pc28¹ÙÍø

I opened the drawer and found a little plastic case. Inside was the bullet and casing that left her a quadriplegic.

“Jeez Barb why are you giving this to me?”

“Who else can I leave it to Dini?”Ìý

It sits on a bookshelf and every once in a while, I open it and examine the contents and wonder, what am I going to do with theseÌýsmall chunks of metalÌýthat pierced Barb’s neck that fateful day in 1983, shattering her fourth vertebra, irreparably changing her life?

Barb was 50 years old when she died from complications from pneumonia. She was just 18 when she was shot during a late-night robbery at aÌýClarkson convenience storeÌýon Sept. 23, 1983. The bullet that first pierced her throat came from a Colt .357 Magnum. FromÌýthat moment on, Barb would only be able to move her head, her neck and the top of her shoulders.

I met BarbÌýwhile she was inÌýhospital. Her family asked if I would visit.ÌýI was someone Barb admired, I was told.ÌýShe used to watch me on Citytv news. Who could say no?Ìý

I went to Sunnybrook’s Intensive Care Unit the following evening and met her family, who were all in shock. I approached the nursing station and said I was there to see Barb. The nurse pointed to her bed in the far corner of the room and as I turned to head over she said, “Barb is on a respirator, so you’ll have to put your face about eight inches from hers and read her lips.”Ìý

“Oh,” was all I could manage to say.Ìý

Barb also had a halo brace to immobilize her neck and a bed that slowly rotated from side to side to keep her blood flowing. I got in close to her face to say hello, but the bed starts to move so I went over to the other side to speak with her, and it rotated again. I did this three times until finally I said, “Barb, I feel like I’m at Swiss Chalet here.”Ìý

There was a pregnant pause and then Barb laughed. I joined in and in that moment a friendship was born through a shared dark sense of humour, which became the hallmark of our friendship.

I’ve learned that the bigger the pile of dung you live under, the greater the need for black humour and Barb was a master at it. Her 2006 appearance atÌýIdea City,Ìýwhen she told the story aboutÌýÌý(it began withÌýlack of accessibility to her favourite cinema)Ìýis evidence of this. It’s quintessential Barb. I shared more of our dark sense of humour in a 2018Ìý.

Now, on this anniversary of her passing, I’m still trying to figure out what do with the bullet. Because Barb gave it to me, I feel a responsibility to deal with it. But how? I’ve offered to donate it to the pc28¹ÙÍøPolice Museum but so far, no takers.Ìý

Perhaps someone who collects bizarre things will buy it? I can donate the money to spinal cord research and the messenger of evil can become a messenger of hope. Meanwhile, I’ll keep it in its capsule on my bookshelf.Ìý

Barb TurnbullÌýwas an extraordinary person whoÌýturned tragedy into a remarkable life that did so much for so many.Ìý

I definitely don’t need the bullet to remember Barb. To me she is unforgettable. But I do hope to find a home for it where others will be reminded of her legacy and remember her too.