Through the Lens of Sadness

I took this shot of a heron as I was walking at the Airpark. I’ve taken dozens of photos of these amazing birds and listened to their surprising raucous squawks. Today, I was thinking of the Remembrance Day ceremonies that took place all over the world, and while this heron could be thinking of breakfast, I saw a lone bird through the lens of sadness. Sadness for war, for those who died, those who remained, and those families praying their loved ones would return to them. Maybe I saw a touch of sadness in this bird, too.

A fond memory surfaced in the middle of all that. When our family lived in Cumberland, every November 11th, my father would lead the memorial service and then bring out his trumpet to play taps. I could hear each poignant note hanging in the air as he played with such compassion. Inevitably, a large knot would form in my throat, and tears would gather in my eyes followed by a wave of pride at his ability to express the deep significance of The Last Post or Taps. Those poignant sounds marked a soldier’s last resting place and completed duty at all those ceremonies.

My father didn’t serve in any foreign wars, and while we never discussed the cause, it seems likely that because his father died young and he returned home to assist his mother with the farm, his priority was looking after his mother and three sisters. During this time, he also had a job at an airplane factory where he fashioned a bracelet for my mother from a piece of scrap airplane steel. They presented it to me before they died, and it remains my most precious belonging.

Remembering again, I thought of the long journey I undertook to remember who I was inside. I knew I was a daughter, the oldest sister, and an achiever at athletics and in school. Hearing other’s feelings as loud as my own made it difficult to tell which was which. Hence my difficulty with Remembrance Day ceremonies.

I pretended no-one knew

about the layers

running just below the surface.

Jealousy, melancholy, anger

embarrassment, and shame

swirled like candyfloss at the fair.

Its sticky sweetness burrowed inside me.

The layers couldn’t reach me

if I ran away.

I pretended not to feel

the heart-wrenching loss

of soldiers marching by.

Their grief caught in my throat.

Tears grew into drops

as I drove past the parade

until I couldn’t feel them anymore.

Their grief couldn’t touch me

if I ran away.

(Carlssen - July 2026)

Running away was easier until I was even running away from myself. To fit in, I believed I needed to change my outer self. I was an actress pretending to be a speaker in grade school and won many awards. As an athlete, I won ribbons in track and field and played soccer with the boys. As a teen, I was a musician playing my flute in school plays, and travelled to Japan with a concert band. Whenever my focus and jobs changed, I became that person to see if it fit who I was. This behaviour wasn’t random. It was my safety net, my security, my way of blocking everything else out. There were many attempts to find who I was inside, but those attempts were feeble, at best, and usually involved changing jobs and/or relationships.

There was so much more to remember, but this post is about feeling and seeing through the lens of sadness with those who are feeling grief. Yes, I grieved for my lost self, and can imagine soldiers grieving for the self that was before they went to war. I hope we honour them and treat them with respect, gratitude, and love for what they endured, saw, and experienced—the horrors, the camaraderie, injury, and the moments that changed them. Learning when life hits us in cruel ways sometimes cracks us open to new ideas and benefits we can’t even imagine.

I do not go to the ceremonies or watch too much on TV because I feel all the emotions and get overwhelmed. Wearing a poppy is one way I can acknowledge their sacrifice. It’s a small gesture but meaningful to me. So many times I've thought there must be something more I could offer to those involved in wars. Something that would align with my purpose on Earth to write and publish books about my journey, to be a healer and a visionary. Then, I had one of those moments of inspiration that come like a surge of energy right to the heart.

Like the lone heron I saw through the lens of sadness, I could see it and Remembrance Day through the lens of sending comfort and healing to those who are experiencing grief. Standing with those involved, I can be with them in their grief. It’s my way of holding someone’s hand, or offering comfort just by being present. I’ve had that experience. When I miscarried a child at Christmas one year, I felt many people standing shoulder to shoulder, meeting me through the lens of sadness to help carry my grief.

There are many who might believe this wouldn’t be effective. I understand because I used to think that people who offered this type of help were just trying to get out of physically helping people. That was before I realized how powerful all of us are. If half our world’s population believed they could make the world a more peaceful place with less war by standing in spirit, offering divine love and compassion, would the result be a better world without war? I’d love to find out.