As Christmas approaches it’s a time for joy and togetherness but it’s also a time to remember who you have lost. How do artists bring hope, healing and resilience? Candy Chang had an idea. Read my bl

 We were all standing in the mud. My runners were sinking in deep and cold, dirty water was rising up inside, soaking my socks. I should have worn my trekking sandals. My ever prepared Scout brother would have been laughing at my stupid choice of footwear. He lived in trekking sandals.

     But my trail guide wasn’t here anymore. Just five of us, standing on a muddy beach of a small lake, thinking about him, spreading his ashes from a Sports Pal canoe, one that my Dad had been keeping for him for when he came back to BC. We were trying to find a way to end the ceremony but none of us could. We just stood quietly in a line listening to the sounds of nature and not wanting to leave.

     My Dad broke first and started to sob. It scared a pair of swimming mallards and they honked and flapped their wings, propelling their hefty bodies upward into the sky transporting his ashes on their feathers and flippers to another lake. The movement shattered the glassy surface of the lake into a thousand refracted shapes moving away from each other across the water. The sun slipped behind a cloud and the shimmering shapes all vanished, unable to shift back together.

     Later I saw my brother in a dream. He was sitting all by himself in a giant stadium in a blue plastic flip seat quietly reading a book. I sat down beside him and asked him how he was doing. He looked at me, angry and annoyed, got up, threw the book at me and walked away. I looked at the red leather book with no title. All the pages were blank.

     “Why did you do it? I yelled, “Wait! When are you coming back?    He threw his hands up in the air in exasperation like I didn’t get it. He kept walking until he disappeared around a corner out to a side exit.

    My brother was a free spirit and travelled light while he was on Earth. When the coroner released his affects, we received a small box in the mail. It contained his ID, a wallet, a change of clothes and some music. I decided to keep his small collection of Frank Zappa records safe, even though I was not a fan.

     One day I was cleaning house, got brave, and slipped Overnight Sensation onto the turn style for a change in pace and it stopped my whole day. I was shook!  I knew all the lyrics, all the drum solos, guitar and marimba riffs! I could sing all the back up with Tina Turner and the Ikettes! I knew what song would be next. Are there any Zappa fans out there? You know the music is very weird but incredible, deep, wickedly funny, explicitly explicit and visual like a painting. For those of you that want to tune into Frank Zappa for the first time I have to warn you it can be obscene but as Frank said, "They are just words! Why are we afraid of words?"

     I was laughing and crying at the same time. It felt pretty psycho, but also not really. Frank was a part of my childhood. My parents would go out and my older, cooler brother would seize control of the stereo and subject us to his music. It had seeped into my subconscious.

     “You can’t escape, “My brother would joke as I scrunched up my grumpy face, “Dance with me!” He was always so fun!

     I finally got it. My brother was trying to tell me, “Remember me like this! “through the music, his sense of fun and Scout's honour. You remember by thinking about life not death.

     Sometimes I still have a hard time getting past how young he was when he died. He was only 35. There was so much time unlived and it grows every year and with every new experience I have that he will never have.

     Then I heard about community artist Candy Chang.

     Candy Chang lives in New Orleans. After her friend Joan suddenly passed away, Candy plunged into grief and depression. Joan had had a very long bucket list of uncompleted dreams and accomplishments. In memory of her friend Candy painted the side of an abandoned building with chalkboard paint. People could fill in the blanks to the sentence “Before I Die…” with chalk. The project invites people to reflect on their own mortality and to draw on and share their aspirations with the community.

     The “Before I Die” was a very successful local neighbourhood community art project. After the home sold to a new buyer 10 months later, the artist began getting emails from people who wanted to start similar projects in their own communities. Candy decided to make a step by step guide for anyone wanting to make their own community art wall.

     Since then the “Before I die Wall” has gone global. There are now 5,000 walls in 75 different countries. The idea has also expanded to different aspirations, for example;  

”When I graduate I want to…”, “Happiness is…”

      If you are curious like me about the “Before I Die Project” or if you are interested in starting and painting a wall in your community you can visit    https://www.candychang.com/.

     If you go into crisis over the holidays you need to know there are always people wanting to help. If you don’t have family you can call or text the crisis line at   9 8 8. It is available 24 hours a day, seven days a week. The line is available in Canada and was recently extended into the U.S.A. There are also many s*icide prevention pages on Facebook that you can message anonymously