Posted on by erinnoxford · 2 Comments

Life, Loss, and Community: Reflections from a Meaningful Retreat

I had a dream the other night. In it I was surrounded by people I have been missing from The Dale since their deaths. We were all together in a room simply hanging out. One woman walked over and said, “I haven’t been able to give you a bear hug in a while”, and then proceeded to enfold me in a long embrace. It all felt both ordinary and extraordinary. I woke with a sense that I had just been given a gift, and I haven’t been able to shake that feeling since. 

In the weeks leading up to my dream, I found myself thinking of my friends a lot. This was especially true during the planning of our first community retreat since 2019. One day I had to pull out a file folder with the sign-up sheets from previous retreats, which took me down a rabbit hole of memories. Though I know exactly who is no longer with us, I felt overwhelmed by the volume of loss and the reality that they would have been some of the first to sign up for our excursion.

I continued to feel the absence of these friends during the school bus ride up north to Camp Crossroads, the settling into cabins, and eating our first meal in the lodge. At one point I lifted my face up to the sky and said, “they would have loved this”. The moment was broken when some of our group came outside to join me in looking up. Together we breathed in the air that smelled of pine and wood smoke, commented on the beauty of the lake, and chatted about the plan for the evening. 

Over the course of the next couple of days, we went on walks, sat on the dock, put together puzzles, played games, ate lots of food, slept, gathered around campfires, took out boats, and talked. Joanna and I jumped in, and very quickly out, of the lake. Meagan’s kindergarten aged daughter Charlotte drew pictures of people as gifts. Some gathered for Morning Prayer. On the last day we sang, shared gratitude, and took communion together. By the end of it people felt closer, some commenting on how they are now more a part of the community. 

The retreat helped me to grieve and to hope. I felt able to name that I was missing people. I also got to be present with an amazing group of people who did sign up and get on that bus. Maybe that’s part of what brought about my dream. Life continuing does not mean forgetting. And remembering does not mean excluding. The table is wide and there is always room for more.

Posted on by erinnoxford · 4 Comments

A Blurring of Space

I am outdoors and it is quiet, except for the sound of the bell. I don’t know where it is coming from. The air is warm and the table I am seated at is dappled with sunshine. I want to write but am struggling to coherently describe what is going on in my head and heart.

Yesterday was another anniversary of my mother’s death. We ate chips and drank wine in her honour. I decided against the suggestion that we go to her gravesite. I find it difficult to go, not because I don’t want to “visit” my mom, but because it is there I most acutely feel her absence. Instead I want to look at some of her treasures that now adorn our house, drink too-strong coffee, imagine her sitting beside me, and work out all the news that I want to share.

Though life has been uniquely busy over the last number of weeks, I have also found myself with time to be alone in deep thought. Sometimes this takes me down a rabbit hole of memories: lying on the grass beside Lake Ramsay at my grandparents’ home, listening to mom chatting and occasionally bursting into laughter; sharing chocolate croissants on a table outside of the St. Lawrence Market; stringing popcorn and cranberries for the Christmas tree; carrying ten more pounds of potatoes than we ever needed to a family gathering because she was worried there wouldn’t be enough; helping to rearrange all the precious things she kept on her hospital windowsill.

I can also hear her voice. I am certain she would have all kinds of questions about what we are doing at The Dale, how Cate is managing the loss of so many things during her senior year, and what Dion is up to each day. I suspect she would caution me about doing too much, gently reminding me that Sabbath was never intended to be optional. She would take notes on her I-Pad with her one good finger, all in order to keep each item in prayer.

Death arrived just before 10:30 pm for my mom. To this day I can easily place myself in that moment. Last night I decided to wrap myself in a blanket-like poncho that was hers. Just as I am now, I tried to stop and listen to my surroundings. It was still. I looked out the window and noticed more stars than I expected. I didn’t think that sleep would come, but then I heard the same bell that is ringing today. For a moment, the space between us was blurred. I fell asleep with renewed hope that one day that space will be eliminated.

Posted on by erinnoxford · 2 Comments

Being Mindful: The Merging of Laughter, Tears, and a Watermelon Costume

I’m trying to direct my attention to the things that are happening in the present moment. It’s helpful for the most part. I say that because what’s right in front of me is a collection of things that are good, hard and pretty much everything in between.

Take today.

I woke up feeling good, which I received as an incredible gift. I’ve been sick and out of sorts this past week, acutely missing my parents and hyper aware of the challenges that I face. Somehow this morning my spirit was lighter.

I love the fall and today felt more like it to me. As I write, there is a cool breeze and late day sun pouring in a window.

Two funerals took place this afternoon for women I did not know, but were connected to many people I love, including Dion and Joanna, through The Causeway and Sanctuary (a place that functions much like The Dale). My heart grieves two more lives gone and reminds me of the many people we have said goodbye to this year.

Cate has decided she wants to be a watermelon for Halloween. A watermelon! So now I sit surrounded by reams of fabric and an old hula hoop, endeavouring to create a costume that she will be proud to wear. It’s a definite work in progress.

Today we celebrated a friend’s birthday at drop-in. We ate cake and carved pumpkins.

There are a number of people at The Dale who are not housed or at risk of being evicted. They need help, like yesterday. My voicemail is full of requests for The Dale to offer assistance. It’s humbling, hard work.

I’m making a pot of turkey soup, which is filling the house with a familiar, comforting smell.

Being mindful of what’s right in front of me does not make everything easy, though it does help in the way I manage it. Similar to my experience of Sabbath-keeping, it helps me to slow down and really look at things. I am able to pay better attention to not just my feelings, but what is motivating them.

Which brings me back to today. I have laughed and cried (and likely will do both again). I feel a mixture of joy and sadness. Somehow this day has been infused with a mysterious, yet firm sense of hope. Today, in this moment, I am grateful for all of it. Even the challenge of making an outfit that resembles a watermelon.