“At the going down of the sun and in the morning/ We will remember them.”
We spoke too of 9-11. Ancient history to a few of my students, pre-history to most. (Yes, yes, I was momentarily startled, as I always am when I realise that my having vivid lived experience of that day makes me decidedly old.) And I looked at these bright young people and wondered - when they are my age, how will they remember the pandemic of 2020-22?
It will be interesting to compare the literature of 2022 with that of 2042. In twenty years’ what will a pandemic background look like? What will we have learned? (Note my strength-based optimism! Partially bravado . . . because I am not entirely sure we have learned anything yet.)
Kerry Clare recently wrote about Emily Urquhart’s essays which are set “against the backdrop of the Covid-19 Pandemic.”
And my work in progress is very much set during the time of Covid. It can’t not be. The social isolation and the choices my characters have to make are all vital to the causal unfolding of events. (I hope this is a novel. It’s supposed to be a novel. But some days I write pages which are clearly just me trying to make sense of things and have no place in the work itself.)
My Mum, sister, and I recently, quietly, marked the anniversary of Dad’s death.
“At the going down of the sun and in the morning/ We will remember them.”
On September 30th I wore orange in memory of those who survived, and those who did not survive, the residential school system.
“At the going down of the sun and in the morning/ We will remember them.”
Tomorrow, December 6th, The National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence against Women, I’ll light candles in memory of 14 women who were murdered in Montreal in 1989.
“At the going down of the sun and in the morning/ We will remember them.”
I am currently reading Doug Above the Fold, John Hondrich’s memoir. Doug’s years at the Toronto Star comprised almost quarter of a century. (He and his Dad wrote & edited that paper for over half a century.) It was the most important part of his life, for much of his life, and a time when I didn’t know him at all. I was sure I’d find mention of him, his dad, and all his friends and colleagues I’ve met. When I read an anecdote and know (or think I know!) the names of those not mentioned, I am adding them in the margins. (Ha! I hope Hondrich might see the humour in my editing his prose.)
There is a link here - but I’m aware I’m asking you, dear reader, to fill in some blanks*. Memories. Witnessing. Loss.
*But there you go, I am setting you up for success next time you read a short story, as you’ll approach it with the understanding that the author requires you to do some of the work!
“They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.”
