There are no heroes in war. The only heroes I know are either dead or in prison. One or the other.
Bonnie Tyler…
On the battlefield, you learn that the loudest explosions are not always the ones that leave the deepest scars. Sometimes it’s a voice that echoes through the darkness long after the fighting is over.
Yours was one of those voices.
When the world was losing hope, you sang of holding out for a hero. When hearts were breaking, you reminded us that total eclipses don’t last forever—that even after the darkest night, the sun returns.
Your unmistakable voice wasn’t polished by perfection. It was forged by hardship, carrying the strength of someone who had survived every storm. That’s why people believed every word you sang.
Soldiers, dreamers, lovers, and the lost all found something in your music. For a few minutes, they weren’t alone.
In my line of work, legends don’t live forever. But some missions never truly end. Every time your songs are played, they’ll remind another generation that courage isn’t the absence of fear—it’s finding the strength to keep going.
“I grew up with your cousins. We shared the same neighborhoods, knew many of the same people, and our circles have overlapped for years. Every time I think about it, it reminds me how small the world can be.”
Nelly smiled. “That does make it feel like we’ve always been connected in one way or another.”
“Exactly,” Joe said. “When you realize you’ve known the same families and have many of the same friends, it feels like there’s already a foundation of trust. It’s a good sign when people from different parts of your life end up sharing the same community.”
Nelly nodded. “It’s funny how those connections appear. You don’t always notice them until you stop and think.”
Joe laughed.
“Life has a way of weaving people together. Sometimes you discover you’ve been walking through the same story from different chapters.”
Nelly smiled warmly.
“Maybe that’s why conversations between old friends feel so natural.”
Joe raised an imaginary toast.
“To shared roots, familiar faces, and the people who remind us that the world is smaller than we think.”
Joe and Nelly were walking through Stanley Park when Michael Bublé’s version of “Feeling Good” drifted from a nearby café.
Joe grew quiet.
“You know, Nelly, whenever I hear this song, I think about Michael Bublé’s family and what they went through when Noah was treated for cancer.”
Nelly nodded. “No parent should have to face something like that. It reminds you how precious children are.”
Joe looked out across the harbour.
“It also makes me think about children’s hospitals. The doctors, nurses, and staff do incredible work. But I wish every children’s hospital put just as much emphasis on the food they serve.”
Nelly glanced at him. “You mean nutrition as part of healing?”
“Exactly,” Joe replied. “If I were running a hospital, I’d want every meal to be fresh, nutritious, and something a parent would be happy to eat alongside their child. Good food can’t replace medical treatment, but it can help children stay nourished and make a difficult stay a little more comforting.”
Nelly smiled. “Families already have enough to worry about without wondering whether their child will eat what’s on the tray.”
Joe nodded.
“I hope hospitals—including places like the Jim Pattison Children’s Hospital—are always looking for ways to improve meals and nutrition for kids and their families. Every generation learns more about how food supports health, and hospitals should keep building on that knowledge.”
Nelly said, “Healing is about more than medicine. It’s also about kindness, comfort, good nutrition, and giving families hope.”
Joe looked back toward the water.
“When Michael Bublé stepped away from performing to focus on his family, it reminded everyone what matters most. Fame can wait. Children can’t.”
The song reached its final chorus.
Nelly smiled.
“Maybe that’s the real meaning of ‘Feeling Good’—doing everything we reasonably can to help children and families through the hardest days of their lives.”
Joe nodded.
“And that’s a mission worth taking on.”
“You know,” Joe said, “people always compare Michael Bublé’s style in ‘Feeling Good’ to Sean Connery’s James Bond. Connery had that confidence that filled the room.”
Nelly laughed. “The tuxedo certainly helps.”
Joe nodded.
“But there’s something else I’ve been thinking about. Whenever cancer touches someone’s family—whether it’s a celebrity or your next-door neighbour—you hear all kinds of theories and opinions. Too often they’re brushed aside as ‘man talk’ or barbershop conversations.”
Nelly looked at him thoughtfully.
“It’s important for people to ask questions about health and to keep researching better ways to prevent and treat disease. But those conversations should be guided by good evidence, compassion, and respect for patients—not by rumors or certainty without proof.”
Joe agreed.
“Exactly. We shouldn’t stop asking questions, and we shouldn’t stop supporting medical research. The goal isn’t to win arguments—it’s to help families face cancer with better treatments, better nutrition, and more hope.”
Nelly smiled.
“Sean Connery played a hero on screen. Michael Bublé showed another kind of strength by putting his family first. Maybe the real lesson is that courage isn’t just about facing danger. It’s also about facing uncertainty with love, honesty, and determination.”
Joe looked across the water.
“That’s a mission worthy of any James Bond.”
Joe: You know, Nelly, Sean Connery gave us Bond, but Robin Williams gave us something just as important. He taught us that laughter is also good medicine. A good laugh can lift a heavy heart, bring people together, and remind us that healing isn’t always found in a prescription bottle.
Nelly: That’s beautiful, Joe. Sometimes the best therapy is sharing a laugh with the people you love.
Joe: Exactly. Cancer, illness, and suffering aren’t just “man talk” or conspiracy debates. They affect real families. We should be looking for every honest way to help people—better nutrition, better research, better medicine, and yes, more laughter. Robin Williams reminded us that joy has healing power, even in life’s darkest moments.
Nelly: Maybe that’s the lesson. We don’t have to choose between science and compassion. We can pursue better treatments while never forgetting the human spirit.
Joe: That’s the world I’d like to see—a world where we take disease seriously, but never lose our ability to smile.
