Melbourne’s lengthy lockdowns scuppered a return to the stage for some time, and then, earlier this year, her father became seriously ill, and her mental health declined. She pays tribute to Support Act, an organisation that delivers crisis relief services to musicians, for helping her get the help she needed.

Just as the show was about to open at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival in April, her father died. An already emotionally charged run of shows became even more poignant, as family who were in town for the funeral, including some who had never seen Quinn perform, came to watch.

‘It was one of the most insane experiences of my life, but it was also incredibly precious.’

Geraldine Quinn

“It was one of the most insane experiences of my life, but it was also incredibly precious,” Quinn says.

“It was the best and worst show to do at that time. Imagine if I was doing some silly subject matter; it would seem so trivial in comparison to trauma. It gave me a little time capsule to get my brother back for an hour and a thing to focus on. It didn’t feel like I had to push all of that stuff with Dad to one side.”

Now, with more water under the bridge, and Quinn looking ahead to her Sydney run, she’s proud of the show’s optimistic core, how it suggests we can find our way through seemingly insurmountable grief and still find a way to celebrate the past.

“That first director was right; I needed to find myself a little bit further down the path of that grief than when I first had the idea. That allowed me to write from a better place, to be vulnerable, but also to be a bridge.”

After a stretch in her career where she no longer enjoyed writing shows, Quinn has found embracing levity, even in the shadows of sadness, is vital.

“There’s no shame in crying, feeling wounded or hurt, because you carry that with you all the time. But I so wanted to have fun on stage, and I feel like I achieved that.”

The Passion of Saint Nicholas, Hayes Theatre, October 4 to 6.