Later in my office, I wondered why I didn’t hear the sirens. My window faces Elgin Street. I would have been able to see the War Memorial had I been a couple of floors higher up in our new building. I guess I was engrossed in something. Around 10:00, I heard a couple of our managers coming around to all the offices telling people not to leave the building. My manager looked at me and understood that I had heard her speak to the others, though she did not say anything to me. A few minutes later, my Director came to my office to look out the window. I asked him what had happened. “A soldier has been killed,” he said. I was grateful for his presence in my office for a few minutes.
I went to the Globe and Mail site. Breaking news. A gunman had shot a soldier at the War Memorial and was tearing through Parliament.
What?
I stepped into the hall, hoping to make human contact, to make sense of what was happening and what we were to do. People were scurrying but not gathering. I called Jaime. He hadn’t heard anything. Hearing nervousness in my voice, he said, “You’re okay.”
An e-mail soon came, instructing us not to leave the building. We were on lock-down.
Should I call my parents, I wondered. They might hear the news and worry. I decided to call them. They, of course, had heard the news. I told them we were on lockdown. I told them not to leave their building in the Market either. For some reason, I wasn’t convinced that they wouldn’t step out. They didn’t say, “OF COURSE NOT!”
Then I remembered that Aveen was allowed “off property” from his centretown school, so I called the school, and made them reassure me that they would not be allowed off property today. “We’re dealing with a very serious situation today,” they said, a bit grumpily. “Yes, that’s why I’m calling,” I said.
I tried to work a bit but I couldn't concentrate. I felt disconcerted. I tried to chat with people, but others seemed to be working. Only later would I find out that everyone was feeling the same way I was.
Although I knew Amrita would be safe in her school, I decided to call anyway. I think I just wanted to be with my family. After a couple of tries, I got through, and the office assured me that they were fine and in secure school mode. Hearing the warm voice of Amrita's school made me feel better.
I got an e-mail from my friend asking if I was in lock down. She was too. We started e-mailing back and forth.
I started to hear people saying that we should stay away from windows. Then we got an e-mail instructing us to stay away from them. Right. That made sense, but where would I go and what would I do? We had laptops but I had not been able to connect online with mine. Nonetheless, I took my iPhone and my laptop and went to a boardroom. I expected all my other colleagues who also had window offices to join me, but I remained there, alone and cold, the whole day.
We had no food. It would have been a good day to bring my lunch. But I wasn't hungry. I was feeling stressed. I was worried about my children. What were they doing? Were they scared? Stressed? What would happen at the end of the day? I was also scared that the gunman would come into our building. 9/11 was on all our minds. It was in the realm of the possible.
I didn't dwell on it, though. I was anxious, but I was conscious of the fact that it was a different anxiety than what I felt at the depth of my illness and ever since. I was able to acknowledge that we would most likely all be okay. And even though I was alone in the boardroom for most of the time, I knew I wasn't alone. We were all in the same boat. (In the same building.) With cancer, I feel alone.
Still, I wondered what would happen. How this would end. It wasn't until later that my thoughts turned to Corporal Nathan Cirillo, the soldier who had been gunned down at the War Memorial. That would come later.
A lot of friends e-mailed and texted to ask if I was okay. I passed most of the day e-mailing and texting, even though at some point we were instructed not to. Communication seemed important, and I had not much else to keep my mind occupied, since it was not possible to work with the tools I had available in the boardroom. Sometimes, people in the office came together and talked, but not very much.
Mostly, I wondered who would pick up my kids if Jaime and I were still in lockdown and they were released. The schools had no answer. Then, my friend, whose kids and mine are the best of friends, texted me that she was working from home that day, and would pick up the kids if they were released. Relief flooded through me. An angel.
Eventually, the kids were released and my friend picked everyone up and took them to her house. They were safe! But I still wondered how long I would be in the building. Aveen texted me, "Are you still in lockdown?" I think he was worried.
At some point, I wasn't scared anymore. I just really wanted to get out of there. At 4:30, we were suddenly told that we could leave, using the south side entrance only. We were all happy, but at the same time, scared to leave. Was it safe? After all, what had suddenly changed that made it safe now?
We decided to leave in pairs, using what we knew from kindergarten, the buddy system. It made us feel better. It seemed a grand ceremony to leave the building, gathering our things, making sure everyone was paired up. We squinted when we finally reached the outdoors. It had been a nice day! Sunny for a change. It felt strange to be outside, almost surreal. Everyone was regarding each other suspiciously.
I met Jaime along the way and we picked up the kids and walked home together, happily reunited, chatting away about the day. We made a good dinner, and stayed inside, huddled together, squished together in bed, not wanting to separate. I let them stay up later than usual, feeling certain that we wouldn't be going back to work the next day.
But early in the morning, we got the message that it was business as usual. What? How could it be business as usual? How could we go back there to the building next to the War Memorial after we had been locked in there for so long? I was still scared something would happen again. It wasn't clear if there had been more than one gunman. At the very least, I needed a little break from the building.
But we are professionals (another phrase I hate). I reluctantly let my kids go for the day and I hauled myself back to work. Back to duty. Hardly an acknowledgement of what had happened the day before.
The following day, one of the managers at work arranged a discussion session so that we could talk about what had happened. A small group of us went and we talked and shared our thoughts and feelings. We were not alone. We went home for the weekend, feeling better having talked and connected.
That weekend, Jaime and I had tickets to see Once, a beautiful Irish story about love and music, at the NAC. It was a wonderful performance. At the end, the actors talked about the shooting, and dedicated the performance to Corporal Nathan Cirillo. They said that they would be taking up a donation to set up a trust for the Corporal's young son.
In the crowds, as we were leaving, I spotted the main actor. I had only seen him and the other actors from a distance, their faces fuzzy. Up close, I saw how handsome he was. I dropped some money into his box. Jaime said, in a clear and commanding voice, "Excellent performance." The actor's face turned and found Jaime, like a moth turns to the sun. He beamed with appreciation, as though he had never heard such a compliment before. "Thank you, Sir." I wish his attention had been to me.
I walked out of the NAC feeling good. The words of the powerful main song in the performance stayed with me long afterwards.
Raise your hopeful voice. You have a choice.
Falling Slowly
by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova
I don't know you, but I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me and always fool me
And I can't react
All the more for that
Words fall through me and always fool me
And I can't react
And games that never amount
To more than they're meant
Will play themselves out
To more than they're meant
Will play themselves out
Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You've made it now
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You've made it now
Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can't go back
The moods that take me and erase me
And I'm painted black
And I can't go back
The moods that take me and erase me
And I'm painted black
Well, you have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won
Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice
You've made it now
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice
You've made it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I'll sing it loud
I'll sing it loud
