hit. We looked knowingly at each other as he looked at his imaginary watch, reminded as ever just how fleeting this time really is.
We sent him our silent prayers, that he know, really know the impact he’s had on us, the way his words helped form our identity. Our nation’s. Our own.
I came across this quote in an exquisite and well-circulated article about the collective grief around Prince's death earlier this year.
“[There] are individuals who managed to figure out the unique gift that the universe gave them when they incarnated, and they put that in the service of their goals…
And when we see these people, we invariably call them larger than life. Life is large, but most of us don’t take up nearly the space the universe intended for us. We take up this wee space ‘round our toes, which is why when you see somebody in the full flow of their humanity, it’s remarkable. They’re at least a foot bigger in every direction than normal human beings, and they shine, they gleam, they glow. It’s like they swallowed the moon.”
Yes. It IS like that. It most certainly is.
We didn’t get that chance when our Prince and Bowie left us. Or Garcia. Or Cobain.
We didn’t get the chance to thank them for being models of possibility before they left us. For embodying what it looks like to swallow the moon. For their art.
We didn’t get the chance to thank them for the way they shaped who we are and how we see ourselves.
Like millions of other Canadians, we gathered in a friend's backyard, turning outdoor spaces into private concert venues. (Top image, Gord Downie giving it his all. Bottom left, my daughter is transfixed. Bottom right, a Canadiana moment: a canoe filled with cheer.)
Gord Downie and the Tragically Hip gave us that chance. Our brilliant, extraordinary, glitterstar of a man, with the shit-eating mischievous grin of a small town rascal and the eyes of an ancient sage, who sang and danced and pantomimed his way through pain and emotions few of us could even begin to fathom. For him. For us.
Our Gord.
So today and for the coming days, forgive us if we don't get the budget reports in on time. Or if we don't return your call straight away. Or we take an extra long lunch. I think you’ll find us hydrating. Reflecting. Deep in awe. In sorrow. In wonder. In gratitude.
And I can only hope, with an eye out for the unique gift that the universe gave US when we incarnated, so we put that in the service of our goals.
No dress rehearsal, my friends. This IS our life.
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