For a few days I have been digesting the frightening reality of the brutal sexual assault on Lara Logan that took place in Egypt recently.
As I listened to a local news anchor reporting this story, my first gut reaction was tears.
I cried for this young woman's pain and her traumatic journey to recovery that she must now endure.
I cried for all women everywhere. I cried for men. I cried for the human race.
I have watched this reporter on '60 minutes'. Her beautiful spirit shone through her professionalism.
She, along with too many women to count, is now scarred for the rest of her life. The scars may not be visible, but rather hidden, influencing her behaviour in perhaps subtle ways.
She is now a survivor of 'war'. Just as veterans suffer with post traumatic stress, she will be changed forever. Hopefully, she will learn to overcome the most debilitating of these after-effects.
Far too long in this world, women have been viewed as expendable objects.
Our struggle as women to become 'human beings' in the eyes of men, so that we could vote and have legal rights as they do, rather than be seen as their 'property', is well documented throughout history.
We have come far, especially in North America, yet have so much further to go.
Sometimes I fear we are our own worst enemies. Our competitiveness with one another at times overshadows our common human goal.
There are countless ways women undermine themselves by 'selling' themselves sexually in the media and in society.
"The oldest 'profession' in the world" is how prostitution is portrayed to attempt to justify its existence.
Women who 'buy' into this myth are perpetuating the very idea that female bodies are objects to be bought and sold, rather than celebrated and honoured.
Men who value women as the 'closest to God they will get here on earth', must be crying as well.
These men do not use or abuse, but rather respect and at times revere women. They embody the spirit of love.
The plight of women is highlighted when a high profile person is victimized.
I pray that with God's help Lara Logan will heal, enabling her to be a 'strong' voice in the future to affect positive change for us all.
The world will then be a little better place after this tragedy than before it.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Memories
Not eighteen months, one month shy, no more in fact. Nineteen now.
It actually took me a while to recall the exact number of months since my mother's death.
Must be a sign of healing.
I will remember the significance of the fifteenth each month of every year.
The number 15 is imprinted on my soul and in my mind and heart.
That date will be the one I set aside each month to honour my mother's memory.
Not that I don't think of her at other times.
She is a part of me and my daughters, my siblings, my nephews and nieces, and my grandnephew.
In each of them I see a different aspect of her.
In myself I feel her heartbeat.
Her eyes peer back at me every time I see my reflection and when I look into my eldest daughter's face.
Last summer in Vancouver I saw her in my elderly aunts, two of her sisters.
I enjoyed laughing and sharing with them while they appreciated my visits.
We ventured to some of their favourite spots, and now they are in my treasured memories along with my Mom.
I am very glad I made that trip when I did.
'Timing is everything'.
The eldest sister is now suffering with the after-effects of a fall which broke her hip just before Christmas. She will not be able to go home, as she requires nursing care.
I must call to keep abreast of her progress. There is a dread to do so, as I am not ready for more grief to bear.
As February 15th approaches each year, the day before will conjure memories of love in my childhood home, when my Dad would bring the largest, 'mushiest' valentine he could find to my Mom, along with red roses and chocolates we all could share.
Words of endearment and nicknames graced their cards to each other.
My Dad was a passionate man who showed his love for my mother.
He never needed reminding of important 'couple' dates as many men do.
I have so very many memories of happy, loving times as both a child and an adult.
As I move forward in my own life, many more memories are yet to be made
It actually took me a while to recall the exact number of months since my mother's death.
Must be a sign of healing.
I will remember the significance of the fifteenth each month of every year.
The number 15 is imprinted on my soul and in my mind and heart.
That date will be the one I set aside each month to honour my mother's memory.
Not that I don't think of her at other times.
She is a part of me and my daughters, my siblings, my nephews and nieces, and my grandnephew.
In each of them I see a different aspect of her.
In myself I feel her heartbeat.
Her eyes peer back at me every time I see my reflection and when I look into my eldest daughter's face.
Last summer in Vancouver I saw her in my elderly aunts, two of her sisters.
I enjoyed laughing and sharing with them while they appreciated my visits.
We ventured to some of their favourite spots, and now they are in my treasured memories along with my Mom.
I am very glad I made that trip when I did.
'Timing is everything'.
The eldest sister is now suffering with the after-effects of a fall which broke her hip just before Christmas. She will not be able to go home, as she requires nursing care.
I must call to keep abreast of her progress. There is a dread to do so, as I am not ready for more grief to bear.
As February 15th approaches each year, the day before will conjure memories of love in my childhood home, when my Dad would bring the largest, 'mushiest' valentine he could find to my Mom, along with red roses and chocolates we all could share.
Words of endearment and nicknames graced their cards to each other.
My Dad was a passionate man who showed his love for my mother.
He never needed reminding of important 'couple' dates as many men do.
I have so very many memories of happy, loving times as both a child and an adult.
As I move forward in my own life, many more memories are yet to be made
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