In Memory of Nigel Gough
Last Sunday night at about 11:00 an acquaintance of mine from Guelph was killed in a bike accident on Lakeshore Blvd. in Toronto.
Nigel and I weren't really friends... although Nigel had a way of making everyone in his presence feel welcomed in like a long-lost best friend. What he was to me was a treasured friend of treasured friends, and so we did end up spending some time together.
One of my most vivid memories of Nigel is from when the U of G chamber choir travelled to the Kathaumixw Choral Festival in Powell River, BC. Key points in this story include the fact that Nigel was not a member of our choir (he might have been dating one of our basses at the time, but I'm not 100% sure of that), the fact that he did not travel to BC with us, and the fact that Powell River is basically a ferry-access community pretty far from any large centre. Regardless, at some point in the middle of that week I found myself sitting in the stands of the arena where the festival's concerts were held, having a conversation with Nigel... who had dropped in to visit us. I don't remember the details of how and why he was there; I do remember the details seeming somewhat implausible to me. But there he was. Nigel was like that.
During our overlapping years in Guelph (I think it was my last two; it might have been my last three), I was navigating varying degrees of my own Most Tumultuous Life Drama So Far (TM), and I have to admit that I found Nigel's bouncy, bubbly exuberance and enthusiasm for life pretty intimidating. He overwhelmed me. While I didn't dislike him for it (I can't imagine it being physically possible to actually dislike Nigel), it did sometimes frighten me and so I never got to know him as well as I could have.
What I know about Nigel is this: he was open and honest. He was funny. He was passionate. He thought up adventures and then he went and made them happen. His joy was infectious and sincere. He was a kind, gentle soul. He will be so missed in the world.
We all grieve differently, and I have also learned that each person grieves each loss differently. For me, Nigel's death has not been one of those that shakes me to the core and distracts me out of my life for any period of time. Instead, when I think about Nigel and what we have all lost in losing him, I just feel a terrible terrible sadness. For Nigel himself, of course, that he will never have all of the opportunities and adventures that should have been his. For his family. For the drivers of the two cars that hit him, because their lives will never be the same. For all of my friends who knew him better than I did, whose hearts are breaking because they loved him. For myself, because at the time when my path crossed his, I couldn't let him in. For every single person who he might (would) have touched in the future, had he not been taken away for too soon.
Tied up in my sadness about Nigel's death this week is a sadness over the too-many recent suicides (four of them? five?) in the States, of gay or presumed-gay teenagers who just couldn't take the bullying anymore. Here is something I didn't know about Nigel until I read Sky Gilbert's comments in this article in the Guelph Mercury: Nigel was a warrior against homophobia in his high school, something that takes incredible strength, more strength than many persecuted high-schoolers have. I am so excited by Dan Savage's youtube campaign in response to these suicides, the It Gets Better Project. Nigel could have told those kids that it gets better-than-better... it gets fabulous. I feel so lucky and so honoured that I got to witness just a little bit of Nigel's fabulous life, and I will do my best to carry its inspiration with me for the rest of mine.
When I found out that Nigel had died, before I knew the details of the accident or anything, I said on facebook "I hope you're at peace, lovely boy". I do hope this with all my heart. To this I would like to add that resting, as always, is optional. Shine on, Nige.
Did you ever hear her laugh?
When she laughed, you swore you'd never cry again.
Did you ever see her smile?
Her smile was like a glass of lemonade.
And she said funny things,
And she wore pretty dresses,
And she liked to see the pictures at the VFW Hall,
And she loved ridin' swings,
And she liked cotton candy,
But I think she liked the pictures best of all:
No, it don't make sense to me
That she won't be around.
No, it don't make sense to me
To put her in the cold and lonely ground.
And no, it don't make sense
The way the world can let you fall---
I swear it don't make sense to me at all.
Nigel and I weren't really friends... although Nigel had a way of making everyone in his presence feel welcomed in like a long-lost best friend. What he was to me was a treasured friend of treasured friends, and so we did end up spending some time together.
One of my most vivid memories of Nigel is from when the U of G chamber choir travelled to the Kathaumixw Choral Festival in Powell River, BC. Key points in this story include the fact that Nigel was not a member of our choir (he might have been dating one of our basses at the time, but I'm not 100% sure of that), the fact that he did not travel to BC with us, and the fact that Powell River is basically a ferry-access community pretty far from any large centre. Regardless, at some point in the middle of that week I found myself sitting in the stands of the arena where the festival's concerts were held, having a conversation with Nigel... who had dropped in to visit us. I don't remember the details of how and why he was there; I do remember the details seeming somewhat implausible to me. But there he was. Nigel was like that.
During our overlapping years in Guelph (I think it was my last two; it might have been my last three), I was navigating varying degrees of my own Most Tumultuous Life Drama So Far (TM), and I have to admit that I found Nigel's bouncy, bubbly exuberance and enthusiasm for life pretty intimidating. He overwhelmed me. While I didn't dislike him for it (I can't imagine it being physically possible to actually dislike Nigel), it did sometimes frighten me and so I never got to know him as well as I could have.
What I know about Nigel is this: he was open and honest. He was funny. He was passionate. He thought up adventures and then he went and made them happen. His joy was infectious and sincere. He was a kind, gentle soul. He will be so missed in the world.
We all grieve differently, and I have also learned that each person grieves each loss differently. For me, Nigel's death has not been one of those that shakes me to the core and distracts me out of my life for any period of time. Instead, when I think about Nigel and what we have all lost in losing him, I just feel a terrible terrible sadness. For Nigel himself, of course, that he will never have all of the opportunities and adventures that should have been his. For his family. For the drivers of the two cars that hit him, because their lives will never be the same. For all of my friends who knew him better than I did, whose hearts are breaking because they loved him. For myself, because at the time when my path crossed his, I couldn't let him in. For every single person who he might (would) have touched in the future, had he not been taken away for too soon.
Tied up in my sadness about Nigel's death this week is a sadness over the too-many recent suicides (four of them? five?) in the States, of gay or presumed-gay teenagers who just couldn't take the bullying anymore. Here is something I didn't know about Nigel until I read Sky Gilbert's comments in this article in the Guelph Mercury: Nigel was a warrior against homophobia in his high school, something that takes incredible strength, more strength than many persecuted high-schoolers have. I am so excited by Dan Savage's youtube campaign in response to these suicides, the It Gets Better Project. Nigel could have told those kids that it gets better-than-better... it gets fabulous. I feel so lucky and so honoured that I got to witness just a little bit of Nigel's fabulous life, and I will do my best to carry its inspiration with me for the rest of mine.
When I found out that Nigel had died, before I knew the details of the accident or anything, I said on facebook "I hope you're at peace, lovely boy". I do hope this with all my heart. To this I would like to add that resting, as always, is optional. Shine on, Nige.
Did you ever hear her laugh?
When she laughed, you swore you'd never cry again.
Did you ever see her smile?
Her smile was like a glass of lemonade.
And she said funny things,
And she wore pretty dresses,
And she liked to see the pictures at the VFW Hall,
And she loved ridin' swings,
And she liked cotton candy,
But I think she liked the pictures best of all:
No, it don't make sense to me
That she won't be around.
No, it don't make sense to me
To put her in the cold and lonely ground.
And no, it don't make sense
The way the world can let you fall---
I swear it don't make sense to me at all.