Sunday, February 7, 2010

Remembering, A Room Without A View

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I spent
Black Saturday at Amitie Upstairs with the Thornbury Craft Bonanza.

The upstairs craft room at Amitie is a strange little space. It has only one tiny window high up on a wall. While temperatures soared to 47c (over 115 degrees Fahrenheit) we sat in air-conditioned comfort. I looked out through that tiny little window throughout the day and remember thinking how strange the sky looked, quite apocalyptic I recall.

While we chatted, snacked and stitched, people fought for their survival. People lost their homes, their lives, their families, everything they cared about. Not to mention the loss and suffering of animals and the forests.

I'm always shocked that life can and does go on as normal while people around us are confronted by the greatest struggles, the most gruesome tragedies, the deepest losses.

The world is incredibly large and yet our worlds are so incredibly small.
Sometimes I wonder if we can ever truly understand the suffering of others.

However, we can and do remember.


  1. I always think about = that... when I am driving to work or doing other mundane things I think sometimes- somewhere in the world a baby is being born , a person is taking there last breathe, someone is meeting the love of their life.. etc- I try to mix the good with the bad- it makes me keep the things I sometimes hear at work from my clients in perspective- that outside my world there is tremendous joy somewhere...

  2. I know the window you are talking about and I can visualise your day.

    The thing that I found so upsetting was how an hour away from this catastrophe, I drove kids to school on Monday as per normal. A lump lodged seemingly permanently in my throat, my voice higher than usual but moving through the day almost per normal. Glued to the radio, looking for ways to help, watching the world go about it's business. Everything looked so normal and I just couldn't understand how that could be.

  3. Sad. I always feel a little dumbfounded at just how oblivious we were to what was happening while we were sitting in an airconditioned room.

  4. I had similar conversations at my friend's birthday today; I was on a hen's day last year enjoying a few wines, and she was celebrating her birthday with cocktails. Neither of us found out until later how horrific the day was and we questioned 'how could we not have known?' and felt guilty because our days were nice and filled with friends.

  5. I struggled to write a post to mark this day. Deleted everything I wrote. You managed to say it well.

  6. Very well written, I've been struggling with how to 'mark' the occasion...

  7. I struggle with my obliviousness that night and the following morning. I know there was no way I could have known what was happening, but I still occasionally remember my complete ignorance. I hope that this anniversary has brought some closure for many people, marking a new beginning.