’Perhaps it’s our superiority that keeps us from our own life. And our capacity for humility that leads us to it.’ A film concerning our capacity to see without judgment.
He knocked on the back door. Three times. As he always had. Heavily worn trouser knees. Spectacles sat at the end of an elderly nose. And eighty two well-used years under his belt. ‘Can Albert come out to play?’
In those life experiences of our greatest pain and suffering also comes the greatest love and beauty, and transformation. This is a film about sudden loss, and the experience of telling a young child that her Father had died.
‘… she knew she was going to die anyway, and then she decided that day would be the day. I think it was the loneliest thing I’ve ever seen. She walked past me and laid on the bed and she nodded yes to the Doctor. I can’t find words for what it felt like to be there.’ A film about the last hour of a life.
Might the causes of poverty lie deeper than just physical need. And might the way out lie with our ability to see ourselves together, as the same.’ An extraordinary and humbling experience. A film about the often missed nature of poverty.
‘It is like a miracle. I’ve got a son back that I thought I’d lost. We’re probably closer now than we’ve ever been but it did start in a difficult place.’ A film of hope and light from a seemingly dark and endless place.
Michael lost his daughter to leukemia. Kelsey had been just 18 years old. These few minutes wonder if we might be a little more courageous, and connected. Whether we might be a little kinder, more gracious and present in the absence of tragedy.
He’s somewhere between thirty and forty. Perhaps fifty. Maybe sixty. He wants to play. Without prescription. He wants to stamp. And to stomp. And to run. And to leap from chair to chair.
In the complex landscape of Schizophrenia, I imagine Compassionate Care should not be absent. Care that is unconditional. Care that is full of hope and of possibility.
In this time of visceral chaos what if this were the last time I were to see you. Might the possibility of words left unsaid haunt the rest of my days …