Watching the wildfires and their destructive path — through towns, villages, and summer getaway, and across Canada — is hard to watch. Yet, there may be a social responsibility for us to tune in, even for a few minutes, not only to keep up with the developing stories but to, from afar as concerned fellow Canadians, show that we share their loss. Comparing losses is a most pointless exercise for the simple fact that no matter when life delivers us a life-changing situation, it’s beyond comprehension. The circumstances become irrelevant. Rick Hansen, one of David Foster’s good friends, went for a 2 1/2 year worldwide spin in his wheelchair and shared a profound quote: “It’s not what happens to you that matters. What matters is how you deal with what happens to you.”
Without these words echo through the strength and resilience of the families the David Foster Foundation supports. Take for instance the young family with a little girl who needed a liver transplant in Victoria, David’s hometown, that were devastated by the news. But David being David wanted to help and what started as an act of kindness resulted in decades of funds being raised for families going through the same journey.
This literary attempt is to celebrate the atmosphere of giving hope, if you will. I know firsthand the value of people coming together — something I learned when I was a young boy, starting my lifetime journey with cerebral palsy. My parents, much like the moms and dads DFF helps, cast their net into a wonderful thing called community. My folks embarked on a new technique, called patterning, for brain-injured kids. Eight times a day, for five minutes each day, my head, arms, and legs were turned and flipped, putting me through the motions of crawling. I was learning to crawl, something I did not do for the first 5 1/2 years of my life.
Every pattern required four volunteers for the movements. Word spread throughout the community. Within five months, we had 116 volunteers coming into our west end Edmonton home to help with a pattern. Sure, they helped me physically — but perhaps even more so mentally. They were the ultimate cheerleaders of my being able to swallow, hold my head up, opening my hands, and speaking for the first time. They took those milestones as a foundation to build mountains. Their actions spoke loudly, helping me for five years with 14,000 patterns.
That is why it is precious.
Any setback brings together armies, equipped with love, encouragement, and support: hope, in its truest form. The folks who will lose everything to the wildfires will slowly start to rebuild through the support of their community. We are profoundly charged to shower them with support and hope. Because hope…changes everything.
