Cindy Warren shares her thoughts: October 20, 2012

We didn’t know Marc as the Canadian renowned composer, accomplished actor or talented musician. Marc came into our lives quietly, riding the tailwind of the creative, colourful, unpredictable explosion that is our friend, and his partner, Trish Barclay. It seemed an odd pairing initially, but as he became part of our family, we understood they brought something to each other; a synchronicity which not only made it work, but created a remarkable fusion of their hearts, personalities and talents. Trish challenged Marc, and Marc anchored her. They became home for each other in the unstable world where artists live. They had an inspiring respect for each other, and their friendship never faltered through the normal ups and downs of every relationship. They loved each other, and music was their shared language.

 If they were divided by distance, they had an almost compulsive need to stay connected. When Trish stayed at our house without Marc, she would appear in the morning, sleepy and disheveled, hair wild, still in pajamas, and before she had her first cup of coffee, she would park herself in the office chair, slippered feet on the desk and she would call her Bert.

There was a stillness in Marc. He could actually sit on our couch, as the noisy chaos of kids, dogs and women swirled around him, and remain serene. I will always see his gentle smile of bemusement when I think of him. He was engaged in what was going on, but there was a part of him that sat back and enjoyed the show. In the quiet moments, when there was the opportunity to talk, Marc was always perceptive, honest and interested. He had old-soul wisdom, and was so intelligent it might have been intimidating in someone else, but in this remarkable man who actually deserved to be proud, there was a beautiful humility.

Having Marc and Trish in our home was always a celebration. They brought laughter, music and song into the house, Trish playing mad fiddle and piano – Marc playing guitar anything else within reach, and for a few days, our lives weren’t so ordinary.  

Some artists are so stuck in the right brain, they kind of float over the world of mundane things -taking twirling umbrella steps to the pedantic straightforward march of the rest of us, but Marc was a true renaissance man, wielding a power drill with the same calm mastery he did his guitar. I can mark their visits by what got done in our house. Sometimes he wouldn’t even tell us he had gone to the hardware, bought tools and repaired something -  the broken window sashes in the living room (making it possible to open the window for the first time in 15 years), the washer in the hot water faucet in the bathroom, so we no longer had to turn off the water at the main valve, the broken hose under the kitchen sink. He saw what needed to be done and quietly did it. 

When I heard Marc had died I couldn’t comprehend it. In my world, Marc and Trish were sitting in their little cottage in the woods. There have been other losses in my life but this one was different. I couldn’t make sense of it. How could someone so vital, so talented and with such inner beauty be gone? In what fair universe could this happen? Out my window, everything looked normal, but the realization kept slamming into me, Marc wasn’t having this day. Trying to wrap my head around that was hard enough, but there was Trish. How will Trish make her way through this? She has lost half of who she is.

 

 It doesn’t bear thinking of. 

So we all carry on – our world depleted by the loss of our friend. We hold the people we love a little tighter, try to appreciate each moment, and above all know life is a gift.

 

 We will miss you Marc. Our lives are richer for knowing you.

Cindy