Lists for leaving

Sunflowers are the national
flower of #Ukraine

For a long time, I have not watched the evening news. But these days, I am watching it every evening. The images compel me. I am not living them, so the least I can do is witness them.

• A young man with a duffel bag, slung across his shoulder. One duffel bag. And his Canadian passport. That got him across the border into Poland.
• A young girl, holding her aged cat. In a shelter. Where will she go? 
• A young boy, alone, reaching for food from the volunteer and showing the phone number written on his hand. Who will pick him up? 
• An old woman being helped, oh so carefully, across a makeshift bridge of planks. Will she make it to safety? 

All of them leaving their home and security in Ukraine, for who knows what and who knows where. The images stick in my brain and they got me thinking: What would I take if I had to flee?

Sparked by the news, the pieces below come from my imagination, written on March 12, 2022, in the safety of my secure warm home.

A LIST FOR LEAVING — only clothes? Or something for the heart, also? Bread and roses, after all.

• Phone and laptop. Chargers!
• Documents: ID to remember who I am; wallet with cards and drivers licence. Will the cash be of any use where I am going? Where am I going?
• One favourite book: which one?
• My Kindle (charger!), for ease if not erudition
• A notebook and pens — so many colours to remember hope by; the blank pages to record and to plan
• For the heart, two shiny deep-green shot glasses. Two — one for each of us, as they were one each for my parents
• Clothes, of course. In layers. On my body and in a rolling case
• Foot gear: room for 3 pairs? Boots for fleeing. Shoes for walking. Sandals for strolling — for when there is time again for not rushing, not fleeing, but simply for living. When will that be?

***

A CONTEMPLATION OF LISTS from the privilege of my own safe life —

In a moment of calm, I made a list. Within that moment of calm there was a second, maybe longer, of mindlessness. I forgot to put the cat on the list. I mean, I thought it wasn’t necessary. Of course I would take the cat. She’s like family. My partner wasn’t on the list either, but, of course, she would come with me. She is family.

But in the moment of utter madness that made it necessary for us to leave the flat and head below ground, I forgot to get the cat. The noise of war had made her skittish for days now and she was likely deep under the bed. I was simply frantic to get us 2-leggeds together, to check the list, complete the list, and get the hell out.

But the cat wasn’t on the list.

And that is how we two came to be safe (a relative state, a moving sense) below ground, while our one beloved cat remained several storeys above ground, not safe, not safe at all. I cannot bring myself to think of her, of what has become of her.

Later, much later, (in a galaxy without mad men ordering invasion and death) I came to realize that the path to hell is paved with good intentions, also known as list making. But if the list is incomplete, then hell meets you head on and sits hot in your gut. Right below your heart. Right beneath your lungs. Both organs still operate but neither beyond the minimum requirements for function.

I still have the list. Incomplete, as it turns out, and horrifying in its reminder to me of how I simply followed it. Without thinking.

That is how we end up in hell. Following lists, not thinking, and leaving the cat behind.

***

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Land acknowledgement: I respectfully recognize that I live on the original lands of Anishinaabe, Cree, Oji-Cree, Dakota and Dene peoples, and on the homeland of the Métis Nation.

Photo of sunflower by Aaron Burden on Unsplash