An open letter about showing up

Inevitable Accident has been getting together with friends around this time of year for a long time.

Our December nights have always felt less like concerts in the traditional sense and more like somebody’s basement rec room party got well out of hand. A room full of friends, a band playing songs everybody knows, people wandering onto the Guest Mic, and a lot of laughter along the way.

That is still very much the plan for December 11.

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But this year, the reason for gathering means something different to us.

In March, our family was suddenly introduced to a world we never expected when our 23-year-old daughter was diagnosed with a brain tumour.

That world grew larger than the diagnosis itself. There were neurosurgeons, oncologists, radiologists, nurses, technicians, appointments, scans, equipment and an entirely new vocabulary to learn, start using cancer as an adjective and not as my zodiac sign. We met remarkable individuals whose skill and compassion became part of our family’s story.

The Brain Tumour Foundation of Canada tells us that every day, 27 Canadians are diagnosed with a brain tumour. Eight of them will learn that they have brain cancer.

27 may seem a relatively small number. Until somebody you love is one of them.

Then that number has a face. It has parents and siblings and grandparents. It has friends. It has plans for the future. It has people sitting in waiting rooms, making meals, sending texts, driving to appointments, asking questions and trying to come alongside whatever comes next.

Every one of those 27 people has a circle around them.

This gig is not about our daughter or the details of her particular journey. That is her story to tell. It is about what our family has experienced since she became 1 in 27.

A diagnosis does not belong to one person alone. Its effects move outward through the people who love them. It disrupts ordinary life and creates needs you did not know you were going to have.

And then people begin to show up.

The guys in Inevitable Accident have been part of that for Laura and me. They have checked in, brought meals, listened, helped and simply remained present. So have many other friends and family around us. Alongside them have been extraordinary medical professionals and others whose knowledge and compassion help families navigate a world they never expected to enter.

None of that removes what a family is facing. But it changes how you carry it.

That has probably been one of the biggest lessons for us this year: people showing up matters.

Sometimes that means extraordinary medical professionals bringing skill and compassion into a frightening situation. Sometimes it means friends checking in, bringing meals, listening, helping, or simply staying close. Sometimes it means an organization like the Brain Tumour Foundation of Canada helping people and families find support, information and a way forward when they suddenly enter this unfamiliar world.

That is the spirit we want to carry into December 11.

A room full of people showing up.

Not because the room needs to feel heavy. Quite the opposite.

There will be loud guitars, songs you forgot you loved, the Guest Mic, and this year a collection from the Land of the Misfit Toys finding their way onto the stage.

We want Revival to feel less like a venue and more like our favourite rec room for the night.

The difference this year is that filling the room also has a purpose.

Proceeds from the evening, after the direct costs of putting on the party, will support the Brain Tumour Foundation of Canada and its work with people and families who suddenly find themselves navigating this unfamiliar world.

Friday, December 11, 2026 at 8:00 p.m.
Revival Event Venue, Toronto
Can Be there in person? Be there in spirit! Donate now.

G. Lawson, with tons of support from Chris, David, Joe and Ryan.