Sharon Murphy: Mighty Spitfire

BY NICOLE BROOKS DE GIER

Dear Sharon, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write you and that we couldn’t have this conversation when you were still earthside. It was a humbling experience to get to know you through your former colleagues and friends – John O’Keefe, Debbie Reimer, Harold Beals, Susan Nasser, and Jovita MacPherson spoke about you with glowing affection. I can only wish that one day, just one person would speak with such kindness about me.

Many of your friends got to know you through the Nova Scotia College of Social Worker’s Social Justice Committee. Nasser, Reimer and Beals knew your voice years before they knew you in person.

“In the early days, we’d hook up the phone to a speaker, and all should to be heard around the table,” said Nasser. “That’s how I first met Sharon, as a voice over speakerphone.”

Ironically, Sharon, that’s also how I was introduced to your friends. Over speakerphone, they each detailed your specific meet-cute, the first time Sharon Murphy entered each of their lives and how it changed them all for the better. You met Reimer working on the social justice committee for what’s now called the Nova Scotia College of Social Workers.

“Sharon was tiny; I don’t think she was any taller than four feet-eight inches,” Reimer said affectionately. “But was a spitfire. She was incredible. She let you know exactly where you stood with her”

Reimer spoke about you with great emotion. At times during our conversation, she would fall silent, the weight of her grief heavy in the air. Debbie quietly swallowed her sadness, cleared her throat and shared stories of a tiny woman, decades ahead of her time, who never stopped. “She didn’t really care who you were. You could have been the prime minister or a councillor. She was the same. She advocated with everyone the same,” Reimer explained. “And Sharon was involved in so many things, and she really got behind what she believed. She didn’t just talk about it, but she walked and lived and felt it. She held by her morals. She stood behind what she said, what she believed and how she did her work.”

Sharon, with a picket sign, is ubiquitous. Often, as your friends shared, you were the first aware of an issue, and quick to share why it was unjust and how it must be rectified. Your mighty ferocity shocked the uninitiated.

“Her mightiness was just who she was, and she certainly always stood for social justice,” Reimer. “It was a passion of hers. She didn’t like anyone to be treated poorly, and it didn’t matter who they were. She fought a lot of fights. She advocated for a lot of change, and she made her voice heard.”

John O’Keefe quickly seconded Debbie Reimer’s recollection of your passion, calling you a “champion for the marginalized.”

“Sharon came across a lot of people who were marginalized, and she decided to dedicate her career to fighting for the little guy,” O’Keefe explained. “She thought everyone deserved a chance to live, and she wanted to work to make that possible for those who were at a disadvantage.”

In recalling his first introduction to you, O’Keefe chuckled as he referred to himself as your executive assistant and technical support. He did his best to troubleshoot Microsoft Office products for you in your independent living apartment at Northwood.

“I helped her with her computer when writing letters to the editor, or she would bring down documents she wrote to get my feedback,” he told me.

O’Keefe, a social worker at Northwood’s long-term care, misses having you as an ally and the spirited conversations you often shared in his office.

“Sharon always gravitated to people who were in the profession, and she sought me out as a confidante, and we ended up spending a lot of time together,” he said. “She would come in and talk and share her mind. She wanted to talk about issues of interest to her in the field. We became quite close friends.”

And despite the seriousness of the issues you fought for, and there were many – including a minimal annual income for all Canadians, reform and respect for the aged and elderly, and compassion for those who suffer – your spirit remained enchanting.

“Every single time we saw one another, we laughed. I can see [Sharon] in my mind’s eye, and I can hear her laugh. I love that memory. I think she had an amazing sense of humour,” Reimer reminisced fondly. “She had a way; we’d be sitting together, and she’d lean over and say something that would get me laughing. Sharon had a sparkle.” Jovita MacPherson, a nun with the Sisters of Saint Martha, met you at the Daily Bread drop-in program at Saint Mary’s Basilica, which provides support, fellowship, and food to Halifax’s under-housed.

“Sharon had a spirit that soared,” said MacPherson. “She had a sense of humour. She had a very keen mind, and…. we laughed readily. She had a self-confidence that would make you feel comfortable, and she laughed at herself.”

MacPherson shared that you were best friends. She as tall as you were tiny. Two women, as thick as thieves, in your shared pursuits of kindness, equity and wholehearted living. Together you sat and conspired to effect change over hot lattes and French pastries. She’d watch you charm waitstaff earnestly, with your genuine interest in their lives.

“Part of her charm was her demeanour and how she related to them. Everybody was important, ‘it was an honour to meet you, she’d say,” MacPherson recalled. “She had a presence that would affect everyone in the room.”

“Sharon was a person … keenly aware that judgement and compassion do not coexist. You are either one or the other. She was so self-accepting of who she was that she would accept everyone else. She would not settle just to make a difference in the world; she wanted to make a different world.”

For this to be our first introduction, Sharon, fills my heart with tremendous sorrow because we indeed existed around one another in the streets of downtown Halifax or the hallways of Northwood. And still, I am forever changed by the brief time I’ve spent in getting to know you and the people who loved – and love you.

For many, it’s with ego that they strive to leave a small mark of individuality on the world – seeking to become part of the codified lore that passes through the generations. However, your legacy is in the spaces you created, the dignity you provided, and the permission you insisted be granted to others to ensure they can all live their lives fully.

As Sister MacPherson told me, “Sharon was a character, and she had such character. She wanted people not to just survive because she knew we were meant to thrive. Life is thriving.” MacPherson continued, “She was a presence that changed things, and that called for change. She’s an amazing woman, and she reached many people. It wasn’t just what she did; it was who she was. She invited people to be who they were, no matter what that was. ‘You are OK,’ she told them, ‘You don’t have to change. You are enough; just because you are a human being you are glorious.’”

Your friend, John O’Keefe, says that it was a privilege to know you. Debbie Reimer said, “The world is a far sadder place without [you] in it.” And Sister MacPherson added, “I loved [you] dearly. [You’re] an amazing woman, and [you] reached many people.”

“I can see her with a picket sign and latte,” said MacPherson. “Welcoming, laughing, waving, full of life and life-giving.”

Sharon, while I didn’t get the opportunity to sit at your feet and learn from your stories, nor design matching protest placards side-by-side at your kitchen table, nor witness you deftly pressure a Prime Minister for much needed social change; I consider myself one of the hundreds – or thousands – who can live unabashedly because of your tireless work.

May your latte be forever hot, your pastry forever fresh, and your sparkle shine indefinitely.

Sharon Murphy died on February 28, 2021, in Halifax, Nova Scotia. She was 74. A social worker, by profession and embodiment, she dedicated her life to validating the human experience of all individuals, fighting for all to live freely with worthiness and esteem.

NICOLE BROOKS DE GIER is a communications consultant, business owner, and freelance writer living in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. She’s also the very proud mother of Audrey and Cameron. Nicole has provided strategic communications and public relations advice to several governments, government agencies, and businesses for the past 12 years. Nicole is a feminist and a member of the African Nova Scotian community. Her website is EmptyScribblerPR.com.

Sharon Murphy at a Bill 1 protest in 2014

Photo contributed by NSGEU