The Compassionate Neighbourhood: Holding Hands from The Cradle to the Grave

The Compassionate Neighbourhood: Holding Hands from The Cradle to the Grave: In my neighbourhood, we have two community centres, Dovercourt Recreation Association and the Jewish Community Centre (JCC) . Some years ...

Holding Hands from The Cradle to the Grave

In my neighbourhood, we have two community centres, Dovercourt Recreation Association and the Jewish Community Centre (JCC). Some years ago, I was a trustee on the board of Dovercourt, so I know that centre well. I wrote about it in my book, "The Four Walls of My Freedom", as an example of how neighbourhoods can be compassionate places. But lately, I've been taking dance classes at the JCC and I've been paying attention to the many things this community centre is doing right.

Both of these organizations have undertaken to support the mind, body, and health needs of their constituents from cradle to grave. How does that look in action? Dovercourt has a 'kinder care' or childcare playroom where the staff know every child and their parents by name. Newborns and their mothers can take Mum and Me exercise classes in the gym, then be cuddled by kinder care staff while their Mums share a coffee in the adjoining lounge area. Between the regular swimming lessons in the pool, there is post-stroke aqua and aqua arthritis. I used to bring Nicholas to the special swim times for people with disabilities if he was feeling a little more delicate than usual. Otherwise, I brought him to family swims along with his sister and we all splashed around with the neighbourhood kids. Of course, after swimming, the kinder care staff would set up a video for him to watch so I could grab a coffee or have a chat with friends.

In 1998, our community suffered the ravages of "The Great Ice Storm". A great swathe of eastern Canada and the United States lost power - tons of freezing rain crushed the entire electric grid of the region, including our neighbourhood. Dovercourt was a designated emergency shelter and many families camped there, thankful for the powerful generator which provided heat, light and hot meals. Because of my son Nicholas' health needs, we were allotted a hotel, but we hung out at Dovercourt during the day with our friends. Everyone pulled their weight to make it easier for those with young babies or those who needed extra help due to age or infirmity. Here is a newspaper photo of Nicholas with friends at Dovercourt during the Ice Storm!

The Jewish Community Centre takes its neighbourhood compassion very seriously. The Hillel Lodge long term care facility for seniors sits comfortably beside the main Soloway JCC where a preschool, pool, gym and fitness classes are located. In the evenings, classes on Jewish culture and cuisine are on offer and there is a library for browsing or research. Family services are next door in another building that houses social work and the administrative offices for Tamir, an agency that runs group homes for Jewish adults with disabilities. Everyone is welcome at the JCC, but all their programmes reflect a mindfulness that cultural identity is the heartbeat of their community.

Why do I love these two centres of neighbourhood compassion? They see families in the most holistic way possible. Helping people live happy, healthy lives from cradle to grave is an idea that I believe commands great respect. It's an idea that I will keep coming back to, as I post my thoughts on this blog between visiting my 90 year old mother in Montreal, helping my son settle into his new group home, going to fitness classes and enjoying my extended family which now includes two infants. Personally, I'm closer to the grave than the cradle, but I know one thing: we are ALL in this together.

The Compassionate Neighbourhood: Unsentimental Angels

The Compassionate Neighbourhood: Unsentimental Angels: In life and death situations, sometimes there is a sense of dread and sometimes there is sense of destiny. On April 25, 1975, I was work...

Unsentimental Angels

In life and death situations, sometimes there is a sense of dread and sometimes there is sense of destiny.

On April 25, 1975, I was working alone at my part-time job at a Montreal jewelry shop. My father lay in a coma at the Montreal General Hospital three weeks after his third and catastrophic stroke. I was polishing the glass counter in the shop when I felt a wave of anxiety. Suddenly, I knew that I had to close the shop and go to my father. A young man pushed the door open and I said something like, “I’m sorry but the shop is closed. I have to go - I have an emergency.” The man offered to give me a lift - his car was parked just outside. I thanked him and on the way to the hospital, he told me that his father had passed away at the same hospital. I remember sitting beside my Dad that day, watching a black ball inside a glass jar rise and fall. It was his respirator. I noticed that there was even a setting called ‘sigh’. A couple of hours later, I was back at home when the phone rang. It was my mother - she was crying. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you call to tell me?” The doctors hadn’t said anything to me, but they called my mother to let her know that my father had only about twenty minutes to live. She knew that I had been with Dad earlier and thought I just hadn’t bothered to relay the news. Later that day, my father died.

I am not sure if I believe in angels per se, but I have always thought there was something mystical about the day that my father died. I wonder about the man who came into the shop and drove me to the hospital. I wonder about my sudden need to leave the shop. Within the spectrum of kindness and helpfulness, this is the extreme.

As a final word on kindness, I want to share the story of another such encounter with extreme goodness.

Sam McEwan Steward is an old friend who offered to share her story. After living in the UK for a number of years with her family and expecting her second child, Sam moved back to Canada. This is her story:

Upon arrival back in Brantford, our original hometown, we got down to the business of settling in. An OBGYN was of utmost importance with my due date fast approaching, and I was happy to get an appointment later in the month. It was early October when we moved into our new home. Initially, we seemed to go unnoticed in the neighbourhood, but no worries - we were busy establishing our new lives and putting everything into its rightful place. Hallowe'en was a few weeks away and I was anxious to have my daughter participate. I always enjoyed being creative so handmade an adorable ladybug costume to mark the event.

October 30th was highlighted on the calendar. It was the date of my appointment, likely the last time I would see the doctor before the welcome delivery of our second child. There was a sharp chill in the air that evening; numbing, winter was on her way and making her icy presence known.

The next hours were a blur. I was in the grip of an unbearable pain. Later, I thought that my eyes had cried all the tears of a lifetime. Instead of making plans to contact the paper with the Birth Announcement of our child; a son, Dan was sent to a private room with a tattered and torn phone book to find a funeral director. Our son had passed away without ever taking a single breath. Yet, as a result of our son's passing, a friendship like no other was born. To this day, Dan does not know what attracted him to a particular funeral director, but to him the name stood out; called to him, I guess. It is strange how things happen, how they are meant to be. Our funeral director was in fact one of our new neighbours living directly across the street. Steve was there for us every painstaking step along the way; guiding, nurturing and even nudging a much needed chuckle or smile out of two grieving parents. Steve and Chris, his wife, would become cherished friends; our rocks, our shoulders to cry on. They helped us put one foot in front of the other, listened when they knew that was what was required, offered a helping hand, advice when that was needed. Acts of kindness were too many to mention. They are the Godparents of our three other children, they are our guardian angels, they were the answer to our prayers when friends from our past were nowhere to be found. I suspect those folks left us alone, not knowing what to say or what to do.

Bobbie Steward, our Angel in heaven would have been 25 years of age this Hallowe'en, Angel Blessings my sweet child.

These are two stories of being led by a kind person through a desperate time. I am not a sentimental person, but I do believe that there are times in life that require acceptance. Nothing good can come of analysing possible motives on the part of gentle, helpful people of the extreme variety. Perhaps this is when we can say "angel".

Crying Together

In London, I worked as a volunteer for an organization called "Women for Women International". WFW helps women recover and become economically independent after war in their country. One day, I hosted a tea with a group of my friends to hear about the group's operations in Kosovo. Hamida, the country director at the time, told us, "Most of the women have been so traumatized that the first month or so, we don't do anything in the way of programming. No, we just cry."

I thought that when I started this blog that I would talk about the social politics of ageing, caregiving, disability and social inclusion. But I find that it's important to talk about stories of kindness first. This is our way of 'crying' together. So - my friend Hiromi is a Japanese American living in London. This is her story of extraordinary kindness.

This was when Hana was a baby in a stroller. We lived in Brooklyn and I did not as yet know how to drive. Friends of ours had given us their hand me down car and I had to go register it at the DMV in Brooklyn. Now I don't know what it's like in Canada, but the DMV in the States is notorious for having surly officious bureaucrats. So off I went with a slightly coldy Hana in her stroller only to discover that I was missing Dan's signature on one of the forms. So I had to go into the city, track down Dan and get his signature. Back at the DMV, I waited in line to discover that somehow I didn't have my checkbook and they didn't take credit cards. So I was leaving again and coming back another day because it was getting close to closing by this point. Then, the guy in line behind me stepped in and asked how much I was short. I can't remember the exact amount,but I think it was over $100. He told me he would lend it to me and I just had to come back and leave the money with the woman at the window. I was just flabbergasted and told him I couldn't. He said not to worry, he's here everyday and I could just pay him back later. It turns out he worked for a used car business and it was his job to register all the cars that got sold everyday. So I gratefully accepted and went home with the car registered. I went back the next day with the money in an envelope to the woman at the window who had helped me the day before. Of course being Japanese, I had two little boxes of chocolate to go with the money, one for him and one for her. She tried to refuse saying she wasn't allowed to accept anything. I told her it was just a little box and it was to say thank you and she relented. Then she told me that he does this all the time but I was the first one ever to come back to return the money. Can you imagine? How can you take someone's incredibly kind gesture and turn it into a handout? Anyway, I still remember that very nice man from time to time and am so grateful for his very generous act.

Sometimes, the kindness of strangers can never be forgotten.