Friday, November 11, 2016


I stood silent, one hand resting on the shelf in front of me, steadying myself against the wash of emotion. It was silent, or should have been - some people took a while to catch on that we were having a moment of silence, their voices harsh against my ears. As the last notes of the 'Last Post' died on the air I looked around. It took a few moments to reconnect with my space, the tall shelves loaded with goods seemed out of place and strange.

We were in Liquidation Warehouse, not the best place to respect our fallen soldiers, but since I had to have blood work done we were in the area. We usually watch the ceremony at the War Memorial on TV, that's the closest I've been for a long time. Not out of lack of respect or care, it just works out that way.

Back at home, Facebook came alive with posts about the American election, but also of Leonard Cohen who passed away a few days ago. His music, poetry really, filled our home and those tears from this morning were no longer held back instead they ran down my cheeks and made the back of my throat hurt. His music is emotional at the best of times, but today is a perfect storm than rages in salty teardrops.

I'm sitting on the sofa with my legs curled beside me, the sun is beaming in through the west window. It is high enough to be blocked by the top edge of the window. It feels warm. The music has stopped playing and a pile of kleenex sits on the coffee table ready for the garbage. I have a cup of lemon thriller tea cooling. I think how lucky I am.

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in
Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love...”

~Leonard Cohen

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