Healing at The Highway

"The wish for healing has always been half of health." - Lucius Annaeus Seneca

 

It has been an interesting week.  After eleven weeks of agony, my back problems mysteriously began to subside.  I'm not all the way healed yet but I have come far enough that I'm managing the pain with Advil and living a pretty normal existence.  I knew I had come a really long way when I managed using both feet to climb the stairs.  I was wondering if I would ever be able to do that again.  I've shopped, attended an all day seminar, done a significant amount of driving and even sat up and had enough concentration to make a couple pieces of jewellery.  

Like all Canadians I was hard hit by the death of Corporal Nathan Cirillo on Wednesday.  When I heard Friday morning that his body was being brought home that afternoon along the Highway of Heroes, I decided I would stand on the overpass alongside many others as a sign of respect.  I know Corporal Cirillo wouldn't see me, but I did it for his mother.  It was she who went to Ottawa to bring her baby home.  Brian and Geraldine were also planning to stand on the overpass and Cath decided to join us.  The hearse was expected to pass us at about 6 o'clock.  We arrived around 5 and waited.  It was a lovely day but when the sun started to set, there was a distinct chill in the air.  There were already about fifty people on the overpass when we arrived and more than a hundred by the time the hearse passed.  It was close to 7 o'clock.  The procession travelled much slower than was anticipated. There were thousands of people lining the highways and overpasses from Ottawa all the way to Hamilton.  It was dark by the time it reached us.  It was also eerily silent though we were many people.  The only sounds were waving flags and sniffles.  It was sad.  The rear window of one of the limousines in the procession opened and a hand emerged, waving an acknowledgement to the crowd.  A couple of moments later, it was gone.  We quietly returned to our cars, mumbling to the strangers we had stood with that we hoped never to meet this way again.  I remembered that is what we said to one another the last time I stood there in honour of a soldier killed in Afghanistan.  When we pulled out of that war zone, I hoped that was the end of my time standing in wait for a fallen soldier.  I certainly didn't fathom I would be there to honour a young man killed in our own nation by one of our own citizens.

I certainly don't regret the hours spent waiting yesterday.  But two hours on the concrete in the cold did set me back.  I ramped up my pain meds and have spent some time in bed.  I will heal.  I hope that seeing the outpouring of support and respect from a proud and grateful nation, will help Corporal Cirillo's mother to heal a little too.

Unthinkable

"Our belief is that people who are using violence to undermine democracy want us to be silenced and we refuse to be silenced."  - Kathleen Wynne

This morning Corporal Nathan Cirillo went to work, unarmed, to stand as an honorary guard at the tomb of the unknown soldier in Ottawa.  Corporal Cirillo was a reservist,  just 24 years old, a son, a brother, a father.  I imagine that his mother was quietly relieved that her soldier son had such safe duty rather than being posted on the other side of the world to fight a war that few of us understand.  Tonight, Corporal Cirillo's mother is without her son, his sister is without her brother, his son is without his father.  And all of Canada is without the sense of security that has always shored us up.

There is a great deal of chatter today about the gunman who killed Corporal Cirillo.  We know little of him.  What we do know is that he is another home-grown terrorist, a recent convert to Islam, the second in a week to launch an attack on Canadian soldiers.  Social media, as it is want to do, is filled with venom, with hate, with misinformation and speculation.  I suppose it is the nature of people in the absence of information, to try to fill in the gaps.  Anti-Muslim rhetoric is in full swing.  There is rampant speculation about the ethnic origins of the gunman.  It is sick and sad and more than a little frightening.  Judging from the gunman's name at birth, his ethnicity is as about as exotic as Wonder Bread.  When his face is not wrapped in a scarf, he looks like an average white guy.  He was born in Quebec.

As a nation, we face a few challenges in the next few days.  We must resist the urge to vilify a whole religious segment of the population and we must resist the urge to politicize these events.  Each of the three main party leaders made statements today about the situation.  Beyond platitudes, none of them had much to say with the exception of Mr. Trudeau who managed to rub some people the wrong way by suggesting that we need to figure out how we are contributing to the creation of home-grown terrorists.  He's right, of course, but perhaps it was too early and politically unwise to speak beyond platitudes today. 

I am beyond trying to figure it out tonight.  I've been crying all day for the loss of the innocence of a nation, for the loss of a good man and for another mother's broken heart.

Longing for Louboutins

"A shoe is not only a design, but it's a part of your body language, the way you walk.  The way you're going to move is quite dictated by your shoes." - Christian Louboutin

 

If you looked in my closet you would find at least a hundred pairs of shoes.  I like shoes.  It's the one thing I have in common with Imelda Marcos.  What you wouldn't see is much in the way of flat shoes.  There are are a couple of pairs of mocassins and a couple of pairs of Toms and even several pairs of running shoes in various colours.  But flat dress shoes aren't in my wardrobe.  It is week eleven of my hip and back saga with no end in sight.  Sandal weather is gone.  I'm trying to carry on with my life, within the limitations of my pain.  Last Friday night we attended a wedding.  I stopped on my way home from physio and bought a lovely pair of beaded ballet flats that were a terrible price but they worked with the black cocktail dress I was wearing that evening and I was in poor enough shape that I couldn't manage more than one store. 

Today I had a business meeting downtown and I once again faced the problem of what to put on my feet.  I ended up wearing those same shoes.  While they are a little dressy for the business dress I wore, they were a better alternative than the too casual choices available.  Tomorrow I will go and try to find some other shoes to buy that would be a bit more suitable for my business wardrobe.  On the way back to my car from my meeting today I popped into a shoe store to scope out their inventory.  I saw two wonderful pairs, one suede pair in the perfect hot pink colour I've been looking for to go with my pink leather jacket, the other in an electric blue.  Alas, both pairs have four inch heels.  The flats in the store were all so boring and so not me.

When I finally get over these problems, I think I might splurge and treat myself to a pair of Christian Louboutin shoes.  And of course, whenever possible, I will sit with my legs crossed to show off the red soles.  A girl can dream.