Not just a walk in the park - Protests, suicide awareness, grief, and hope

Over the last couple of weeks, I have taken several walks or bicycle rides in or near Wascana Park, the largest park in my city of Regina, Saskatchewan. The park usually provides me with comfort and a sense of awe over its beauty and tranquility, but the scenes on one day produced many other emotions including frustration, sadness, surprise, confusion, grief, and peacefulness.

I saw a teepee set up to protest the high rates of suicide in Saskatchewan, a group of anti-maskers holding placards, a garden of flowers, a memorial to a man who drowned in the lake, and the colourful signs of autumn.   

I visited the site where a teepee had been set up across from the provincial legislative building to protest government inaction on high suicide rates among Indigenous persons. I was in awe of the actions of 24-year-old Métis fiddler Tristen Durocher and a supporter, Chris Merasty, who walked 635 kilometres from Air Ronge to Regina to protest the Saskatchewan Party government's decision to vote down a suicide prevention bill put forward by an NDP MLA representing northern Saskatchewan. They began their Walking With Our Angels journey on July 2 and arrived in Regina July 31, where Durocher began a hunger strike and vowed to continue it until meaningful legislation was passed.

More than 40 photos were placed around the teepee when Durocher started his ceremonial fasting - closeups of individuals who had died by suicide. He had invited others to bring photos of their loved ones lost to suicide. There were almost 90 photos surrounding the teepee on September 12th. It was impossible to not be moved by the spectacle of the faces. So much unnecessary loss and pain. I looked at the faces from a distance and paid my respects silently, with a sad and frustrated heart, hoping for change soon.

On September 11, a judge had dismissed the provincial government's bid to remove Durocher from the park and allowed him to complete his ceremonial fast and vigil. That judge later visited Durocher at the site, as did numerous individuals from many walks of life, including some politicians and religious leaders. Many discussions were held.

The teepee is gone now, but Tristen's presence on the legislature grounds and his message reached many in this city, this province, and beyond. An online search of his name shows many, many stories of his protest and message. A recent tripartite letter of commitment is a hopeful sign.

As I made my way from the teepee area onto the sidewalk leading to the garden in front of the legislative building, I was taken aback to see a group of people holding signs against mandatory face masking. I was further surprised when one of the woman shouted at me, "We love you!" as I rode by with my face mask on.

I usually wear a mask when I leave my home now - because of my asthma and my desire to keep others safer from any virus or other germs I might unknowingly carry. For a split second, I thought about going back to the protesters to find out what they were thinking, but I decided against it. I was still overwhelmed in thinking about suicide and unnecessary loss of life. I doubted if anything I had to say would change the minds of these anti-maskers. I kept moving - to the garden to enjoy the flowers.

I began my bike ride around the lake and saw, on an area of grass across from the legislative building, a makeshift memorial to another young man who had died by suicide. Twenty-year-old Samwel Uko had drowned in the lake in May. Uko had sought care for mental health issues at a local hospital and had been turned away twice during this pandemic. 

The health authority later apologized for its actions. No one had been allowed to go into the hospital to support him or explain the need for his admission. This part of the sad story had hit me especially hard. As one who has made many trips to hospital either with loved ones or to seek treatment myself, I know the crucial role of loved ones as advocates and supports for the patient in health care settings. We have to do better than this.

The rest of my bike ride around and near the lake was thankfully uneventful, punctuated with stops to admire the lake and the changing colours of fall.

Autumn is a time for change on the Prairies. As we prepare for another winter, I hope and pray that we will be kinder, more compassionate and caring of our fellow humans.

Take care. Stay safe. Love one another.

Five COVID-19 Lessons Learned from the Paralympics - Lessons #2 & #3

In celebrating the 10-year anniversary of the 2010 Paralympic Games, I have been thinking about the events I witnessed and the emotions I felt as a spectator at cross-country skiing races and as a book publisher launching an inspiring new book there.

I realized that I learned five lessons that relate to this present time of self-isolating and reducing the spread of COVID-19.

Publisher Deana Driver (left), Paralympian Colette Bourgonje and author Mary Harelkin Bishop flanked by an RCMP officer at the Saskatchewan Pavilion, 2010 Paralympic Games, for the launch of the book Moving Forward: The Journey of Paralympian Colette Bourgonje

At the Paralympic Games, the spirit of caring for all humanity was obvious during every moment of my time there. It’s what we need to practice now too.

The first lesson is to Look After The Most Vulnerable.

Lesson #2 – Age Is Not The Only Factor.

Saskatchewan Paralympian Colette Bourgonje was 48 years old, more than double the age of some of her competitors at the 2010 Paralympic Games. Her age was often brought up in conversations and interviews but, at the end of the day, it did not stop Colette from competing in her cross-country sit-ski races.

Colette Bourgonje (front, facing right) on her sit-ski at the end of a 2010 Paralympic Games race

Colette had been training for years and had already won four Winter Paralympics medals in cross-country sit-skiing and four Summer Paralympic medals in wheelchair racing. She’d been an athlete for decades and had been training toward this. She worked hard and had a better chance of winning a medal at the 2010 Games because of her commitment to her goal.

If we see our race as our attempt to “Flatten The Curve” of the spread of COVID-19, we must all stand on that starting line – two metres away from each other, if you’re imagining it as a physical race. No matter our age or any other factor about our physical selves or lives, we must all work hard toward our goal of reducing the spread of this disease. Do not let anyone stop you from working toward this.

While we can be grateful that most children who have been infected have had only mild symptoms akin to a cold or flu, humans of all ages can spread the virus. This virus is such that we may not even know we are infected, so let's please all do our part and run this race from the comfort of your own homes until our governments and health authorities tell us it’s safe to return to our previous lives.

Lesson #3 – Don’t Give Up.

In 1980, Colette Bourgonje was about to graduate from Grade 12 in Porcupine Plain, Saskatchewan. She’d won many athletic awards and was hoping to become a physical education teacher and an Olympic runner. Instead, she became a paraplegic after she was injured in a car crash near the end of the school year.

She did not let this sudden turn of events stop her. She went on to become the first student with a physical disability to enroll in the College of Physical Education at the University of Saskatchewan and the first such student to graduate from the College. She was the first female student in a wheelchair to graduate from a physical education program at any university in Canada and the first Canadian to win a Winter Paralympic medal on home snow – at the 2010 Games in Whistler.

I arrived at the 2010 Games the day after Colette won that first medal for Canada – a silver in the women’s 10-kilometre sit-ski race. I was thrilled to watch the presentation of that medal in the evening.

Colette Bourgonje, left, after the presentation of medals in the 10-km women's cross-country sit-ski

I was also privileged to watch Colette compete in the women’s 5-kilometre cross-country race. As the competitors made their way over the track into the woods, a large screen showed the parts of the trail that were hidden from spectators.

Spectators watched athletes and followed race stats on the large monitor at the 2010 Games

I held my breath when it was announced that Colette had fallen over on her sit-skis. I remember the vision of her laying on her side in the snow while the race continued. That may have been on the screen or perhaps in my imagination. Either way, it was upsetting.

Was Colette done racing? Would someone have to help her get up and off the track? I should have known better. This was Colette Bourgonje – a strong, independent, fierce woman with a determination she exhibits in everything she attempts.

After what felt like forever but was probably less than a minute, it was reported that Colette had righted herself and was continuing the race. The crowd – especially our Saskatchewan contingent – erupted in cheers. I was amazed, awed and thrilled when we saw Colette racing out of the forest and onto the home track. She finished the race in third place, earning a bronze Paralympic medal. At age 48. After falling.

So don’t give up during this troubling time, people. We may all feel like we have fallen – or been pushed – by this global pandemic. By taking the careful steps prescribed for the safety of ourselves and our communities, we will right ourselves again. And we’ll finish this race too, maybe even gaining new insights into our own lives and actions so we can make our new world better.

Colette Bourgonje, far right, wheels to the presentation area after winning a bronze medal in the 5-km race

Read more... Lessons #4 & 5.

Note:  Mary Harelkin Bishop also wrote the children's picture book Gina's Wheels, about a child who met Colette Bourgonje and wondered what it would be like to be in a wheelchair. Order both books from DriverWorks Ink.

(See Government of Canada Public Health updates and information.)

Five COVID-19 Lessons Learned from the Paralympics - Lesson #1

Ten years ago, in March 2010, I was tromping up a trail in the forest near Whistler, B.C. preparing to take a spot in the bleachers at the Vancouver 2010 Paralympic Games.

Saskatoon author Mary Harelkin Bishop was beside me, both of us (and many members of Mary's family) proudly waving Canadian flags and wearing bright red “Canada” toques and shirts announcing our support for a remarkable woman, cross-country sit-skier Colette Bourgonje, who was competing in her 9th Paralympic Games.

Publisher Deana Driver and author Mary Harelkin Bishop at Whistler, 2010 Paralympic Games

Author Mary Harelkin Bishop, second from left, and members of her family at 2010 Paralympic Games

We were in Whistler not only to cheer for Colette but to celebrate the release of a new book about her life – Moving Forward: The Journey of Paralympian Colette Bourgonje - which Mary Harelkin Bishop wrote and I published in partnership with Mary.

While we were at the Games, Mary and I sat beside Colette to launch Moving Forward at the Saskatchewan Pavilion of the Paralympics Games. My time at the Paralympic Games was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for this and many other reasons.

When I think back to the events I witnessed and the emotions I felt at the Games, I can draw parallels to our current COVID-19 situation.

The spirit of caring for all humanity has never been more evident to me.

It’s easy for me to understand the need to stay at home right now, insist on two metres of physical distancing any time I absolutely have to leave my home, and keep washing my hands and disinfecting any surfaces that could have become infected during this crisis.

It’s all about caring for myself and extending that self-love out to the world.

Lesson #1 – Look After The Most Vulnerable.

To get to the Paralympic Games cross-country skiing venue in Whistler, we were driven up the mountain in a transit bus and dropped off in a parking lot partway up the mountain. We had to walk the remainder of the way.

It was a long but beautiful walk through the forested mountains, over a small bridge, past a bubbly stream amid gorgeous scenery.

Anyone who had mobility issues was driven all the way up the mountain as close to the entrance as possible. 

With the coronavirus, steps have been taken in most jurisdictions to protect and care for individuals in hospitals, long-term care homes, and other facilities. Many grocery stores and pharmacies are inviting seniors to shop during special times to avoid contact with the virus. There are many others who need our care and support, however, including those who are new immigrants, on a low income, homeless, abused, alone, or battling some illness but not hospitalized.

We need to do what we can to help everyone in our communities while we are self-isolating ourselves in our homes. Reach out. Support the organizations that are helping the most vulnerable people in our midst. Self-isolate and keep physical distancing if you absolutely must leave your home. Contact individuals you know with a phone call or through social media. Make arrangements to help individuals or organizations financially if you can. Give others information about resources that may be available to help them. Check in with others regularly so you both know that you are not alone.

We can do this together.

Read more... Lessons #2 & #3.

Note: Mary Harelkin Bishop also wrote the children's picture book Gina's Wheels, about a child who met Colette Bourgonje and wondered what it would be like to be in a wheelchair. Order both books from DriverWorks Ink.

(See Prevention of Coronavirus 2019 Disease - CDC.)

What I’ve learned about grief

I apologize to every person I’ve ever met who has lost a spouse to death. I had no clue.

While I knew that your spouse died, I didn’t know the kind of mind-numbing, gut-wrenching, life-altering, hole-in-the-chest pain that you must have experienced after their death.

I didn’t know until now. And I’m sorry I wasn’t a more compassionate, helpful friend to you.

I have grieved the death of my father-in-law, my father, my mother, and several close friends and family members. The pain of those losses was severe, but I did not feel the same kind of despair and complete heartbreak that I have felt since January 4, 2016, when my husband, Al, died only four and a half months after being diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer.

Al’s illness had no warning signs and his health went downhill quickly. He woke on the morning of August 20, 2015, with a pain in his abdomen. Emergency surgery found a fist-sized tumour on his colon, which led to a high-output ileostomy and numerous complications that required repeat hospitalizations over the next few months. Al passed away in a hospice bed in January, with me and several nurses at his side. Losing him has been confusing, frightening, surreal, sad, and so much more. It feels like a large part of me went with him when he died.

I try not to dwell on the discomfort he must have felt while so courageously and gracefully going through his cancer journey. (He hated the phrase “battling cancer”, so I try not to use it.) We had many beautiful, precious moments together during those last few months, but those are hard to remember when the pain is so raw.

I think about him every day, sometimes in almost every moment of every day. I know it is still early – only a month after he died – but sometimes the pain is so overwhelming that I can’t think of anything else. And I sit alone and try not to become consumed by the ache in my soul.

I try not to think of how empty my new life is right now. I struggle with finding a “new normal”.

I know, logically, that it will get better as I grieve and heal, but the heart doesn’t always work together with the brain, so I must go through this pain in order to move on. It is obvious that my journey on this earth is not yet finished and I need to continue to do the best I can to live my life to the fullest, while honouring Al and all that we worked for in our 42 years together.

I have learned a lot more about grief in the past month – from reading materials, by talking to family and friends, by attending a bereavement support group, and from experiencing it. I have also been reminded of many things that I learned in my years as a journalist about how to help others who are grieving.

What Not To Say To Someone Who Is Grieving:

“I know exactly what you’re going through. I know how you feel.”

No, you don’t. It is not possible.

Every human being is different and every relationship is different. Every grief journey is different.

You may have an idea of some of the feelings the bereaved is having, but you could never know exactly how they are feeling.

My relationship with Al and our time together before he died is very different from what anyone else experienced in their relationships. Plus, I barely know how I am feeling from minute to minute, so how could you know?

“Oh, I know. It still hurts ___ years later.”

Putting a time frame on someone else’s grief journey is not helpful. Every person is different and every grief journey is different. Phrases like this may also be an indication that you have work to do in your own individual grief journey and you may benefit from some grief counselling or support programs.

What To Say Instead:

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“If you’d like to talk, I will listen.”

 “Can I give you a hug?”

“Would you like me to come over and just sit with you?”

 “Can I call you occasionally just to see if you need anything?”

What I have learned that has helped me grieve my husband’s death:

• Breathe. Long, deep breaths.
• Be kind to yourself. You did not choose this. You need time to adjust to this new reality.
• Rest often or have a nap. Grieving is hard work. Do not expect to accomplish much each day, at least for the first while. Give yourself a break.
• It’s okay to feel sad. It doesn’t mean you will feel sad forever. It means you feel sad now and that’s okay. Give yourself permission to feel how you need to feel.
• Wherever you are and whatever you are doing, it’s okay to cry. You don’t need to explain your feelings or to apologize for them. You don’t even need to understand your feelings. You just need to feel them and express them if and when you can.
• Give yourself time to grieve. Grief is not an orderly series of stages that lines up perfectly with any given time frame. Grief has been described as “a tangled web of emotions” and it may take months or years for you to untangle some of those feelings. That is absolutely normal. Everyone’s grief journey is different. Remember that you are doing the best you can with the situation you had or have in front of you. Let that be enough for now. Try to ignore or stay away from those who think you should be “over it” or moving on with your life before you are ready.
• It is normal to feel like you do not want to go on. Usually, that is a fleeting feeling that will dissipate with time. It is not normal to consider suicide. Seek professional help immediately if you are considering harming yourself.
• Seek out bereavement support, whether that be in the form of an organized support group with facilitators, a religious or spiritual leader, a professional counsellor, or books from the library. Take what you find valuable from those resources and don’t feel bad about ignoring the rest. One of my cousins started a “grief scrapbook” in which she pasted helpful newspaper articles, clippings, tips, and meditations to help her grieve her husband’s death. I use a notebook.
• Read a good book or listen to music to distract yourself or, in my case, to bring you some happiness. This is self-explanatory, but I do happen to know of a little Canadian publishing house that has some pretty great books (wink, wink). And music can soothe the soul.
• Watch TV or a movie to give your mind a break. I have a couple of new favourite movies that have helped me to grieve my husband’s death.
• Write your thoughts and feelings in a journal, either daily or whenever you feel the need or desire to write. Don’t worry or feel bad if your thoughts change. That’s what thoughts do. Your thoughts and feelings are sure to change as you grieve and heal.
• Write a letter to your loved one. This may be especially helpful if the death was sudden or there were some things that were left unsaid. I write to Al or to God almost every night before bed. Sometimes the letters/journal entries are tender and filled with longing. Sometimes they are full of pain and tear-stained. Often, they are both. Always, they help me heal a tiny bit more.
• Make a list of the people who have offered to help you. Look at your list and choose whoever you will find comfort in during a particular moment. Then call them to chat or ask for help. My list includes people whom I can phone and ask to stay with me so I won’t be alone for the first while as I grieve.
• Don’t feel guilty about not responding to and staying in touch with everyone who contacts you. Choose what you need to do and who you need to talk to and let the rest go for now. Focus on you.
• Leave your home at least once a day. Go for a walk or a bike ride. Go for a drive. Give yourself a change of scenery. Remember that there is still a world out there.
• When you are strong enough, go places in your own vehicle. Then if you suddenly feel you cannot stay, you have the freedom to leave without disrupting other people’s plans. Be careful to drive only after your mind is healed enough to concentrate on the road ahead – literally – and to remember how you got home.
• Try not to dwell on feeling guilty. You may have difficulty accepting that it is okay for you to continue living your life. My husband, Al, asked me to promise him that I would live my life to the fullest and not let his death consume me. I replied that I would try, but that it would take time. I’m not there yet, but I’m working on it. Grief counsellor Andrea Mackay of Greystone Bereavement Centre in Regina SK explained that guilt is “the little bully that we all have inside us. When that guilt sits on your shoulder, flick it off, and tell it to F--- Off!”
• Try to think of the good times and be grateful, but try not to let the uncertain future break you into more pieces. You will feel sadness about the loss of future good times, but keep putting one foot in front of the other and focus on getting through one minute at a time, one day at a time.
• Allow yourself to take a break from work, if you are able to do so, whether it is for a few minutes, hours, days or longer. I am blessed to be self-employed and grateful that I do not have huge financial burdens at this time. I am thankful that I work with patient, caring, compassionate authors who have become friends and who have accepted my need to work at a slower pace and give myself time to figure out the new face of DriverWorks Ink publishing.

Thank you to all who have helped me and my family in any way during these past five months since Al's initial diagnosis.

Thank you for your understanding as I take time to slowly heal. I feel your love and it is appreciated.

From:  https://www.etsy.com/ca/listing/184864560/be-gentle-with-yourself

(You may be interested in this post from April 2017: Living My Life After My Husband's Death - Cherishing My "Big A".)