Tuesday, I drove Dominic to school, and I was grateful to be out of the house. The morning news had amped up my anxiety, frustration, and general “pissed-offedness”, and I needed to do anything other than marinate in my own vitriolic thoughts. El Presidente was spewing brain rot per standard operating procedure to raucous, unintelligible applause and gibberish, a local battle against a data center here on Cape Breton Island is beginning to heat up, and I was running on about five hours of sleep.
I could feel the dormant beast behind my eyes give a slight shudder, reminding me it was hibernating, waiting to erupt from its prison and once again rampage across my psychological landscape, perhaps sensing an opportunity to envelope me in darkness and drag me back into the depths of my depression.
I wasn’t allowed time to contemplate that black pit because the fall wind coming off the Atlantic was brisk, reminding me that I am in fact human, and had me wishing I donned my jacket rather than my sweatshirt for the drive to Sydney. The chill air paired with the sunrise was what I needed more than anything, and they snapped me out of the spiral toward depression that rumination was weaving in the background of my mind.
When I stream live, I always sign off with “Be safe, be kind, and remember no matter who you are, no matter where you are, you matter and you are loved.” I try to measure up to those words, that idea, that everyone matters, that everyone is loved, and that puts me at odds with the world we live in.
Last Friday was a terrible day, we lost Michelle’s Aunt Yvonne, a person that not only had a big impact on my life, but the lives of everyone she knew, loved, or ever spent time with. Aunt Yvonne was one of the first members of Michelle’s extended family to welcome me into their family 30+ years ago. When I visited Cape Breton Island for the first time, she gave me a “Cape Breton Island” passport just to make it “official”. When I was unpacking some of my boxes of collectibles a couple weeks ago, I found the box where I had packed the passport, and couldn’t help but smile knowing that I still had it all these years later.
Yvonne was one of the kindest people I ever knew. She didn’t talk about how kind or generous people should be, she lived it, and led by example, and over the years, I’ve tried to do the same with varying degrees of success, but I get the feeling it’s something we need to practice every day in order to figure out how it works.
Although Yvonne was Michelle’s aunt, I came to accept she was my aunt too (and let’s be honest, Yvonne kind of made me accept it in her own way), and I will miss her as such. She was generous with her time, kind beyond measure, and had a wonderful sense of humor (though she could be stern when she wanted to be). A world without Aunt Yvonne in it is a sadder place, less inviting, less calm. We thought we had more time with her, more conversations, more family meals to enjoy, and more laughter.
We have the power to do better. Now is the time to do so, even if it’s something small. We need to remind people they matter, they are loved, and they still have the power to make people’s burden’s a little lighter, even if it’s just for a little while.
Regards,
John
