When I think of my sister Gail, the first things that come to mind are her courage in the face of adversity and the love she carried through her life. MS was a life sentence that brought her modeling career to a halt in her prime, and yet she found new ways to hold on to grace, purpose, and dignity.
When I began working with neurofeedback, I told Gail about the results I was seeing. She trusted me and decided to make it part of her own life as well. Early on, she bought her own machine so she could have sessions regularly. Because her hands weren’t able to manage the sensor hookup, three kind neighbours stepped in – each taking one evening a week – to run her sessions. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 7 pm, Gail would set her electric wheelchair so she was semi-reclined, completely relaxed, ready to begin.
During my visits home to Winnipeg a few times a year, I had the privilege of hooking her up myself and giving her kind neighbours a week off. Those visits are among my most treasured memories – sitting beside her, watching her drift into that place of calm. On one trip, when she was in the hospital for an extended stay, I brought her machine in and ran sessions for her every day I was there.
I’ll never forget the look on her face during those sessions. There was almost a glow about her, as though she was at peace and transported to a place beyond her challenges. Even now, I can picture her – semi-reclined, eyes closed, a look of serenity softening her face. For Gail, those sessions weren’t just a routine. They were a lifeline, a reminder that peace was still possible in a body that so often betrayed her. As a long-time meditator, she knew what deep relaxation felt like, and she often described neurofeedback as her “oasis of peace.”
Gail herself often remarked on how much the sessions helped her feel more relaxed and at ease. Her occupational therapist also noticed unexpected improvements. Without hesitation, I can say that neurofeedback became an important part of her wellness routine, supporting her in ways that mattered deeply.
For seven years, three evenings a week, Gail chose that oasis of peace. It was her way of reclaiming something for herself, of saying that even in the hardest circumstances, she could still find rest and renewal.
I often think of her when I welcome a new client who is managing extreme physical challenges. Her courage, her resilience, and her ability to carve out moments of peace despite everything stacked against her continue to inspire me. Gail’s legacy is a reminder that brain training isn’t just about the brain. It’s about the human spirit, and the spaces of calm and strength we can create even in the hardest circumstances.
She kept up that rhythm faithfully until she passed. RIP Gail ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
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