Remembering A Mentor

This morning, I’m on my way to NYC (including Lincoln Center - a world leader for opera) to seek some inspiration on a bit of a creative retreat. At the train station, I saw the wonderful Jackie Short - who is on her way to celebrate her late partner Mike at the The Rubies - Canadian opera awards for outstanding contribution to this beautiful art form. I didn’t really like opera until I began teaching opera students how to move on stage. I fell in love with this sometimes silly & over the top, sometimes deeply profound, nuanced art form immediately. Mike was one of the greats - a world renowned opera director. I was so lucky to learn from him (& Jackie - they were always a team). Today felt fitting to share with you my ode to my mentor. The following is some grief writing from the day of his celebration of life which we celebrated in the spring of 2024.

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Thanks… you are awesome

My eyes are red and puffy from crying all afternoon. I walked into the Great Hall at Western University where I’ve been to so many events over the years - some sad, most happy, and many boring.  :)

Today, I saw bright colours and faces of people I’ve known over the last 17 years. Colleagues, Deans, Admin, students and friends - all whose lives were touched somehow by the great Michael Cavanaugh.

He was magnificent. A magnificent brain, heart and talent, but so unassuming. He was a chameleon: blending in at the golf club, the rugby pitch, the big opera stages of the world, teaching/inspiring young minds and (his favorite) at home with his most prized humans… his family and adopted senior doggos. If you got to spend time with Mikey… you’d always think you were the only person in the room - the most important person in the room when you entered. He had a special power to see something in you.

The room was full and we all were on the verge of tears. The musicians sang and played through their sadness - consummate professionals. I’ll never understand someone having such control over their voice. It’s what they have trained for. It’s what Mike & Jackie taught them. It was truly beautiful. To each of them, I’m in awe and so thankful for sharing their art to help us all grieve and heal.

These people who were gathered (and so many more via live-stream around the world) loved him so much. The jokes about everyone being Mike’s best friend were true. He always made you feel like a million bucks. He was precise in his visions, but also gentle and then would “silly walk” over to the next thing like an extra member of Monty Python. He demanded your best, but in a way that made you believe YOU needed to be your best to play on his team. Never had I had someone I could look up to that also retained their silliness and sense of play…. these are integral elements to my creative process and teaching. It was so beautiful to see it reflected back - the serious and the silly could happen simultaneously.

As I sit here, I’m writing with my pen from the last show we worked on together. The Mikado. He loved to shift things in his shows and make them his own, throwing funny quips and lines to really make dialogue or lyrics “pop” to suit the audience, area and locale. He always made me giggle and many roll their eyes with punny lines and word play.

I was his movement person when he was in town doing a show… and I was always so proud that he’d call me. That he trusted me with helping the students grow- that he trusted me with his creations. I was in awe of how he worked… to “make a plan and work the plan”. I always knew what he expected right off the bat. Precise, well-communicated visions and logistics (down to the moment) to get things done. His vision was pure - every angle, character, dynamic was accounted for. I got to be on the team to make that happen. Forever thankful that I got to work with one of the greats on stage, but also the greats of human kind. His heart was huge, his puns constant and his playfulness was a breath of fresh air in a sometimes stuffy world of opera, a craft he worked in with reverence and deep love. I don’t think all the students appreciated the absolute king they were working with. His charm and “rizz” (as the kids now call it) was overwhelming. He could lead us all anywhere!

He and his beautiful wife Jackie had a love story that was meant for the movies. The love they shared was absolute and steadfast. The way he looked at her, and she looked at him… that’s what romantic tales were made of. It was palpable every time you were near them and how they yearned for one another every moment but their love felt so sure even when they were on different continents. Their care for others, their willingness to help and welcome everyone into their world. Theirs was a very special duet. And then I met their stunningly strong, brilliant and kind daughter Amy. She’s one in a million. I ask you to find a more accomplished and tenacious, deeply kind and talented human. I dare you!  I’m in awe of this family, how they were able to move through everything that life shot at them. They’ve done so with grace, strength, music and laughter like I’ve never seen. My heart holds you gently and I wish I could take away your pain.

The last time I saw Mikey, I dropped off some little gifts for Jackie and Amy for Christmas. He was on a family FaceTime call with his relatives (that I got to meet this afternoon at his celebration. What a beautiful group of hearts). He came to the door with the laptop in hand and apologized that he couldn’t chat but looked at me and said “Oh… you are awesome. Thank you”.

I’ll miss him. And that phrase - “You are awesome” that I’ll never hear from him again. And the next email asking me to be on his creative team. But I’ll keep making art and striving to make things as big, bold and beautiful as his works. And I’ll do that in his honour.

This afternoon, Jackie had everyone sing together at the end of the celebration for Mike. And for as long as I’ve known the Cavanaugh/Shorts - together with the bright colours, the many adopted musical children, and senior dogs - there was always a sing-a-long in their home. It felt like a huge hug when the whole group of mourners raised their voices together. He would have loved it. It felt like we were nestled on their couch in their home. In those moments of shared music, I think each of us all felt a little bit closer to him. Maybe he could hear us all and feel how deeply he touched our lives. How much we all loved him.

Cheers, Mikey. I’ll miss you dearly.