wa123

http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/mus... From Times Online January 22, 2010 Kate McGarrigle: tributes from Rufus, Martha and Anna The legendary folk singer passed away on Monday. Here, her family discuss their raw grief and the music they all shared Tim Teeman The singer Kate McGarrigle died of clear cell sarcoma on Monday at home in Montreal, aged 63. With her sister Anna she formed the acclaimed and influential folk duo, the McGarrigle Sisters. McGarrigle was the former wife of singer Loudon Wainwright III (they divorced in 1976) and the mother of singers Rufus Wainwright and Martha Wainwright — and the family sang about their tangled relationships with one another in song: “That’s why their stage felt like a living room,” says Anna, “it’s where they met and talked”. McGarrigle made her last public appearance, with Rufus and Martha, at the Royal Albert Hall six weeks ago. Rufus Wainwright I’m in the throes of grief, which encapsulates every aspect of human behaviour. I feel extreme glee and extreme happiness mixed with extreme fear, and I’m reconfiguring the order of things. It’s fascinating if you’re close to your mother and if she dies it’s such a kind of statement from the Universe: “You thought she was in control? Just you wait and see who’s really pulling the strings.” It’s a pretty hard time, but my family and I have come together and experienced the end of Kate’s incredible life. She told Martha and I that she loved us every day. My mother was always communicative, we always had a great relationship. I didn’t speak much about her dying, but she didn’t want to go. She was not happy about the situation: her first grandson [Arcangelo, Martha’s baby] had just been born and she had just seen me produce my first opera [Prima Donna]. She was not ready to go, but she made provisions. Even before she was diagnosed she must have known something was wrong. She had taken hardly any pictures of us as children. She was not a picture person. But in the last few months she took pictures of us and her life. She was so happy: she was going to take the situation out of her mind and drink up the world to her fullest. She travelled back and forth to Europe, she saw my and Martha’s shows, she went on a grand tour of the world, she swam in lakes in the country. She was a true individual, unique. Once the disease started to take over she didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t change herself at all, but she did — in a subtle and mystical way — prepare for her death. She made it private. She was in a coma for two days before she died, with us but she couldn’t speak. Before she went into the coma, the last thing she said to me was: “Have a beautiful summer in Montauk,” where I had just bought a house. She told me not to cry and of course I cried. I’m still crying. I think I’ll cry every day for the rest of my life. When things got pretty dire for her, I had all these ideas in my head: we would read Rilke novels and watch Bergman films. I said: “Mom if you want to talk about any of this . . .” and she said, “No, I want to give you a foot kiss”. So I knew this experience was going to be about foot kisses rather than Rilke. My mother was one of the most glamorous women in the world, but she lived in a modest Montreal apartment which was a titanic mess. Her pearl ear-rings were stuffed into a sock, but when she dressed up she was the most striking person in the room. She was a grand dame in a mouse hole. My parents loved each other very much, but along with that came a fierce love of music and when you mix those two, things can get pretty explosive. They had to ride the waves of showbusiness simultaneously, and when Martha and I joined them the waves got choppy. It was a bumpy ride but a glorious and noteworthy voyage. They really had a chance to settle their differences. Before Kate’s health went south he performed in Montreal and invited her to join him on stage. Afterwards he told her how amazing it was to sing with her again. They made it back together as parents of their children. She was a magical woman, one foot in another world, a great songwriter, performer and bohemian, and she was surrounded, as she was dying, by family and friends. My father was there. Martha came from London in very strenuous circumstances — she has just had a baby. When she walked into the room, it was a very dramatic moment, like the third act of Tristan and Isolde. She just howled. Two hours after Martha arrived Kate was gone — she was waiting for her. Emmylou Harris was there. We sang to her as she lay there, that certainly might have made her go that little bit faster. As we were having this jamboree, her breathing became more laboured and she made a moaning noise. One of the nurses said this could go on for four days and we had already exhausted the back catalogue! Then Kate breathed a little differently, it was like she was saying, “Hold on, I’m going to end this show” and she died. I was looking right into her face, her eyes were open, and my aunt Jane was holding her hand. It was an amazing experience. Martha had a particular connection to my mother and could feel she wasn’t afraid. Everybody’s shook up. We’re all very devastated, but on the other hand it’s been a great trip. Now I am dealing with the repercussions. Artistically I sought her opinions about the plethora of options in creating a work of art, and when she was getting iller I had to control myself so as not to become too demanding of her. I’ve started writing something about her and I’ve found myself instantly filled with her support and encouragement. Whenever I need her she will appear. To anyone else going through this, I’d say if you need to invoke your loved one, write about them and they’ll be there. Martha Wainwright I’m glad I have my baby, though of course he is much more than a distraction from how grim this is. (Martha’s baby Arcangelo was born two months premature on November 16.) The funeral has been postponed for us so we can prepare for the trip. When we get back to Montreal I expect the shit to really hit the fan — to be around all of Kate’s family and friends and her things, I’ll begin to really absorb what has happened. At the moment I have to stay healthy and stay strong. I can’t let my milk supply drop off. I can’t do drugs or drink. I have to eat healthily and stay hydrated. It’s a nightmare! My husband Bradley and I were walking in Regent’s Park (in London where the couple live) when Rufus called me to tell me that Kate was declining sharply. We were surrounded by couples with their baby buggies, and we felt like we were finally acclimatising to London life. I knew I had to go. I rushed home and got on a plane. I had only a small window — about 24 hours — that I could be away from the baby. I managed to spend ten hours with her. I said goodbye, which was very good to do. I sang along to the song she sang about me at the Royal Albert Hall (Proserpina, _base_d on the story of Persephone). I know she heard it. Her eyes were sometimes open and sometimes closed. It was a beautiful death, thank God, because it can be pretty gruesome. Kate, Rufus and I saw ourselves as the three musketeers. She played a huge role in our formation and had a very hands-on approach whether we liked it or not. She had incredibly good taste and made sure we did too. She made us into the musicians we are, and influenced the music that we loved. I cooked what she did. I wore the clothes she wore. As a young woman I tried to distance myself from my mother. I was overwhelmed by her beauty and talent. I tried to play the independent girl. But I always came back, needing her cash, her assistance, her suggestion. In the last five years I totally gave in and realised I needed to be with her all the time. Indeed, when Kate was first diagnosed I desperately wanted to be as close as possible to her. There was always the knowledge she would die; it was a very serious form of cancer. She battled it very well. Kate was a very mystical woman but not namby-pamby. She wasn’t into talking about her death as a therapist would probably suggest she do. She was holding her feelings in and grappling with what it meant. She did not want to give in to the illness; she wasn’t ready to go. She was very young and it was very unfair. I sent her some breast milk but I guess it didn’t help. I just hope she found a way within herself to free herself of the burden somehow. It’s odd: my baby has a little jaundice and so did Kate before she died. My last conversation with her was on the phone from London. It was clear she was either confused or fairly gone on Morphine. We were talking about me getting over there and she kept saying she’d see me on the 28th even though I was saying I’d see her on Sunday (last Sunday). I told her to try and eat something and that the baby was fine. She must have known something I didn’t because the 28th is when we intend to fly, once we’ve made the arrangements. Before I left her on Monday, I asked her to come with me and I think she has. Anna McGarrigle I’m very shaken from losing my sister and closest friend, although last week we had a little spat. She loved fresh fruit and we had bought her some grapes, which I called “those little sacks of fluid”. Maybe it’s the way I said it, because she snapped at me, “Why do you always see the bad in things?” Maybe she associated it with the state of her lungs. I lost it and left and then apologised the next day. Last summer, one evening, she turned to me and said: “How come no one will talk to me about dying?” We broke down and went to bed. Last week I asked her as she lay on the couch, what her deepest fears were and she said to me: “I’m not thinking about anything.” She was putting all the bad stuff out of her mind. Kate
... read more »