24 April 2007 – 24 April 2017


I’m feeling some anticipatory trauma, if there is such a thing, as we approach the tenth anniversary of the mishap which would, soon thereafter, take the life of my brother Craig. Maybe it’s a heightened sense of awareness that this sad anniversary is upon us.

It was April 24, 2007, his partner Claude’s birthday, when Craig fell to the sidewalk,alone, outside their condo in Montreal’s Le Plateau neighbourhood. The extensive damage to his brain immediately apparent, Craig would never fully regain consciousness. He clung to life on a respirator, while his near-zero brain function was evaluated, until one last attempt to see if he could breathe on his own failed on the ninth of May while Claude and my sister Lynn stepped out for a break.

Mom dreads the month of May. (I’m just glad it is as pretty as it is.) It was May 4, five years earlier in 2002, when Dad collapsed and died in his beloved garden, so all the attending rituals were in May. Oh and Craig’s birthday. And Mother’s Day. So it was that on May 13, 2007 – Craig’s birthday AND Mother’s Day that year – that we (my sister Janice, husband Randy and their young family) drove Mom down from Perth to Montreal for her eldest son’s funeral the next day. Followed by his burial in Perth the next evening.

While the rest of us admire her strength and still try to acknowledge Mother’s Day,we understand why she would just rather have May slip by quickly. I’ll never think of May again without remembering Mom’s journey through it.

Stuart McLean in a serious moment


I once met Stuart McLean, the legendary Canadian broadcaster who died yesterday.  It was both my brush with fame and utter modesty.

The occasion was the aftermath of a very tragic time, in the 1980s, in St. Catharines, Ontario where I worked in private radio. Several men had been arrested for sexual encounters in a local mall washroom, one of whom committing suicide when he set himself on fire in his car.

Stuart stopped by the radio station one evening, hoping to use our facilities to process some tape for the CBC.  I was pleased to let him do so.  I didn’t meet Stuart the comedian that night.  He seemed quite devastated by all that had transpired in town, including the public naming of all those who had been charged, the St. Catharines Standard newspaper the lone exception in the media storm.

It was an ugly story to be covering, which he did for Peter Gzowski’s “Morningside”. I can recall “driveway moments” of my own with Stuart, listening to him while idling the car in the radio station parking lot.

Thank you Rosemary Barton and MP Celina Caesar-Chavannes


Celina Caesar-Chavannes appeared tonight on CBC Power and Politics with host Rosemary Barton.  She was there to discuss her experiences with depression, before and since becoming MP for Whitby and Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s Parliamentary Secretary.

Rosemary’s thorough, careful questions brought out responses I could relate to in my own experience – and even in present circumstances.

Sitting around in my “lounge pants” and t-shirt, unwashed.

Recognizing the signs of depression in these and other ways.  Maybe I’ll do something about it, rather than wait for my scheduled psychiatric appointment.

It doesn’t seem like it’s enough to know what’s going on.

I do not feel like I am a danger to myself or anyone else. That’s probably important to note.

I really want to thank Rosemary and Celina.  In this approaching season of “Let’s Talk.”

1,013 followers – questions?


I don’t know who you all are, but the blog machine tells me there are 1,013 of you following me here.  You can also find me, Kenn Chaplin, on Facebook.

You’ll know that I haven’t been writing much lately so, might I ask, if you have any questions for me?

I’m back, breaking my blogging fast


Facebook, with its at-best superficial ways of linking me to my world, has taken me away from greater reflection possible in this blog so…I’m back – on my journey here.

The past few weeks I have been involved with the Youth/Elders Project, a joint effort of Buddies in Bad Times Theatre, the 519 Community Centre and the Senior Pride Network. We are a group of queer-identified people – youth, up to 25 years old, and elder folk 55 years and up.

We have been meeting separately in our age cohorts, either at Buddies or the 519, and will continue to do so except for occasions like this past Saturday when we met en masse for the first time.

The highlight of Saturday, for me, was a speed-dating style exercise in which youth sat with the rest of us, one-on-one, to discuss things such as early queer role models, or lack thereof, early cultural markers (or landmines), and things such as favourite films and TV shows.

F. asked me about films about AIDS.  I could only come up with two – Philadelphia, which I saw with my friend Chaz the week that Jim died, and Longtime Companion, which Jim and I reviewed over and over in our minds the night that Terry died.

I forgot all about Angels in America – which I loved!

We spoke of friendship – intimate friendship; Jim and me separated by death and F. separated by geography from his best buddy. No modern means of communication can match being in person. Tears were shed, hugs exchanged – it was a genuine moment of connection which I treasure still now, thinking about it.

Oh and we each have/had a gay brother.

It was an amazing three hours.

We return to our separate work-shopping this week, eager to meet again as the project evolves.

Walking the walk – with assistance


First there was the pre-Christmas illness. Then, while in Perth, I went for only one walk – to the pharmacy – in a town which normally calls out for long walks.  I even felt unsteady on my feet roaming around Mom’s big old house.

Mom, who has been using a walker  herself for a year or so, suggested I check into getting myself a walker once I returned home.

I did.  Yesterday. A walker from my community’s storage was made available to me.  I took to it like the proverbial duck to water, although I’m a tad tall for it.  I went out for some milk and bread, pushing/being pulled by my new friend, then walking the long way home to put some miles on it.

Last night, oblivious to what barriers I might encounter, I went to a meeting via the subway, folding and carrying the walker where necessary, happily taking the offered subway seat, then walking the several blocks from St. Clair station.

I am easing into it.  There are walks which I can easily do without help, so it may surprise people when on other occasions I present with the walker.

It helps me walk.  It gives me confidence.  Why would I worry about what anyone thinks about me using it.