Skip to main content

Twenty Years



Within two days, 20 years ago, 30 workers in our province either lost their lives abruptly and violently or in the case of one of them, had their life brutally altered.  The Sydney River McDonald's murders happened first on May 7, 1992, ending the lives of 3 young people and permanently disabling a fourth.  Two days later, 26 miners were killed when the Westray Mine exploded due to lax adherence to safety standards by the mine management. It was the most deadly coal mine explosion since the Springhill disaster in 1958.  Both radically changed forever the lives of many families and communities.

The McDonald's murders were committed during a botched robbery by one of the victims' co-workers and his friends. They made off with $2017.

And who forgot to let the canary out?
Westray, Weeping Tile


The Westray Mine explosion, it was later determined, was the fault of the owner and managers of the mine for allowing the dangerous conditions in the mine to persist without thought or care of the miners' health and safety and ultimately, lives.

Looking back today, to a time when I was still in high school, I cannot believe that these two terrible events happened so close in time to one another.  There was so much loss and brutality in both cases, how did their families and their communities bear it? How can we care for each other's lives enough so that these kinds of crimes no longer happen?  There are so many more questions than answers, still, after 20 years.

When U2 came to our neck of the woods last summer, Bono made us take a collective intake of breath when he sang the Springhill Mining Disaster Song.  It tells the story of a disaster that, along with these more recent tragedies, is indelibly stamped on our collective memory.

All three of these terrible events are wounds in our collective hearts.








Popular posts from this blog

A Small Craft

I accompanied my mother-in-law to an appointment this week. On the paper, preparing her for the appointment, it invited her bring along something to read or a small craft. As soon as I heard about this invitation to bring a small craft into an otherwise austere waiting area, my mind started to do bouncing somersaults in many different directions. Googly eyes? Glue gun? Feathers? Play clay? Friendship braclets?

Bringing her back

 As the first anniversary finally passed, I exhaled.  The sadness still nibbled away at the edges, but not clawing deep into my chest like it had been with varying degrees of ferocity in the twelve months previously.  She died in early summer, so I plunged into ocean and lakes and ate fruit straight from the plant.  The grief became softer, the folk songs carried me along in the potato patch we planted in therapy. But then, I started to miss her.  The deep grief kept her so close and now as the pressure eased, so did her presence.  I held my breath and decided to be really sad this morning just to see her face.  To sit in her prescence.  My breath became jagged as I cried for her, for us.   This Taylor Swift cover  by Marc Maron broke me right open this morning.  Here's to staying broken open enough to keep your loved ones close. And then, I walked into her garden. The garden she envisionied, planted over and over and still pre...

The words coming out of my mouth

  These days I wear a mask. I don't wear a mask all of the time, only when I am indoors or unavoidably up close with people who I don't usually interact with.  I wear one when I am ordering things, or buying things or attempting to enjoy some form of public entertainment.  I cannot rely on reading others lips. My lips are hidden. We ask each other to repeat.  We move our eyes or our whole heads to try and enunciate more clearly.  I say fewer words, more carefully chosen words behind the mask. Sometimes that is helpful, sometimes that just causes more confusion. I walked into the woods. I did not need a mask.  I only saw a few other people and they were distanced. Masks were unnecessary. After so much talking and not talking and avoiding talking out loud I am forced to examine when I speak and when I choose not to. This is not a bad thing since I can be an insufferable chatter box, just a new thing for my brain to adjust itself to. When I am not standing aro...