keeping care in times of crises

Keeping care in times of crisis

Written by Jamie-Leigh Gonzales

“Who will keep care of me?” My 4-year old, Roo, asks in the sometimes confusing schedule of back and forth coparenting. 

For myself — as a kid who also did the back and forth schedule between my mom’s house, my dad’s house, and my grandparent’s house — I never thought to ask who will take care of me? Rather, which house will I be at tonight? Still now, as an adult, I struggle to understand that care is a need for me as much as it is a need that is inherent to existence. 

“Will you keep care of my stuffy, mama?” Roo asks when they have to leave it behind before daycare. 

The things we love still need care when we are not there to give it to them. Care is something that wilts in prolonged isolation.

Because of exhaustion. 

Because silos smother creativity and connection.

Because I do not exist without you. And we do not exist without care.

To be the keeper of something is a role that comes with responsibility. Like a firekeeper’s presence tending to the ongoing light and warmth of a sacred fire.

“I want to get a pet lizard when I’m old enough to keep care of it.” Roo says, repeating a notion of my own back to me.

Being a carekeeper comes with responsibility. It is an honour, but you have to do something with it. Care is central. But to be central you have to be in relationship with others. 

This phrasing Roo uses causes me to pause every time they say it. “Care” as something we keep — something we tend to in an ongoing way — has been the interruption I need in these particularly violent times. 

Saying “I care about the bodies, the lives, the children being killed on the other side of the world at the hands of colonization, but what can I do?” And then going about your life — this is not care, this is just recognition of something. This is just awareness of something. Care is action. Care is necessary to life — but it is also collective. 

So, what will I do with my role as carekeeper in these times? I’m finding my ways, but it’s not done on my own. 

“Who will keep care of us?” I ask you in these violent times, and the answer is: we will — we have to.

Keep care central

Keep care flowing

Keep care blooming

Keep care,

Jamie-Leigh

(Read more stories like this in the “Remembering Care” zine, hard copies for purchase here)