The Western Standard is aware of this writer’s identity; however, due to the prejudice the writer and their family faced in the community where they still live during COVID-19 for declining the COVID-19 injections, we are making an exception to our standard editorial policy by withholding their name. Spring cleaning got me thinking about the past few years. While sorting through a pile of wood scraps, I came across old signs that immediately brought me back to December 2021: “Vaxxed Only” and “Pfizer Fire.”At the time, they were nailed to a tree near the makeshift fire pit down by the river in our neighborhood.Our community is close-knit, and during the winter, the Assiniboine River freezes over so solidly that it becomes a gathering spot — fire pits, skating rinks, you name it. The signs, however, were anything but welcoming. Seeing them there, in front of everyone — especially my children — was jarring. It truly was something I would never have expected to see in real life. It wasn’t just the message, but also the decor: pine trees adorned with colorful surgical gloves. Clever? Maybe. Ridiculous? Absolutely..How have these signs been sitting in my garage for the past four years? All this time had passed, and I just couldn’t bring myself to throw them out, though I'd notice them often. They were offensive — unfit for public property — but I kept them. Maybe I thought it would be good to have a physical reminder of a time in my life when I both stood my ground and, at the same time, shattered into a million pieces. A time I’m sure most of us wish had never happened.For whatever reason, the significance of those stars etched into the signs still piques my interest to this day. Were they a symbol of being triple-boosted? An added declaration of ‘moral’ superiority the sign's creator felt they had over the ‘unclean’ ones? To this day, I don’t know — and I guess it doesn’t truly matter. But what I do know is this: someone went to a lot of effort to make those signs — from wood-burning to lacquering— and they couldn’t even bother to center the wording. Haphazard, not well thought through. A reminder for me: Wow, how similar to the entire pandemic response! Somehow, today, it makes me smile and laugh to see this kind of irony..A decade or two from now, will anyone even remember or acknowledge how nonsensical they acted in going along with all of the pandemic 'rules'? Or how poorly they treated the people they considered ‘deplorables’? “Follow the science,” they screamed. “Grandma killer.” Outrageous statements to think about in 2025, knowing what we now know, (particularly about the mRNA injection safety and efficacy) but they were popular — made so by our government leaders with the help of big media broadcasters.I can’t help but remember those signs every time I walk past their original place down at the community river gathering spot. Will the people who put them up ever realize how divisive and harmful their actions and words were? Will they take stock of their own character defects that caused them to discriminate against others in such an inhumane way? Will they ever understand the hurt they caused? Will they ever apologize?Will they double down and continue to tell themselves that the unvaccinated were dangerous, irresponsible — even subhuman? Or will they just never think of this period in time at all? The narrative was so toxic that I still find myself asking: when will they realize they were duped on several levels? When will they realize that the divide they helped create wasn’t just political — it was personal?.I recently spoke to a family member who’s still struggling with a friend who refuses to “wake up” to the reality of the situation. Frankly, at this point, if they haven’t woken up to the dupe, they probably never will.So, the question becomes: how do we move on from this? How do we heal without acknowledgment or apology?Some of us have managed to take our pain and transform it into something beautiful — but that process is ongoing. It’s difficult. It’s lonely. The picket fences may have received fresh coats of white paint recently, but many still have large, gaping holes— certainly not properly mended.I’ve struggled so much since all of this began. The community Christmas party invites with “masked and vaxxed only” emails replay in my mind often. The exclusion I felt, with no family in the city to turn to, and the dismissive attitude from people I thought I could count on, left me feeling like I was screaming in a crowded room and no one could hear me. I have legitimate concerns for myself and so many others. Do I have PTSD? Because it certainly feels like it. I’m sure others with similar experiences have asked themselves the same question..Some form of acknowledgment by those who hurt us would certainly help the healing process. Maybe it’s not an apology I’ve been waiting for, but a recognition of what happened — and how it still affects people to this day.I still don’t know. But what I do know is that there is a lot of silence on the subject. And that silence stings.I know everyone moves on at different paces and in different ways, but many of us are still clinging to the hope that “waking people up” will somehow make it all right. We’ve been left holding the bag, waiting for others to help us carry it. We’ve wasted breath and time too — telling them facts, sharing current research, pointing to recent news articles — all the things we thought would be rational and understood by all.But here’s the truth: it won’t work. They don't hear us. It has taken me a long time to realize that and to accept that people won’t see what I see — unless or until they are ready. It is now time for me to acknowledge some hard truths. Nobody is perfect. Healing can happen without an apology. It’s hard either way, but sometimes you just have to start it yourself, for yourself. I’ve realized the time for me to heal has come. It’s time to let go of what I can’t control — not because the pain isn’t real, but because I’m tired of carrying the bag. I’m tired of being stuck in a moment no one else wants to talk about.As for those firepit signs — well, it seems they’ve finally found their rightful place. Tossed in with the rubbish and fed to the flames of history, right where that kind of divisive nonsense belongs. They’ve finally done some good for me — reduced to embers while I sit back and enjoy a new beginning. A reminder that sometimes, the best way forward is to leave the past to the fire — and roast some marshmallows.
