Before cancer changed my life, I was a singer and musician for over 20 years. In late 2003, I recorded a song called Sail Away, written by Roland Majeau. I chose not to include it on an album but released it as a standalone “song card” with cover artwork by Louis Lavoie.
The song was a gift during a difficult time. In mid-2003, I experienced a recurrence of breast cancer that had metastasized to my bones—my third diagnosis in just four years. Soon after, I was told there were no further treatment options and to focus on comfort and getting my affairs in order. Time was not on my side.
But in early 2004, I was offered a place in a clinical study. That opportunity gave me the gift of time: time to watch my children grow and to become a grandmother to five beautiful grandchildren.
At my lowest, I weighed just 92 pounds. My son would gently lift me from bed while my daughter changed the sheets, then help me into warm pyjamas fresh from the dryer. Their compassion during that time was profound. Today, my daughter is an ICU nurse, giving of herself daily to patients, families, and colleagues. My son, a captain with Air Canada, is a devoted husband and father. I’m incredibly proud of both of them. While I wish they hadn’t had to care for me in that way, that time shaped who we are today.
Finding purpose through compassion
My first connection with Sorrentino’s Compassion House came in late 2004, when I was invited to sing Sail Away at the Fashion with Compassion gala. I had been selling song cards to raise funds for the Canadian Cancer Society and had raised over $15,000. After the performance, I was asked if the House could sell the CDs, and I gladly donated them.
On Monday, August 2, 2005, I was sitting with my daughter and told her I was finally feeling well enough to consider going back to work. I said I’d probably look for a government position in administration, then paused and added, “Wouldn’t it be amazing to work at a place like Compassion House? I think they really get it.” Just four hours later, my phone rang. It was Nancy, the House Manager at Sorrentino’s Compassion House.
I thought she might need more CDs, but instead, she asked, “Are you looking for a job?” I flagged my daughter to come listen in. Nancy invited me to interview for an administrative role later that week. I officially started working at the House a week later.
Nancy was only at the House for three more days before going on medical leave and never returned. Shortly after, I was offered the position of House Manager, which included responsibilities in administration, volunteer coordination, and data management. I held all three roles for several years, eventually handing off events and planning duties to focus solely on managing the House.
Now, 20 years later, I look back with immense gratitude. I am deeply thankful and blessed beyond words to be part of this extraordinary place.
Two decades of compassion and connection
I’ve had the privilege of working with remarkable staff and being a small part of so many guests’ journeys.
The first guest I checked in was Cynthia from Jasper, on August 9, 2005. She returned 48 times for treatment and passed away in 2018 with her partner, Mike, by her side. Cynthia was the 100th guest at Compassion House. From 2002 to August 2025, we’ve welcomed 2,315 new guests; 2,215 of whom I had the privilege of meeting. I’ve received word of 341 guests who have passed, some of whom I knew well through multiple stays.
Each guest has a story. Some had strong family support; others faced their journey alone. One earned her master’s degree from her hospital bed just days before passing. Another reconciled with her son after 16 years and returned to North Korea to rest in peace. One young woman stayed with us for seven months and passed away with no one by her side. Her aunt called me that morning.
Some guests became part of our legacy. One woman moved into the basement of the House to help others, hoping to become the live-in manager, but she passed away before she could. Staff still feel her presence in the House. Another former guest helped launch the Sisters of Compassion campaign for our expansion. Although she didn’t live to see the new House, she knew it would serve women like her.
I’ve also had the pleasure of giving hugs of reassurance to many guests who fight with everything they have. Neala, who was told there were no more treatments, continued to smile and hold hope. Tiffany, who said, “I hope I never see you again—I’m done with cancer,” left with a grin after I lifted my mask to show one last gesture of encouragement.
Over the years, countless guests have become donors, supporters, ambassadors—and perhaps most beautifully, our walking billboards. Many return to visit to share their stories with current guests and offer encouragement. They speak of this place as a sanctuary, a source of healing, and, for many, the reason they made it through.
What time has taught me
I often say that we, the staff, are simply facilitators. It’s the guests themselves who shape the spirit of this House. I don’t think even the founders could have imagined how deeply this home would evolve into a place of healing and connection.
When we expanded, there was concern the House might lose its intimate, comforting feel. But it hasn’t. If anything, the sense of community has grown stronger. Guests laugh, cry, and share with one another daily. Every time I walk through these doors, I’m reminded of how blessed I am to witness their journeys.
There’s a unique peace that settles over guests once they arrive: a sense of hope and belonging. They become part of a community, lifting each other up in ways that are both quiet and profound.
Looking ahead, the vision for what’s next is exciting. I can only hope to continue being part of this incredible journey. Time is something we all have—some to give, some to take. As I reflect on my 20 years at Sorrentino’s Compassion House, I’ve come to understand that time is, above all, a gift.
