Ken Hills

My uncle, Ken Hills, is launching a book tonight.
His usual fare is reminiscences and books for children.

Tonight's book 'Requiem for Black Shoes' is a different treatment altogether.
It's about sexual abuse in the Catholic Church, and about his personal experience with this. Although he has fictionalized some of the account, I have read the book and seen many truisms from his life.

He is a man of unbelieveable faith and a belief that his accounting of this trauma will be healing for himself, and the beginning of such a journey for others. His grounding in Catholicism despite all this is phenomenal.

The older I get, the more I realize how EVERYBODY's got to work their demons out. Some are more severe, some are devastating as Ken's were. The act of working through issues brings not only a relief to some of the anxiety and stress, but opens one up to better communication with others.

I have gone through therapy several times, to try to rationalize the relationship with my parents- my violent father, my angry and sometimes cruel mother. And for the murder of one of my brothers. Everyone in my family has issues from our collective childhoods, and some have dealt with it better than others. My brother's death continues to affect me, but was exacerbated by a lack of resolution with another sibling, who continues to estrange themself. We all move on, but sometimes we have an anchor that drags behind us like a giant concrete block we can sometimes wedge but never remove.

I hope for Ken that the public disclosure brings him some empathy and some chance to thoroughly expunge the weight of this. When I grew up I saw in Ken an exemplary father and husband. I was so envious that he and Louise were so attentive to their kids, driving them to sports constantly, being there for them at school functions. My parents watched my brother lug his own hockey bag to the arena for many years. My father was extremely violent to him in particular. Then my mother watched as my brother coursed downward into addiction as he tried to find value in himself.

It was amazing to see the difference in our families. I am blessed by having a good relationship with Ken's kids, they have helped me through so many things, and given me a real sense of family when my own failed me. My aunt's supportiveness of him and her children is amazing, it really begets incredible support into the next generation. My cousins are great with their kids, and they have their parents to thank.

I hope Ken's launch, and book, goes well. And I hope it helps heal the demons, as he is so hopeful for as well.

Light

Allison’s diagnosis was incomprehensible. How could someone so young, who had never smoked, and was healthy otherwise, have lung cancer?
How could the potential of intelligence, which resided so strongly in this one person, become the victim of a undiscriminating disease that worked so effectively against all logic, treatment and sense of fairness?

Allison’s first words to me on the subject was that it was so far gone already that she might need palliative care. It didn’t resonate, this couldn’t be, it was impossible.

Ironically, soon after that I attended a memorial for an artist in Toronto who had died from cancer. It was at Convocation Hall, and there were a number of musicians playing in the deceased’s honour, and two flamenco dancers performing. The drama of the dance, with the flashing red dresses, the clatter of the shoes, the fingers snapping and the pounding sounds of the guitar overwhelmed us with the passion of this music and dance form.
I closed my eyes and thought of Allison. She was bathed in light, dancing.
I thought of her always in that way when praying for her – surrounded by healing, the sun bathing her in a glow. Energized.
Sometimes when I’d look up at a clear azure sky, I’d visualize her, dancing in red, warm in the light. It was always so peaceful to see her this way - lucent, resplendent in calm, firey but peaceful.
But the cancer raged on, bringing pain and trips to the hospital, treatments, with after effects that seemed worse than the benefits.

Allison Frances Hudgins is gone now. She is filled with light. I know she shares that with us still, her family being blessed with the passionate presence of a determined and thoughtful woman filled with love for them. Her friends the same.
She brought us so much light. We were blessed by knowing Allison.
The Alan Howard Waldorf School was rewarded with Allison as a parent, a class rep and the Enrollment Manager. She was a force that created an incredible legacy.

Her light shines on.