Week Twenty-Three: Sit on a Park Bench

Each of us needs to withdraw from the cares which will not withdraw from us. We need hours of aimless wandering or spates of time sitting on park benches, observing the mysterious world of ants and the canopy of treetops.
– Maya Angelou

When I added this to my list way back at the beginning of this project, I never thought that something so simple – sitting on a park bench – would become so difficult, loaded, and problematic.

At the time of this writing, we live in a world that has radically redefined the idea of “public spaces”; where most of us haven’t seen loved ones for months; where leaving your house without purpose opens you up to the scrutiny of strangers. This world of COVID-19 is a world where playgrounds and other outdoor amenities like picnic tables and park benches are barred by caution tape for our own safety.

That is one of the reasons I didn’t sit on a park bench this week.

Road Warriors

This week something very scary happened. We were sitting at the dinner table when my Father received a phone call from the hospital in the Northern Ontario town where my stepmother had been living for the past several weeks. I sat there frozen, watching my Father at the mercy of the voice on the end of the line, wondering if his life was about to be changed forever. Within twelve hours we were in the car, making the 17 hour drive North.

Travel, stress, and fear took over and it was Wednesday when I finally remembered that there was something I was supposed to be doing: sitting on a park bench.

Our journey took us to a camp on the sparsely populated shores of Lake Shebandowan. As you can imagine, a lake without parks is not a place where one would normally find a park bench. But I’ll be honest, I wasn’t particularly focused on that.

Withdraw from the Cares

The level of stress – both acute and chronic – that my stepmother was experiencing as a result of working full-time during a global pandemic, being a primary caregiver for an ageing parent, and being away from her home and her spouse for months had triggered a seizure. Her brain simply could not cope with what it was being asked to process. Reboot and delete. As far as I know, she still has no memory of that day, although it will likely haunt my Father for the rest of his life.

Both the ordinary and the urgent realities of this pandemic – and of every stressful situation – hit everyone differently, and some negative side-effects are inevitable. It could look like job-loss or redeployment, food insecurity, depression and anxiety, trauma and grief, or death. It is hard to live on the edge of an existential crisis, even for those of us like myself who have experienced none of these things. We may instinctively try to push through it, or tell ourselves to over-achieve, persevere, or get over it, but if we’re not careful our bodies will stop telling us to slow down, they’ll make us.

I spent this week up on Lake Shebandowan, working remotely, waiting for news, offering support, and slowing down. While there were no park benches, per se, I did find some quiet places to sit and think.