I Can't

I can't do it. I can’t celebrate Canada Day this year. In light of recent events, I’m not sure fireworks and memes and inspirational videos are appropriate.

Rather, every Canadian flag should be at half-mast this Canada Day.

I love Canada. And I believe we are a country capable and competent of taking the necessary actions for reparation and reconciliation. I believe the Canada Days of the future will be about the celebration of our hard work to be a more inclusive and just society--because we will have come to own our origin story, rather than dismiss it or outright hide it.

But I don’t think we’re there yet.

(I mean, if you had a friend with a rumoured sketchy past, would you feel comfortable hosting their birthday party if it came to light that they had murdered a bunch of people? I don’t know about you, but that’s kind of a deal-breaker in my relationships. There’s a lot of work that would need to be done there.) 

This Canada Day, I think we need to spend the time:

• Actually honouring the land treaties we have abused for years. Do you know who the first peoples were on the land that is now your home?

• Grieve the thousands of children who were taken from their families, traumatized in residential schools, and then buried there—nameless. Schools should not have cemeteries. 

• Make a personal commitment towards reparation and reconciliation. What is one action you will take today? Here are some ideas to get you started:
• Check your own bias, stereotypes, and assumptions.
• When it is pandemically safe to do so, participate in a blanket exercise in your community.
• Read the Truth & Reconciliation Commission's (TRC's) report and calls to action, and act on it.
• Start acknowledging the treaty land at gatherings you host.
• Donate to services that support those impacted by the generational trauma of growing up indigenous (shelters, mental health agencies, addictions recovery, etc.). 
• Make purchases from local businesses owned by indigenous individuals. 
• If you are Christian, ask your church what actions it takes towards reparation and reconciliation. Consider how you can use your voice for change in your faith community.
• Hold people [lovingly, but firmly] accountable for racist, derogatory language. Here’s a primer.

Yes, I am honoured to be a Canadian. I believe I am more than my ancestors’ bigotry and bad theology, and I believe Canada is more than that too. But this year, for me, Canada Day will involve reflection rather than celebration. Humility rather than pride. I am checking my privilege. I am doing the work.

#ThisIs20

I was still in university when I found this ragamuffin kitten, sprawled-out sleeping on the sofa in the dorm's lobby. I could only surmise that someone coming back from the bar the night before had let her in out of the -20C November cold. I am still thankful to that person.

I took her to the vet, which doubled as the humane society in my small university town. They said they would advertise in the local paper for three days, but if no one claimed her by then, they would have to put her down.

I told them to call me in three days.

I named her Princess--inspired by the word on a keychain I had at the time, it seemed fitting regardless, given her paper-bag-princess appearance when I found her.

And so began our journey together.

I remember thinking, "wow, I'll be, like, in my mid-30s by the time she lives her full life." It seemed like such a long way off. I couldn't fathom being that old. (Don't even.)

And yet, here we still are.

Akira is my sweet snuggler; Holly is my flirty delight; but, Princess is my OG.

She watched me become a fully-fledged adult, and came along for the ride. Princess has moved house with me eight times. She has been with me through a marriage and divorce. Through friendships that have lasted and others that have not. And through one pandemic.

She likes to be where I am. She has been both my study buddy and work buddy. She oversees my gardening, and occasionally nestles beside me in the hammock. She still greets me at the door when I come home. She still gives kisses.

She is 20.

I look at her bowed legs and stiff gait, and I know that this year could be her last. (And then she chases Holly's toy around the living room with an energy that belies her age, and I'm convinced she's going to be the first cat to live forever.) The vet continues to tell me that she looks amazing for her age. She's on some meds for pain and mood, but as long as she continues to eat, pee, and poop, I guess we'll continue on together.

I am happy to be her human as long as her little heart beats.