On Saturday, July 7th, Calgary lost a friend, activist, artist and writer. Nico Hofferd wrote for Gay Calgary Magazine from October, 2005 to January, 2007. Her contributions to our community ran far beyond the walls in which we knew her. She was a voice for the disenfranchised as a Student Advisor at Bow Valley College. She was a Vagina Warrior, a radio personality with CJSW, and a community activist through her many coffee groups, volunteer activities, and forays into the theatre community. Nico came to experience it all, there’s simply no doubt about it.
Before the tribute portion of Nico’s funeral, I sat quietly staring at her picture, waiting for Nico to make her grand entrance – no entrance followed. During the funeral, Kyemara sang “His Eye Is On The Sparrow”. It was poignant, exquisite and heart breaking all at the same time. If Nico had been in the room all we would have heard were her cheers, instead only silence. So in honor of Nico, and the thousands of standing ovations that she would have received in her lifetime, I asked guests to join me in a standing ovation for our friend, sister, daughter, activist, artist, and inspiration. It was spontaneous and beautiful, just like Nico.
Below is an excerpt from the tribute that followed her standing ovation:
“Searching for the perfect story, quote, or phrase that would sum up my crazy, sad, hopeful friend I found nothing. There were glimmers of her, beautiful windows into her life that she so generously shared with all of us, but no snippet would ever convey who she was to everyone. It’s like coming back from a trip over seas and a friend asks ‘So how was your trip?’ and you want to say to them ‘Pull up a chair, do you have three months?’... I imagine Nico mixing a up a cup of chai with her angel friends, and one of them asking her, ‘So… how was your trip?’ and her responding, ‘Pull up a cloud, have you got 34 years?’
I imagine she would talk about her sisters, her school mates, her parents and her many pets. She would talk about all of us, her strays, the beautiful souls she brought together through her passion for activism, fashion, music, and all things performance - her fascination with the far corners that we as human beings go to experience pain, passion, love, peace, and connection with ourselves and each other. She would quote music, gloriously sad and joyful music.
I’d like to think she would mention me, and our bond that seemed to form so quickly. That she would talk about our late night excursions to the Blackfoot Truck stop all glammed up to the nines after performing, and being served by ladies in hair nets wearing pink nurse’s scrubs. The way that heads turned when she walked in the room. About furniture construction and how when I asked if she had tools she promptly presented the pinkest ones I’ve ever seen. How we would practice our performances, laughing and pushing each other over and how she played that tambourine like the ‘Tambourine Rock Star’ she really was. How she made me cry with her poetry, and incited outrage in so many of us with her stories about the disadvantaged members of our communities that didn’t have enough advocates like her. I’d like to think that she would talk about her marriages and how she was such a hopeless romantic. I know she carried sorrow about hurting people she loved, but an acceptance of doing the best she could along the way. There is a quote in her live journal that spoke volumes of our friend Nico, ‘I demand unconditional love, and complete freedom, and this is why I am so terrible.’ I believe this to be one of the reasons she was so beautiful, so free and so fraught with life’s joys and sorrows. I believe this is why she saw beauty in all things, and in all of us, without judgment but only love. I know she recently gave advice to a member of her family, saying whatever it is you do, whether born of love and joy, or fear and sorrow, do it with love. Remember to do it with love.
I am so blessed to have known someone so light - filled with compassion, and laughter, and connection to everything that moved her. Like all the angels I have been blessed to know, she filled me with a sense that I was the best person I could ever be, and in the same breath she inspired me still to be better.
Driving over miles of northern Alberta highway, blanketed with rolling hills, mountains, and a never ending sky, she came to me in the smell of sweet grass and wild flowers, I caught a glimmer of her in my own eyes checking the rear view mirror, and as I wept all the way through a Pink song, unapologetic, passionate, and alive… she spoke to me in words I think she would say to each and everyone who was touched by her life. ‘I’m not dead, just floating… I’m not scared, just changing… and you’re my crack of sunlight.’”
After the death of a family member, on Monday, May 21st, 2007 Nico wrote:
“The thing about good-byes is that you always wish you had more time. I remember writing about a death in my family a little while ago and saying, ‘We all thought we had more time’ – but the truth of the matter is – we never would’ve had enough time.
There is never enough time to touch each part of a life that has touched you. Even if that ‘life’ is somewhat of an object, a holder of life. Of memories. You can’t reach every crevice and corner, each punctuation that rings out.
I had the time. It wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t ever be enough. Saying good-bye rang with finality, even if it wasn’t the final time. It could be. I blink backwards, freezing the face in my mind’s eye, knowing it’ll fade anyway. Memories run together, a sangria of flavors. Bitter/sweet/bittersweet. It was. It is. Goodbye.”
Goodbye sweet Nico.
