I am awake, I am alive, and this morning I am contemplating just how hard it is to find space for pain …

I realized it first when my daughter died. She was only two months old. The diagnosis of SIDS did little. “Sudden Infant Death” didn’t tell me why or how, what I did or didn’t do. It just hung in the air, an explanation without weight.

So, I cried. But soon I realized my tears helped me while simultaneously making everyone else uncomfortable. I was young. Their needs superseded mine in those naïve years so I took to crying in the shower – a perfect solution as it turned out. Redness so easily excused as shampoo accidently dripping into my eyes and the sound muffled completely by the torrent of water, even when my sobs were themselves torrential.

And again, with the passing of my Mom. The loss of my mentor, my saviour, my guide, my best friend so quickly, so unannounced brought me to my knees. Everyone was sympathetic, supportive, at least for the first few weeks. But as weeks turned into months, their support lessened, often replaced with, “It’s time to move on.” It took eighteen months, and I honoured every single tear. It was the last thing I would do for my Mom after all, and NO ONE was taking this time from me.

I see this lack of space again, now as the country reels with each child found. The Indigenous survivors, not allowed to cry in the schools, even as every 3 or 4-year-old does, now struggling with tears that cannot be denied. And us, the descendants, feel the pain as well but others want us to move to anger, to conflict, to resolution when most in their most honest moments, just need to cry.

I create safe space, I always have. For tears, for anger, for words not allowed in other places, so this is me holding space for anyone who needs to cry. Post on my wall or message me. Type simply the word “tears” and I will sit with you as long as you need. Because here, there is space to cry.

Feel free to share the image, but only if you can honour it by holding space.

I love you!
HUGSSSSSSSSS
Sandi