Thought of the Week: Remembrance . . . and Hope

"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning,

We will remember them."

~ Ode of Remembrance

Remembrance Day falls at the end of this week, as the bright red poppies that a great many of us are wearing on our lapels attest to. The Commonwealth countries observe this day as a means of honouring those who served in their armed forces and died in the line of duty. In Canada, according to Wikipedia, "Remembrance Day is a statutory holiday in all three territories and in six of the ten provinces (Nova Scotia, Manitoba, Ontario and Quebec being the exceptions)." I know, like me, my fellow Ontarians are thinking that a move to Iqaluit is looking better and better, right?!

In all seriousness, though, I am grateful that the schools here are open on this important day, and this year I will miss not being a part of the assembly that takes place, one of the only times in the entire year when solemnity reigns in our gymnasium. I never fail to weep as groups of students perform, creating sorrowful tableaux, lifting their voices in songs of remembrance such as 'Where Have all the Flowers Gone?', reciting John McCrae's haunting poem, 'In Flanders Fields'. 

"In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
            We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you, from failing hands, we throw
The torch: be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields."

~ Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae

Today, I find myself remembering many people and events during a week that has been anything but easy. My cousin's 19-year-old son died in a car crash two nights ago. Kieran Lasso was a kind, sweet and sensitive boy, though I suppose I should write 'man', a status fairly recently bestowed upon him. I was fortunate to know him, but seeing him only once, maybe twice a year at best, I did not know him as well as I wish I had. He was one of those people whose spirit shone with quiet graciousness, a shy smile playing at his mouth when we would meet. He was polite to his elders, and so sweet with younger children, my girls included. I remember how all of the younger children would gather around him at our annual family Christmas party, viewing him as the natural mentor, and how his shyness melted away with them. How my cousin Kevin is coping I cannot begin to imagine. How Kieran's mother is handling her loss is beyond my scope of understanding. How my Aunt Margie is feeling as she grieves the loss of her first grandson, while watching her only son grieve the loss of his child, breaks my heart. And my Nanny, who recently turned 91 - Kieran's age transposed - sits by helplessly, worried for her daughter, grandson, and Kieran's brother, one of her great grandsons. She said that she wishes it could have been her instead of him.

I remember Claire Sommer, who succumbed to her battle with DIPG (diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma), a highly aggressive and nearly-impossible-to-treat brainstem tumor, this past September. Claire was thirteen years old. Her mother, Valerie, described her as "pure joy, sunshine, and all things great." Her father, Robert, is my second cousin, and my heart aches for these parents, and for Claire's big sister, Olivia. When Val and Robert were given Claire's prognosis, she was predicted to live for approximately a year, which wound up being a fairly accurate prediction. These incredible parents kept the burden of this knowledge to themselves, sharing it with no one until after Claire passed away. I am in awe of their strength and compassion. They gave their daughter, and her friends who loved her, the most incredible gift during her final year of life: the gift of hope. 

Processing these losses can be so difficult, when in many ways they seem senseless. In another vein, the Trump election results have just topped off what has been a very sad week, a loss of a different sort. The loss in this case is more than that my candidate of choice did not prevail. I feel a sense of loss that goes more deeply, as I and so many of my friends reel with the shock that so many people have aligned themselves with someone whose values are so unlike those we espouse. The world feels slightly off-kilter, as though the Earth was knocked a few degrees off of its axis.

Yet I do believe that the world is a wonderful place. It was certainly made better by Kieran's and Claire's presence in it. It is made better by each hand that helps another, by each smile given, by each word of understanding spoken, and by each act of compassion. To live in fear of what might come next would be to commit a disservice to the memories of those we've loved and lost, those we remember. 

The tears that streak down my face during Remembrance Day assemblies flow not just out of sorrow for the people and events we are remembering, but also out of a profound feeling of hope that swells inside, threatening to burst up and out of me. This typically happens to me when I am in the presence of children performing, their light shining on us all. To me, they are hope personified. Let it be known that I also cry when watching Tide's Olympic Moms commercials, to name one of numerous ads that open my floodgates.

Andy Dufresne, a character in the movie, 'The Shawshank Redemption', one of my favourites, writes in a letter to his friend, "Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies." Hope gives us strength, the strength we need to carry on, to take that first step, to challenge, to change, to love, and ultimately to make the world a better place. I hope, for all of our sakes, that we can unite in doing so.

P.S. I leave in a few short hours for the airport, where my Mom and I will board a plane to San Francisco. I am so grateful to have this time with her, but I will of course be missing my loves at home. I will be, once again, unplugged from my blog for the time of my trip, but look forward to sharing some of the details of our adventure when I return. I hope you all have a peaceful week ahead.