A Heartbreaking Week

I can't recall the last time I wrote a political entry on this blog, if ever. I'm usually fixated on music, travel, and literary matters, but the events of the last few days have hit me hard and left me struggling to make sense of what is essentially senseless. On Wednesday in Ottawa, an unarmed reservist died while protecting the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at the Cenotaph, a post only made necessary because vandals urinated on the hallowed monument a few years back. His killer then continued his rampage through the Centre Block of Parliament Hill, thankfully gunned down before he could claim more victims. Two days before in Montreal, a 'radicalized' young man from Québec had driven into two members of the military to cause them harm; one of the pair, Warrant Officer Patrice Vincent, died from his injuries.  In the last 48 hours, the country has been united in grief at the loss of Cpl. Nathan Cirillo: photos of him and of his dogs, and news that he had a young son caused an eruption of sadness across Canada. The bullet holes embedded in the corridor walls of the Hall of Honour were shocking, and video footage of our MPs hiding in their caucus chambers with desks and chairs stacked against the doors for protection only added to our impression that this had been a brutal, horrific day.

The Hall of Honour, Centre Block, on Parliament Hill in Ottawa.

When the lockdowns had ended and the ministerial speeches had been made, the question that seemed to linger in the media was this: had Canada been irrevocably changed? No.  What happened on Wednesday was devastating, but I don't believe the essence of what it means to be Canadian has been altered.

We are a strong country, and our resolve has not weakened. Even as members of the armed forces were advised to remove their uniforms to keep themselves safe from targeted attacks, others dismissed the idea as giving in to fear and terror, and still others volunteered to don uniforms so that we could all collectively give terrorists the metaphoric middle finger. Today, in a building riddled with bullet holes and shattered glass windows, our parliamentarians returned to work and the Cenotaph was reopened to the public, many of whom came in large numbers to pay their respects to Nathan Cirillo with flowers and other tributes. This is not a country that will allow itself to be frightened into submission. Under our mild exterior, we are fiercely defiant.

Carnations for a fallen soldier.


We are a modest, almost self-effacing nation; it is not our style to be alarmist and rash, and we tend to buckle down and do what's necessary without fanfare in times of duress. All these qualities were evident not only in the televised scenes we witnessed but also by the nature of the reporting of the major media outlets. The CBC (and news anchor Peter Mansbridge in particular) refused to speculate and share information they couldn't confirm, and so were repeatedly scooped by other networks, especially those in America. It was a tweet about the calm, measured response of our national radio broadcasters that alerted me that something was happening in our capital city, and by the time the night was over, I was in awe of the restraint and professionalism shown by our CBC journalists. You can find a media comparison between US and Canadian media here.




Finally and most importantly, we are a kind and compassionate people. When tragedy strikes, we tend to unite to give each other strength. There were hugs between the leaders of our three federal political parties today as Parliament reopened, and a standing ovation that lasted more than two minutes for Kevin Vickers, the House of Commons' Sergeant-at-Arms who bravely came out of his office on Wednesday and emptied his handgun clip into the killer to end the siege. Today, when Cpl. Cirillo's casket was taken from Ottawa to his hometown of Hamilton, mourners lined the road and the stretch of the TransCanada Highway known as the Highway of Heroes in the thousands to pay their respects for his sacrifice. Barbara Winters, a lawyer who found herself at the scene of his murder, epitomizes the gentle nature of so many ordinary Canadians: as Cpl. Cirillo lay dying and the emergency workers desperately tried to save him, she held his hand and softly repeated soothing words to him, telling him how proud and loved he was by his military brethren and his family. To hear her retell her experience in a television interview tonight, crying as she recalled her final moments with the young man, I was moved by her empathy and kindness, but not surprised in the least: unable to offer medical assistance, she contributed what she could, and gave him the gift of shared humanity, making sure that he was surrounded with love and appreciation in his final moments on Earth. It is at once a beautiful and heart-wrenching story.

Paying tribute to Cpl. Nathan Cirillo on the Highway of Heroes this afternoon.


What bears remembering is that this was not Canada's first experience with homegrown terrorism. I am just old enough to remember the FLQ (Front de Libération du Québec) crisis of October 1970, when the kidnapping of a British diplomat and  the murder of a provincial minister resulted in the imposition of martial law. Our country also saw many of its citizens murdered during the deliberate bombing of Air India Flight 182 off the coast of Ireland in 1985, and those responsible were found in our own backyard then as well. In both these cases, we responded with a stubborn refusal to recoil in fear and fought back by remaining true to our values.  I firmly believe that despite our current heartbreak and shock, we will once again respond with strength and love. In a few weeks, on  Remembrance Day, we will honour those who gave the ultimate sacrifice to serve and protect our country.  I suspect that the ceremonies will have an added significance because of the events of this week, and that there will be a heartfelt outpouring of support and admiration for the members of our military from a grateful nation.

Random Musings

It's report card season again but as is the norm for me when my deadline is still a week away, I'd much rather put things off and do writing of the more creative kind.

I've been back at school now for seven weeks, and seem to have found my groove finally. September was a slog, despite enjoying the new surroundings and the people (both big and small) that I am in close contact with. It dawned on me in mid-September that I was missing my butterfly days of August in Scotland,  gallivanting across the country and fluttering from one lovely meet-up to another, and that I needed to balance out the hard work of my job with the semblance of a social life to avoid sinking into another round of misery.

So far, so good, a month later. I've seen a couple of good concerts and managed dinners and drinks with close friends that I just don't see enough of. I'm resigned to the fact that we will likely not see each other again until the spring, in a few cases, and that's okay (see #2 below). As ever, as it is when friends and alcohol collide, such evenings leave me pensive. It's a mix of getting older and hearing different perspectives, I suppose, and I don't mind one bit that filling in some gaps about situations and people I care about often leads to reflection and eventually changes some of my thinking. It's certainly been the case the last two weeks, and I feel all the better for it.



In no particular order, here's what I've gleaned from being out and about:

1. I've realized that I miss my former colleagues and that if I don't make a concerted effort to see them, it will not happen. I don't want that.

2. I've been impatient and unreasonable with people I care about too often this year. Part of it was hormonal and an effect of my situational depression, but I'm ready to be better about this. I am grateful that those friendships endure and that I have the opportunity to fix past mistakes and errors in judgement.

3. Most of us are doing the best we can in the situations we are in, and it's essential to believe that about the people we care about, including ourselves. Sometimes, you need to receive certain information to realize that your mind is often your worst enemy and that you give it far too much power to imagine the worst in others when the best would likely be a truer representation of reality.

4. I've found, in this sharing of stories, that we seem to find it much easier to tell others how we feel than to let people know directly. Is it fear and insecurity that makes us dread or avoid telling someone how much we love them or have affection for them? I'm not sure, but it hit me this week how detrimental this reticence can be to our happiness. Go ahead, tell people you like them, and tell them often. It will make them smile and feel loved, and it will reflect back to you. Kindness is contagious, so pass it on.

5. Lest I get accused of being sappy or soppy, there is always room for criticism.  My emotional collapse earlier this year did me in physically, and I need to shed pounds and the past. It's time to hit the ground running, literally. Well, maybe not running because I hate running. Walking fast. With a big dog in front of me. Eyes forward, onward and upward.

Giving Thanks

Unlike our American neighbours, we here in Canada celebrate Thanksgiving early on in October; our harvest time is earlier and we desperately want to pack in the fun before it snows and we get cabin-bound until April. The last bit is an exaggeration, but just barely some years. This year, for the first time in ages, there will be no family feast this long weekend; no one has fallen out but we've postponed getting together for a week due to a family birthday and my oldest brother being out of town. It's a strange turn of events, but as a vegetarian, I'm not lamenting the loss of smelling a cooked turkey (it's vile, to be frank!) and as an overwhelmed teacher, I'm grateful for the added time to catch up on piles of papers I need to grade.

Gratitude. It's one of those words that gets bandied about so much these days that I'm loathe to use it, but this year, I feel especially thankful. I'm here, I'm in one piece, and I am fairly settled and working my way back to feeling content with life. Everything isn't perfectly in place, mind you, but that's okay too: those pounds I put on over the last six months being too miserable at work and stressed beyond belief to exercise and eat reasonably are starting to come off as I recapture my fitness routine and my energy, and the demands of my new job are beginning to wane as I get used to it and find a system I can manage.

What exactly am I thankful for, in a year that was largely defined by the evaporation of two close female friendships and a deteriorating work situation? First, there is my husband, who is undoubtedly the kindest person I have ever known and the main reason I didn't give up on myself. When I felt I had nothing left to hold onto, he was there, hanging on with me and giving me sound advice and hope. Just leave, he said. When something stops working, you need to leave it behind. He was wise, calm, and gently supportive of all my decisions but more importantly, he was understanding of the terrible mistakes I made along the way. If I'd listened to him sooner, I would have also avoided impatient and unfair exchanges with another friend. I've forgiven myself for my part in things that went wrong this year, but I know that I would have been lost had he not been there for me.

                                   The love of my life. I will admit to being very jealous of his hair.


I am thankful for the support and affection of wonderful friends and family both near and far. The laughter, banter, and conversations that I had over drinks, food, and sometimes over the Internet kept me afloat in what was a turbulent, emotional year. I was not always rational and often took myself and those around me on a wild, roller-coaster ride of menopausal overreactions and angst, so thank you to those of you who humoured me or indulged me when I was an emotional twit, and also listened and empathized when I was a mess. I'm all better now, I swear.

I'm thankful for the music I discovered this year, because it gave me a refuge from the world when I got overwhelmed and too sad when the going got tough in the spring. Ed Sheeran, Simon Neil, Frank Turner, Marcus Mumford, Mike Rosenberg—thank you for writing songs that I could connect with and find hope in when I feared I would drown.

                                     Three of the records that I've listened to repeatedly this year.

I am thankful for Whiskey, Creemore, Sirius, and Pandora, who fill me with unconditional love every day. There is something so pure in the love of an animal, and I am quite fortunate that there are four of them in my life to keep me warm and calm.

                                          Creemore never gets tired of giving me her love.

I am thankful for my sister, who continues to support me even though she does not always approve of my choices and decisions. What I love the most about her is her frankness and her unwillingness to tell me anything other than the truth. Sometimes, what comes out of her mouth is a home truth, but this is one of the many reasons I love her to death and have trusted her all her life. She is smart and generous, and she always has my back, even when she is shaking her head at some of the situations I get into.

                                                     My beautiful sister. Love her to bits.

I am thankful that I was able to get away this year when the going got too tough to stay home. I found solace in New York City on the very day the school year ended and I was ready to break down; I will never forget the kindness of my hosts during the four-day getaway, and I hope to someday return the favour and show them this great city I live in. The time in New York was healing, and something so simple as spending the day on the beach at Coney Island allowed me to forget the preceding months and look forward to the summer.

I came across this at Coney Island during my beach day. Perfectly summed up my NYC weekend.

And then there is Scotland. I've likely made everyone sick of hearing about that trip, because who can actually believe that there is a place on Earth with such a hold over me that it can take my broken spirit and nurture it back to health not once but twice in a lifetime? I'm not the least bit religious, but there is something about this country that I cannot explain except in a way that could only be labelled magical or miraculous. Our second time there was no different than in 2001, when I was crushed by my father's death, with one big exception: we had friends to be with this time around, wonderful, silly pals who gave us banter and laughter, and also generously went out of their way for us in ways that truly humbled. There were concerts, football, coffees, ciders, meals, long drives and serendipitous meet-ups that left a big impression on my heart and reminded me that #realfriends were more than just a running gag online. There was such kindness and affection from the people we met that I know we will be back there again soon.

I love this photo because Michaela and I were photobombed by two random Glasgow lads.

Dumfries and Galloway Forest Park in the southwest of Scotland.

To those of you who helped me get through this year, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I have nothing but love, respect, and admiration for each and every one of you, and I am very grateful that you took the time to demonstrate such kindness and patience towards me. I hope you recognize yourselves in this post, and that the world treat you as kindly in return. You all deserve no less. Happy Thanksgiving.