A song for Debbie Mellor

Sing it with me:

Edelweiss, edelweiss,

every morning you greet me.

Small and white, clean and bright,

you look happy to meet me.

Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow,

bloom and grow forever.

Eidelweiss, edelweiss,

bless my homeland forever.

It was Debbie's favourite song, and she sang it often. Whenever I took my guitar to Discovery Day Program at L'Arche, she requested it, and sang it, or at least its opening bars, at the top of her lungs. She loved The Sound of Music, Rogers and Hamerstein's musical/movie that brought the song to the world's attention, with a passion beyond passion! And though the consonants were missing from its songs when she sang them, it was hard to mistake what she was singing, because she could definitely carry a tune.

A week ago today, we lost Debbie -- whose pseudonym in these pages up until now has been Sandy -- to protect her privacy -- simply because Simple Moodlings is in the public domain. People like Debbie aren't often given much attention, so this is my humble attempt to pay tribute to a beautiful friend and human being. Readers who follow these moodlings know my tributes are also my way to process the loss of people I love.

I can't begin to tell you the story of Debbie's life; I'll just tell you how I know and love her. Debbie has been in my awareness for most of my life because the L'Arche community came to our church as I grew up. In fact, Debbie once came and helped me lead the singing of the closing hymn when I was doing music at mass, a special memory that still makes me smile. 

It's only in the past 12 years or so that our friendship solidified as I became a regular in the L'Arche offices through my role as admin assistant and volunteer. In that time, Debbie and I took many walks down the hallways, often holding hands because she was visually impaired and sometimes unsteady on her feet. We would sing as we went, or comment on the pictures in the hallways. Sometimes we would work -- Debbie would help me with shredding, or push the button on the photocopier as needed. She loved the photocopier. If we ran out of things to do, she liked to take scrap paper and print her name and the names of her family members over and over, pretending to be an executive at work. 

Her love for her family was constant, and in our morning prayer circle she would inevitably begin her prayers by saying "I pray my mom-MIE, my dad-DIE, my bro-THER..." When her father, and some years later, her mother, passed away, the wind went out of her sails, and though she carried on, her sadness was always evident during every prayer circle.

When I became The Baking Lady at Day Program, Debbie was in there like a dirty shirt. Not that she was ever unkempt -- her clothes and matching purses are legendary in the community, and she loved it whenever anyone commented on her attire or her fancy nail polish. When it came to baking, she loved to help measure ingredients or run the hand mixer, and especially, to eat what we made, sometimes before it was ready. I would often catch her snitching bits of cookie dough as we formed the cookies!

Debbie was part of the L'Arche Edmonton community for almost 43 years. Because I was given the opportunity to work on the History of L'Arche Edmonton, I was able to interview people from Debbie's past. My favourite stories about her demonstrate her tenacity and determination -- as one friend put it, she was an "empowered woman." She grew up in a loving farm family, and when her siblings left home to marry or go to university, Debbie decided it was her turn to leave, too, so she packed a suitcase and set it at the front door, as if to say, "My turn to go." 

Debbie's mom unpacked and put everything away, only to find the repacked suitcase at the door again a short time later. Debbie meant business, and her parents eventually decided that the L'Arche community's model of homes -- where people with and without disabilities create a family-like setting for its core members -- was the right place for their daughter to live as independently as she could.

My other favourite story from the past is about Debbie's trip to Japan in 1982. Everyone from the L'Arche community who went as part of an exchange between two communities of people with disabilities had to abide by the suitcase rule: each person could pack what they liked, but they had to be able to carry their own suitcase to the far end of their block and back without help, a very practical standard that stood the group in good stead. The group was very tired by the time they reached their destination, and unfortunately, there was a long flight of stairs to reach the main level of the Sapporo airport. Seeing the steps, Debbie put her suitcase down and gave it a good kick before she picked it up and kept moving!

Debbie’s enthusiasm for life, her constancy, and her unconditional (and sometimes conditional, when she was feeling stubborn) love moved me more than I realized until, suddenly, we have lost her too soon. Not to covid... that loving heart of hers gave out unexpectedly. I'm not sure when covid will let up and allow me to go back to visit my friends at Day Program, but I know the first return visit will be missing something important without Debbie there to welcome me with "Hi, Reea!" There's comfort in knowing how happy she is to be with her parents again in the Great Beyond, but the Day Program community is missing her terribly. Thomas* will especially miss her, I'm sure.

Debbie, my friend, given your love of music, I hope that you're singing and dancing to your heart's content with the L'Arche communion of saints and your parents. I look forward to the day we meet again, but until then, climb ev'ry mountain, my friend, and don't forget -- I love you, too. So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodnight...