A Public Practice of Lament
Mahogany Community Resident: Jordan Blasetti
(Mahogany Grief tree pictured above. Photograph taken by: Katherine Blasetti)
The ethos of my suburban neighbourhood is not one that is eager to face dark things. But one of the hard gifts of this year of pandemic has been its bringing of the universality of loss squarely into our collective awareness, in defiance of the aspirational sheen of a comfortable life that can act as a veil over pain and anxiety.
I was inspired to facilitate an opportunity for my neighbours to name their grief when a friend shared about a similar ‘Weeping Tree’ in the Calgary neighbourhood of Bowness. I selected a tree just to the side of a popular scenic walking route in my neighbourhood of Mahogany. Passersby who noticed the small sign were invited to tie a provided ribbon while taking a moment to be present to the pain of something they are grieving for themselves, their neighbours, or our world.
In other times, I certainly would have felt a stronger need to justify a public practice of lament—why should folks welcome the intrusion of such a downer into their afternoon walk? But I have sensed our aptitude for acknowledging suffering come closer to the surface this year. Still, we are mostly not well-practiced at openly naming our own deep hurt. So I wanted to offer a modest ritual to make explicit for a moment the heavy unspoken thing we all know we’re all carrying.
I found it heartening to see the ribbons accumulate over the month of March, each one representing an individual’s willingness to mark their particular share in the universal experience of grief. And the collection of them a witness to solidarity, a small statement that we see one another in our hurt even when we can't or don't sit together long enough to hear out the whole of it.
Community members have shared stories of the significant catharsis that can come from the simple practice of focusing grief into a tangible object and gesture. Conversations provoked by this installation in neighbourhood social media spaces have revealed profound capacities for vulnerable self-disclosure and compassionate listening. A small prompt, like a grief tree’s invitation to an act of lament, can be all that is needed to unveil our common grief as a bridge connecting each of us to all.
“The first day I saw this walking my daughter to school I thought it was a thoughtful and touching idea. The very next day my aunt passed away back home in Ireland. I immediately walked over to the tree and with tears in my eyes tied a ribbon and said goodbye to my aunt in the only way I could. To whomever had this idea and went out of their way to set this up I send out heartfelt thanks for helping with my grief. I sent a picture of the ribbon and note to my cousins back home to know their mother was in our thoughts on the other side of the world.”
“I am a labour and delivery nurse here in the city and that particular night shift was full of loss grief. I came home tried to get a few hours of sleep and then took my dog for a walk around the wetlands, as I do daily. My husband came with me. It was a silent walk as I was internalizing the shift prior and carrying so much inside. I then saw the tree and was like “What is this!?” I read the sign, and began to tear up. I grabbed a green ribbon and tied it to a branch trying to let go of some of the grief I was feeling. I walked back to the path with tears in my eyes but a smile on my face. My husband asked what it was and I explained to him. It then opened up our conversation about my shift prior and all the heartache I was carrying (not to mention in the middle of a world already filled with so much heartache and sadness during this pandemic). Your tree had the perfect timing and purpose that day for me. It allowed for me to reflect, grieve, make a wish moving forward, put a smile on my face and opened up a conversation of support between my husband and I. Thank you so so much for this project. I will never forget that day.”