Honoring the 215 children

I wrote this post a few weeks ago, before the passing of our sweet Belle, and just hadn't published it on my blog yet. Belle was so present and so loving every time that I had been sad or crying over the past 15+ months... she would just come and sit on my shoulder, sometimes nuzzle into my neck, and often drink up the tears that were running down my face. It was the sweetest act of love from a bird.

She was there, sitting on my shoulder, while I was crying over the discovery of the mass grave. She had been so quiet and so still that I hadn't even realized that she was there until afterwards. I only realized after she was gone how much loving Belle had affected other areas of my life and taught me so much about loving others. I think that Belle would still want me to honor the memory of those children by publishing this post. 💞

*****

The discovery in May of a mass, unmarked and forgotten grave at the former site of the Kamloops Residential School in BC that contained the remains of 215 Indigenous children shook the nation, and so it should have. 215 innocent children who were taken forcefully from their parents and who never returned home. 215 sets of parents who never knew what had happened to their children.

Since I heard the horrific news, I have been really struggling to process it. The residential school system was not a means to educate the Indigenous, it was a government- and church-sanctioned effort to essentially "beat the Indian out of the child". It was cultural genocide. We cannot even say that it is part of Canada's history because, here we are, 25 years after the closing of the last residential school in Saskatchewan, still dealing with the traumatic effect of those "schools".

As I have been reading articles on the discovery of the mass grave and on the residential school system, the reality that the last residential school closed in my generation finally hit me. I graduated from high school in 1994. The last residential school closed in 1996. That means that the oldest of those who had been in that particular school would now be about my age and that the youngest would now be in their late 20's or early 30's, probably about the age of my youngest brother who was born in 1991. I don't even know how to process that realization... the residential schools were and are a dark, troubling and disturbing part of my generation, not just those of my parents or grandparents or great grandparents.

A couple of years ago, through work, I took a series of online training courses on Indigenous Awareness and Indigenous Cultural Safety. Through those courses, I finally learned about the history of the Indigenous people in Canada, including the residential school system, and their current lived realities... important parts of the Canadian story that I had never been taught by our education system. The courses also opened my eyes to the stereotypes, biases and prejudices that I had applied to Indigenous people my entire life out of a complete lack of knowledge and understanding. If I'm honest, it was shocking and disturbing to complete those courses, but I needed to be shocked and disturbed so that the blinders could be taken off of my eyes and so that I could finally see clearly.

As a non-Indigenous person whose ancestors are from Europe, i.e., the ones who took the land from the Indigenous and tried to assimilate them, what do I do now? I have been considering a lot how I can now honor and remember the 215 children whose lives were stolen from them, as well as all those who survived the residential schools but are still dealing with the traumatic impact of their experiences, and be an active participant in the reconciliation that we have been called to walk through together as a nation.

In the fall of 2020, through the College in Ontario that I am attending online through Distance Education, I had the opportunity to participate virtually in Orange Shirt Day as well as a beading workshop. Over the past five months, I have had the opportunity to participate in a number of virtual group discussions with Indigenous authors and other people from the College, both staff and students. Through one of my courses, I was able to get to know and participate in a group project with a classmate who is First Nations. Some of the people I've met have become my friends and we've kept in touch. One of these individuals told me afterwards that she had cried and held her two children so tightly after she had heard the news about the discovery of the grave.

Reading about the discovery of the mass grave shook me to the very core of my being. I have probably felt a very minuscule amount of the pain that was felt by the Indigenous community and yet it has been overwhelming. I responded in ways that I could think of at the time, and yet it seemed so inadequate. I changed my profile photo to include the Every Child Matters logo. I wore an orange shirt on May 31 (and most of the week, actually). I started reading the copy of the book "In My Own Moccasins: A Memoir of Resilience" by Helen Knott that I received a few months ago.

On June 3, the College held a virtual sharing circle for staff and students to collectively grieve and to process their emotions. I participated in the sharing circle and, because it was a safe place to be real, felt compelled to share my thoughts with the group. I surprised myself with the tears that I cried and the emotions, thoughts and feelings that I finally let out. I am now slowly learning how to process what I am feeling and to begin to express the depths of it.

One of the articles that I read recently talked about learning whose land you live on, so I looked it up. We live in Montreal (Tiohti:áke) on the traditional territory of the Kanien’kehá:ka (Mohawk) people. Montreal was also a diplomatic meeting place with other Iroquoians and Algonquians including Algonquin-Anishinaabe, Atikamekw, and Huron-Wendat. (Segal Centre for Performing Arts) But simply knowing on whose land I live is not enough... I know that I need to actually do something about it.

On the website of the Canadian Museum for Human Rights, I found this list of actions that non-Indigenous people can take to participate in reconciliation, either as individuals or as organizations. The list is under "Reflection and resources", following the listing of the Indigenous films. Other than doing what I have already done and writing this blog post, I have found two concrete and constructive actions that I can take in the near future as an individual. 

First, the Canadian Museum for Human Rights' website references the website of Circles for Reconciliation, which is an organization that has a mission to "establish trusting, meaningful relationships between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples as part of the 94 Calls to Action from the Truth and Reconciliation Commission". The organization aims to fulfill its mission by facilitating discussion circles, which are small gatherings of an equal number of Indigenous and non-Indigenous people, that are free of charge and open to anyone who is interested in participating. I've signed up to participate in the next virtual or in-person discussion circle that is available.

Second, on the land acknowledgement page of the Segal Centre's website, I saw a link for Native Montreal, which is an organization with the mission "to contribute to the holistic health, cultural strength and success of Indigenous families, individuals, and community living in the greater Montreal area". There are opportunities for non-Indigenous people to volunteer with the organization, so I signed up for the next information session. I don't know how or when it will take place because of the pandemic, but hopefully it will be soon.

I am studying to work in Human Resources (HR) and, even before the shocking discovery of the mass grave, I had become deeply interested in the human rights aspects of HR, including equity, diversity and inclusion, and in increasing the representation of minority groups, including Indigenous people, in the workplace. I don't know what that will look like in the years to come, but I do know that it is time for me to actively participate in reconciliation.

The loaf of bread

Hal and I decided that it would be fun to make a calendar for 2021 using some of our favorite photos that we took in 2020, as a way to go through this coming year remembering the many blessings of a very challenging one. I took on that project and have had lots of fun in the past week going through all the photos that I took in 2020 and finding the best ones for the calendar. One of the photos that I came across this week was this one... a photo of a loaf of bread. It reminded me of the story that goes along with it and that I had meant to write a blog post about it two months ago, a plan which got sidetracked by all that school work. I decided that it would be a good way to look back on 2020 and to start 2021 because thinking about the story reminds me that hope goes far beyond what we can see before us with our own eyes.. Here's the story of that loaf of bread...

Hal came home from work one evening in early November with this loaf of bread in his hand. He works in a pharmacy and I'm not even sure that they sell frozen bread in the grocery section, so I was really surprised to see that he had come home with a loaf of fresh bread. It wasn't an expensive loaf of bread from a fancy bakery... it was just a simple loaf of white bread from a grocery store bakery. It was the story behind the bread that was so valuable and which brought tears to many eyes that evening, including mine.

A few weeks earlier, Hal had been at work and was doing something at the front of the store near the cash area when he noticed a woman standing at the cash counter who was upset and starting to cry, while a line started to form behind her of other customers waiting to pay. Hal asked the cashier what was going on and was told that the woman didn't have enough money to pay for everything and was trying to decide what to put back, which was a tough decision for her because they were all essential items. Hal asked the cashier what she had decided not to buy, looked at the woman and told her that he would take care of it, then told the cashier to put those items aside so that he could pay for them once the woman had bought what she could afford. And that's what he did... after the woman had paid for all of the other items, Hal bought the remaining ones for her. The woman was so grateful and, with tears in her eyes, thanked him and told him that she wouldn't forget what he had done for her. Hal told her not to worry about it and to instead pay it forward to someone else who needed some help in the future.

Well, that woman really didn't forget about what Hal had done. That day in early November, she came back to the store and asked to speak to the manager. The manager was called to the front of the store and responded to the call along with the assistant manager. The woman told them what Hal had done for her weeks ago and said that she had come back to thank him for his kindness and generosity. Hal was then called to the front of the store to meet the woman and to receive her thanks, along with a simple loaf of white bread from a grocery store bakery that she had bought for him. It's value and meaning were so much greater than an expensive loaf of bread from a fancy bakery.

The story brought pride to the heart of the store manager and tears to the eyes of the assistant manager. When Hal came home with the loaf of bread and told me the story, it then brought pride to my heart and tears to my eyes too.

2020 was such a difficult year for so many people, but one thing that struck me again and again throughout the year is the incredible kindness and generosity that brought people together to help those who were in need. I read and heard so many such stories throughout the year that touched me deeply and brought tears to my eyes again and again as I was overwhelmed by the lengths to which people would go to help total strangers. 2021 will certainly brings its share of individual and global challenges, especially since the pandemic is still far from being over, and I hope that we walk through 2021 with increasing degrees of compassion and care for each other, even total strangers.

A gentle reminder to myself on the eve of round two

The second wave of COVID-19 is hitting Quebec hard and the government has ordered Montreal and the surrounding areas, as well as two other regions in the province, back into measures of confinement for at least the next 28 days.

It has literally taken my breath away to hear about the businesses that must close their doors again, that restaurants can once again only be open for take out or delivery orders, that indoors or outdoors social contact with anyone who doesn't live at the same address is banned and subject to hefty fines, and that travel outside of the region for non-essential reasons is restricted and also subject to fines.

I went for a walk this afternoon and, as I put on my headphones and started walking, had to remind myself to breathe. It was then that I realized that I felt an intense heaviness on my chest that felt like it was crushing and suffocating me. I thought of this post that I had come across on Facebook in the summer and reminded myself that the fatigue, irritation and sadness of the last couple of days is grief for the imminent losses that will come with the restrictions that take effect tonight at midnight.

So, I remind myself to breathe, to take a deep breathe, and then another one, and to just keep breathing.

I remind myself to have extra doses of grace for myself and Hal, and everyone else I will come in contact with, as we all adjust to and cope with another period of confinement.

I remind myself to listen to my body and to give it what it needs when it needs it.

I remind myself that it's okay to cry and to let out the grief and frustration.

I remind myself that it's okay to not be okay.

I remind myself that, while this may seem like reliving a horrible nightmare, we got through it once before and can get through it again.

I remind myself that we are going into round two with the strength, resilience and knowledge that we developed while living through round one.

I remind myself to laugh, to smile, to find joy in every day, to be thankful, and to never give up hope.

I remind myself of one of Hal's favorite sayings, that "while we do not know what the future holds, we do know the One who holds the future."

I remind myself that, "Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end." (The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, 2011 movie)

Dishes in the dark at twelve o'clock

I've discovered recently that I really enjoy doing dishes in the evening after we've put Belle to bed and the apartment is quiet. I turn off the main light in the kitchen and turn on the light in the range hood above the stove. It's almost like doing dishes in candlelight and it's actually really peaceful. I wash and rinse the dishes and then clean up the rest of the kitchen while letting my mind wander and reflect. I never really liked doing the dishes, but now it's become an almost meditative moment in my day.

Hal walked into the kitchen one evening while I was doing the dishes and asked me why I was doing dishes in the dark at midnight. I don't always do the dishes quite that late in the evening, but that just happened to be when I got to them that particular evening. I laughed and explained, and then Hal said it could be the title of my next blog post... "dishes in the dark at twelve o'clock". As I continued washing the dishes and thought about it I realized that could work, so here I am sitting on our balcony while Hal is at work, enjoying the sun and a gin & tonic, and writing this blog post.

I started thinking about where my mind goes in all that wandering and reflecting while I am doing the dishes and I realized that there is often a recurring theme.

Even before the pandemic began, Hal and I had begun talking about the type of life we wanted to live in the future. The job that I had for the past eight years, and which ended on January 31, had always been an extremely busy, demanding and stressful job, but that increased even more in the last year and a half, since the Fall of 2018. I often worked long hours and came home late, or worked from home in the evenings. The concept of work-life balance was something that was often simply given lip service, but I'm not sure that anyone was actually able to maintain it.

I was really thankful that my contract was coming to an end and I was looking forward to taking a break to rest and relax and recharge, and also to take some time to think about the future and what I wanted to do next. I definitely wasn't expecting a pandemic to hit our entire world and for quarantine, lockdown, social distancing, hand sanitizer and face masks (and everything else we are living through) to become the new norms and vocabulary for this period of our lives. Nor was I anticipating the intense struggles with insomnia and anxiety that would try to take over my life (and Hal's, for that matter, since my struggles ended up affecting him as well).

By the way, I'm doing much better these days in terms of the anxiety. Writing the blog post about the difference between Monday and Tuesday was cathartic and a source of freedom for me. I was really scared to post what I had written and to admit my struggles to whoever happened to read it, but writing and posting it was the best thing that I could have done. In verbalizing my struggles and making them public, I took power away from them. Instead of having an anxiety attack the next Tuesday, or any of the following Tuesdays since then, I was able to give myself grace, to take one moment at a time throughout the day and not get overwhelmed by what the entire week would hold, to stop and take deep breaths when I needed to, and to see it all in a different perspective. I still have insomnia, but recently bought a YnM weighted blanket, "the blanket that feels like a hug" (that's their advertising slogan and it is true... it does feel like a comforting full-body hug). I just started using it on Tuesday, so I'm still getting used to it, but it does seem to be having a positive impact on my quality of sleep.

Anyways, even before the pandemic and in light of the sheer craziness of our lives for the past year and a half, Hal and I were already having conversations about the future and what type of life we wanted to live, what we wanted to place value on, how and with whom we wanted to spend our time, etc. I was recovering from the intense fatigue that had resulted from my job and we were trying to take care of some things that had been on the back burner for far too long.

Then the pandemic was declared. I remember that day so clearly. We were on our way out the door very early that morning to go to a medical appointment for Hal. I grabbed the paper from the floor outside our door, looked at the headlines, and felt this horrible heaviness come over me. The WHO had actually declared the pandemic the day before, but we hadn't heard the news yet. The clinic where Hal had his appointment is in a hospital, so we were greeted at the door by volunteers instructing us to take hand sanitizer. There was hand sanitizer literally everywhere (even more than in the past). Some people were already wearing masks. The lines were long and the waiting rooms were crammed full of people with their eyes glued to the televisions that were continuously spewing news on the progress and impact of the virus to date around the world.

I so clearly remember the heaviness that I felt when I looked at the headlines on that newspaper, but I had no clue what was coming, what the months ahead would look like for our city, province, country, continent and world, and that my plans for those months would be abruptly and drastically changed.

The Tuesday that I had the anxiety attack about the laundry was also the day that Hal and I started having even more conversations and asking ourselves even more questions about the future. I can't remember exactly what Hal said to me after he prayed for me while we were sitting on the bed, but it was something related to considering even more carefully our decisions for the future and making sure that we take care of each other along the journey.

So, where are our priorities going to be post-pandemic? I think about a lot of things while I am doing the dishes, but I keep coming back to that question and those reflections. As a friend of mine put into words so well in a recent conversation, the pandemic has brought on moments of introspection and internal dialogue for so many people.

We haven't really made any life-changing decisions yet (although the new Bissell vacuum that we recently bought is so amazing that Hal told me the other day that he actually enjoys vacuuming now 😂 ), but our values are slowly changing, in good and healthy directions. Who knows, those life-changing decisions may be just around the corner, a couple of blocks away, or miles ahead down the road of life. In the meantime, the pandemic is turning out to be a catalyst for reflection and change in our lives.

The beauty of hope

Facebook so kindly reminded me on the Saturday of Easter weekend (April 11, 2020) of my Facebook post from ten years earlier (April 11, 2010). I don't remember what was the significance of that day in 2010 or the reason behind the post, but it was quite significant to me that it came up on the Saturday of Easter weekend during the COVID-19 pandemic. Here's the post from 2010...

The Saturday of Easter weekend is known as Silent Saturday, the day in between the crucifixion on Friday and the resurrection on Sunday. On that first Easter weekend, no one knew or believed what was coming on Sunday, so Saturday was a day of silence and grief. We do already know what happened on that Sunday, so the Saturday in between is still a day of silence but also one of hope.

Hope... to trust in, wait for, look for, or desire something or someone; to expect something beneficial in the future... something that we all so desperately need as we live through the crisis of a pandemic.

I've been asking myself what hope looks like to me in the midst of all that we are living through right now. This could change tomorrow or next week, but here is what hope looks like to me right now.

On the one hand, it is reminding myself that:

• this crisis is not a surprise to God and He is not frantically trying to figure out a way to get us out of it now;
• God can and will take what the enemy intended for evil in this crisis and use it for good;
• God is already victorious and He is with me, which is greater than my fear or anxiety;
• this crisis will not last forever, it will end, and we will get through it;
• although the future is not going to look like the past, it doesn't mean that the future is going to be bad... we will come out of this stronger as individuals and as societies, and various aspects of our future lifestyles may just be a bit more healthy than in the past;
• on this particular day, I don't have to get through every future day of the entire crisis... I only need to focus on today and do what works for me to get through today;
• there is still much to be thankful for during this time... we're adding to our thankful board every day and it has really become a blessing to take a moment every day for each of us to add our reason for gratitude to it); and
• I have outlets when I'm having a tough day... I can go for a speed walk/jog in our neighborhood to raise my heart rate and burn off some of my frustration, I can call a friend or family member to talk, I can watch something online that will either lift my spirits or make me laugh out loud (like this, for example, among many others -- this is so funny!).

On the other hand, it is also sharing hope and kindness and grace with the people around me by:

• helping an elderly neighbor with their grocery shopping or their laundry or the document that they need to print (but don't have a printer) so that they don't need to worry about that one piece of their day anymore;
• smiling at (with my eyes, I guess, since my mouth is now hidden by a face mask) and talking to the stranger who helps me at the store or who I meet (from two meters away, of course) while trying to figure out the new process for buying ice cream at Baskin Robbins, because those people are just as much in this crisis and in need of kindness as I am;
• not expecting anything of my exhausted husband on his days off and letting him just sleep and rest so that he has the energy for another tiring and stressful week to come; and
• talking, texting, Facetiming (is that a verb) or praying with a friend so that she knows that she is not alone in her current reality and its struggles.

The past few weeks have shown me that hope also comes from:

• connecting with our church family on a weekly basis through the online church services and Zoom meetings;
• planning with Hal a great vacation that we could take this year without leaving Quebec;
• the kindness of our neighbour who makes tweeks to the face masks that she is sewing and shares new samples with us every couple of weeks;
• being able to have a telephone appointment with a caring doctor who was able to help me with my battle against insomnia and then having a prescription filled only hours later; and
• sharing relaxing and restful moments with my husband on his days off.

... and I'm sure that I could find so many other reasons for hope if I kept thinking about it.

Hal told me an amazing story of something inspiring and encouraging that happened at his work recently. There was a mistake in the pay cheque of one of Hal's co-workers (let's call him Steve... that's not his real name) and Steve was somehow not paid for an entire day of work... eight hours. Steve needed the money to pay his rent, but the mistake would not be corrected until the next pay period, which was two weeks away, and his rent was due soon. So, do you know what the store manager did when he learned of Steve's predicament? He walked across the street to the bank, withdrew some money, went back to the store and asked Steve if it would help him out until he received his next pay cheque. Seriously unbelievable! The store manager took money out of his own pocket and lent it to Steve, so that Steve could pay his rent. In that moment, hope for Steve was the kindness and generosity of his manager.

I found this definition of hope in a blog post by Dr. Judith Rich:

"For anyone who's ever felt like all was lost and the situation was hopeless, life feels pretty bleak. In a state of hopelessness, there is no light at the end of the tunnel. It is a dark, dense energy that sucks the life out of anyone who's ever been there. It is the energy of depression and despair. ... For the hopeless, hope is a match in a dark tunnel, a moment of light, just enough to reveal the path ahead and ultimately the way out. Hope is a flashbulb that lights up a room, revealing everything in it, and then the room goes black again, leaving an imprint in our memory of the hidden landscape. Hope gives a glimpse of possibility not seen in the darkness. ..."

Sometimes that glimpse of possibility lasts only a moment and sometimes it lasts longer, but the end result is the same either way. The much needed beauty of hope.

In the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic and everything that those two words represent to you, what does hope look like for you right now?

He is still risen!

Easter 2020... the Easter weekend when the world was on lockdown and pretty much everything else was stripped away, except for the fact that Jesus died on a cross on Friday and rose again on Sunday.

In the middle of the current atmosphere in our world of fear, uncertainty, anxiety and death, there is still hope, peace, joy and life because He is still risen, He has still already conquered, and He is still victorious!

On this Easter Sunday like no other, there is still so much for which to be so thankful. May His kingdom fill the earth today and may we all have a very special and blessed Easter!

Image via Lydie Rachel Zadi's Facebook post

Rainbows of hope

Hal said to me one day last week that he wanted to make a rainbow of hope to put in our window. I didn't know how we would do that until we were shopping in Dollarama for a few things and, walking down the office supply aisle, I saw the construction paper. We bought a package of the paper and some glue stick and I sat down to put some of my free time to a creative use.

Here are our contributions to the rainbow of hope movement... one on our apartment door and one on the window of our balcony door. The one on the window is double-sided, so that it can be seen from both inside and outside.

Ça va bien aller ... It's going to be okay. 💛