The Funeral

Source of photo: Linked in

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I didn’t avoid the funeral because you were going to be there.

In all honestly, I hadn’t thought of you at all until my husband – who did go – told me he saw you there.

I’m not sorry I missed seeing you.  It would have been a thirteen-hour round-trip and since my catastrophic – and permanent – burnout seven years ago, my body just can’t handle that big of a day.  But I’ve been thinking of all the things I could have/ should have said to you, had I gone, that we both know I wouldn’t have said because well, I never think on my feet.

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Hockey in Canada

Source of photo: LiveAbout

Well fancy meeting you here! How’ve you been?

Oh, yes, I heard you were quite the upcoming star in your field! Your Mom used to tell me all about how well you were doing: climbing that ladder; making such a name for yourself; playing on the 2018 World Junior Hockey Team, no less, and winning for Canada (!!!); getting noticed by all the right talent scouts; being courted by all those teams; making all that money now!

The NHL drafted you right after that championship, didn’t they? Wow: they must think you’re something special!

Gee, come to think of it, your Mom hasn’t said much about you for awhile now…

Well yes, I did hear about that little ‘thing’: I mean, who hasn’t? It just keeps coming up on the news, kind of like a bad penny. You must be just sick to death of hearing about it.

The Town Meeting

Source of Image: Quote Fancy

The room was nowhere near full but there were nonetheless a lot of us there: say, 150 people, or 10% of our community’s population, which any small-town municipal employee would tell you is a roaring success.

Our local provincial MLA (Minister of the Legislative Assembly) was there to warmly and casually greet us at the door – many by name – and also to officiate the proceedings. My husband and I quietly commented to one another that this was a good first sign we were being taken seriously. The speakers were all clustered at the front of the school auditorium. There were three RCMP (Royal Canadian Mounted Police) officers, including one who would turn out to be the spokesperson throughout, and the just-appointed-that-week Minister of Public Safety.

Letter to a Pedophile

Trigger alert: this post is about child sexual abuse

Um, before you rape that little boy, could I have a moment of your time?

African Drummer

(Fiction)

The young couple was on vacation, visiting the bustling centre of a fascinating city. It was the height of summer and the fragrant air was alive with entertainment: buskers were playing every sort of music imaginable in any space large enough to accommodate a small crowd. The streets were lively with the chatter of tourists and locals alike.

Boys Will Be Boys

My apologies; I have been unable to write much of anything in a month. In the past two years, Canadians have been pulled into the reality-TV vortex of the drama south of our border like never before. The Blasey-Ford/ Kavanaugh debacle has reduced me to a despondency and a hopelessness I cannot even begin to adequately describe. So many of us have 36-year old stories to tell: and 10-year old stories; and 50-year old stories. We are legion. And like the good, meek voiceless women our abusers wanted us to be, we have kept our collective mouths shut. When women like Dr. Ford come forward, they give hope to the multitudes of hurting, silent victims who have stayed quiet for decades. And when rich, entitled white men viciously beat them back down to their proper ‘place’, they also beat down every one of us who were once victimized. All over again… You never forget what happened to you and you never ‘get over it’. You just figure out a way to live with it.

The Woman at the Bus Stop

I am sitting in the bus station, waiting for my daughter to arrive. I am alone except for a young mother who is sitting way over in the farthest corner. Her son is perhaps two-and-a-half, maybe three years old, and he is a handful.

Have you Ever…

I was nine years old, on my way to Brownies

Me and Mr. ‘Jones’

I would have been about 12 years old when I met ‘Mr. Jones’. At the time, I was an active and sought-after babysitter.