The room was already prepared when we arrived: vases of long-stemmed yellow roses graced the center of each table, a guest book waited near the entrance for people to sign, and a screen scrolled through the names of members of the Parkdale Activity Recreation Centre (PARC) who had died over the past five years—many of whom were also deeply connected to The Dale.

Over 126 names.

As I read through the list in silence, I could feel the grief rising in me. It stopped just behind my eyes—or so it seemed—hovering close to the surface, unsure how to make its way out.

As friends and partners, The Dale and PARC came together to create this service of remembrance. It had been a long time since PARC was able to hold a memorial of this kind, and we were eager to help. Joanna and I met several times with staff members to plan, and the whole team took part.

During the service, I sat behind the keyboard beside Max and Isaac on guitar and bass. Together, we created pauses between the reading of names with songs—songs the whole room joined in singing.

An Indigenous Elder opened the gathering, reminding us that those who have gone before us are our ancestors—people we can continue to hold close.

It was a hard afternoon. And a good one. Strange how something can be both heavy and freeing at once. We needed to speak our friends’ names aloud, and to do it together. Over the course of the afternoon, a little air was released from the growing balloon of grief. The pressure behind my eyes slowly eased as the tears came and the memories resurfaced, all held within a room full of people who understood.

I left PARC feeling tender. I know the depth of my grief reflects the depth of my love. Still, at the end of the day, death hurts. Though I cling to my faith that death is not the end, I miss so many people. The number keeps growing, and is beyond 126.

And yet, even in the ache, there is something unbroken: the call to keep showing up, to keep building community, to keep loving. As Mary Oliver wrote:

“To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.”

I’m still learning how to do that. But I think that’s part of what it means to be alive.