40 years is over

Forty years ago, about this time, we got out of a plane from Ireland, met some Canadian relatives and drove from Toronto to St. Catharines in what was the final leg of a lengthy journey to Canada. I have vivid memories from that day. I recall crying like there would be no more joy. I was an 11 year old realizing that I was leaving all that I knew and for what? I never really got an answer to that question then, and since both my parents are no longer with us, I can only surmise. But we don't talk about those things, because appropriate shame is bashed around by inappropriate pride.

I recall the plane ride, my first. I remember, for some strange reason, the smoke in the plane. I remember arriving in Toronto, and that long drive to St. Catharines. I remember the roundabout at the Niagara end of the Burlington skyway and all the street lights along the highway. I remember arriving and going to bed. I remember the many nights of nightmares, so vivid I can "see" them today. I was small and insignificant and all of this was being foisted upon me, like so many other things.

I remember going to school in Canada and being picked on because I spoke differently. That is also where I met Reg, now a life long friend. I remember walking to Meadowvale school, positively alone, I had no friends. We lived with my aunt, uncle, their three kids and I think my grannie lee lived there too. I used to think the

house was so big, and now when I drive by I realize it isn't so big after all. I remember my first birthday in Canada. My parents had so little, I

remember getting my first hockey stick with a straight blade, a puck and some hockey tape. I remember moving on Dec.23/69 to our first house and I remember our first Christmas.

And all of a sudden, it's 2009 and forty years have passed. I so wanted this day to be special, but life took over, in between work, responsibilities a

nd a very late day, it seems that the day much like the memories have faded and its' importance is fictitious. I so wanted to celebrate this day with my siblings, but, the "ideals" family just doesn't exist. In the years that have passed, strife has eliminated most of what each of us have lied to keep, "the family". Each has retreated to

ones own little silo to use whatever substance or behaviour is the latest to shield them from reality. Which crutch works this time, I wonder?

And now what? Will I be here in another forty, I doubt it. How many more of these false remembrances will I see? More likely the sad reality will be when is the next funeral. Then the talk will begin again, Mom and Dad would have wanted this or wanted that, and once again, I will remind them that what they want is immat

erial, for they are no longer here and what they want does not matter, it is just more guilt. The guilt will fly, o precious guilt, I was raised by a Jewish mother who converted to Catholicism, there was always guilt to spare. It's almost a cause for a charge of treason to defy and decline a request for the next "look at me in my drunken state" festival.

It's been forty years. Would I go back? Heck n

o, I think I have finally started to live again. I am no longer under the eyes and lies of the clan. I live for my God, my little family and for new opportunities to release myself of the guilt, inappropriate shame and immense sadness that pervades all that I am. I am haunted by memories of pain and mistrust that seem to lurk in the shadows waiting to pounce at my weakest moment.

And so, with Tenebras Expellit et Hostes as my motto, I will open myself to the light. For the light will show that which is in darkness and identify it for what it really is. Much like the light streaming in this photo, I want the light to brighten the darkened corners and crevices of my mind and soul, so that the exposure will bring beauty from ashes.