FIRST PERSON | After my sons were caught in Toronto transit violence, I realized I can’t always protect them | CBC News

This First Person piece was written by Shilpashree Jagannathan, a freelance journalist who lives in Toronto. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

It was a typical Monday morning. Almost.

My kids were sitting at the breakfast counter while getting ready for summer school, however, there was an unusual silence in the air. Without hesitation, I began addressing the elephant in the room.

The conversation we had revolved around how to stay safe in case they ever found themselves in a dangerous situation. It wasn’t the first time we had discussed safety, but this time was different.

Just a few days prior, my boys experienced first-hand the chaos and fear that erupted after a passenger was stabbed on the Toronto subway. The incident took place dangerously close to our home, inside Eglinton Station in the heart of midtown Toronto. That proximity made the situation even more unsettling for all of us.

My children were on a train that was heading toward Eglinton. Thankfully, their train did not stop there and for that, the driver held the top spot in the July 6 entry in my gratitude journal.

“I will be late, Ma! The train did not stop at Eglinton station because of some security incident,” said my 13-year-old son when he called me.

I could sense fear and confusion in his voice and, as he spoke, I started noticing the sound of sirens in the distance. At that moment, I wasn’t sure if they were police cars or where they were going. The minute it dawned on me that they were all heading toward Eglinton Station, my heart began to race with worry and fear. We later learned that my elder son, with a calmness beyond his years, had gotten off at the next station, holding his 10-year-old brother’s hand tightly so as not to lose him in the crowd.

Soon, he called me back. The buses were crowded and he said he was scared to get on. I found it unusual, given his comfort with public transit. Then two Uber drivers I had booked refused to give them a ride. At that moment, my partner stepped in, taking on the longest eight minutes of our lives as he drove to pick them up.

Once they were safely in the car, I learned that my older son started crying. He repeatedly expressed his worry, asking, “What if I had lost my brother in the crowd?” 

While an arrest has been made, the emotional impact lingered within our family for days and for many sleepless nights. The haunting questions — “What if they’d been on the other train? What if the stabbing had happened on theirs?” — replayed in my mind.

The day after, my children made the decision to stay home and avoid going to summer camp. But we needed to move forward.

My children rely on public transit and use it every day. I am proud of their independence and their love for trains.

At breakfast on Monday morning, while they ate their freshly made dosas — a savoury crepe that is a staple breakfast dish among South Indians — we again went over the safety guidelines.

I emphasized remaining alert and aware of their surroundings, maintaining a safe distance from the platform’s edge, learning the emergency exits and not hesitating to seek assistance from staff or security. In the event of a dangerous situation, I asked them to stick together, call me immediately and note the location to let me know where they are.

With a very heavy heart, I added that in the event of gunshots, they must immediately take cover.

Unlike their talkative selves, my sons listened without interruption. After an uncomfortable silence, my younger son spoke up. “Mom, I understand how to avoid fights with people. But how can I protect myself from random acts of violence where people are targeted for no reason?” I found myself speechless.

How can I explain why there was a shooting, apparently unprovoked, near his father’s office in downtown Toronto the following day? Or another shooting incident near Bloor and Yonge in the early morning of the same day.

We moved to Canada a couple of years ago and chose a home near Eglinton Station. We’d heard it had a low crime rate and convenient public transportation, but above all, we love the hustle and bustle of the community. 

Witnessing such events unfold in my own backyard served as a stark reminder that safety can never be taken for granted.

As a mother, I have always taken pride in finding the balance between being a helicopter parent and a hands-off one. But this had disrupted that delicate equilibrium.

The realization that I wouldn’t always be there to protect them threw me on an emotional roller-coaster. I wished I could shrink them back to the safety of my womb, shielding them from violence and bloodshed.

In the aftermath of this experience, I have learned to appreciate the simple act of sharing breakfast together even more. 

Mistake not, I still carry a heavy heart. But I am going to cherish the moments I have with my family and celebrate my sons and their growing independence.

Do you have a compelling personal story that can bring understanding or help others? We want to hear from you. Here’s more info on how to pitch to us.