Do you see the beauty of the snow as it sparkles in the moonlight?
Do you see the beauty of the falling rain in the evening?
Do you feel the peace in the midnight fog?
When you are surrounded by beauty and peace do you know it’s there?
Do you see the beauty of the snow as it sparkles in the moonlight?
Do you see the beauty of the falling rain in the evening?
Do you feel the peace in the midnight fog?
When you are surrounded by beauty and peace do you know it’s there?
Describe the last difficult “goodbye” you said.
I’ve always been told by my elders that we don’t say goodbye. We say see you later or we’ll see you again or see you soon. My understanding of this is because goodbye is final. Goodbye is what you say when you will no longer see a person.
There have been many times when it felt like I was never going to see a person or speak to them again. The last truly difficult goodbye was the last time I spoke to my cousin on the phone. He was in the hospital with covid. He was immunocompromised as he’d had a double lung transplant several years before.
When he got his new lungs, he was so grateful. He told me, “These lungs belonged to a young man, I’m going to live a life because of his gift.” He did. He and his girlfriend got married. They went places and most of all he went fishing. He loved fishing.
When he got sick with covid, he couldn’t have lots of visitors. He had his wife and my dad on his list. We talked a lot. He would send me photos of the treatments they gave him. Then he wasn’t getting better. The last time we talked on the phone when we were close to saying goodbye, I said “well we’d better say goodbye soon.” I didn’t even think about what I had just said to him, but he did. He said, “Ho, remember we don’t ever say goodbye. Don’t ever say goodbye. I’ll see you again.” “Yes, I forgot, ” was my reply. We talked a lot longer, and I told him my husband was taking me to Jasper for my 50th birthday and that I wasn’t sure what the cell service was going to be like. I told him I’d talk to him when I got back.
On my birthday my parents called me, they said that his wife had called and asked them to come to the city to be with them. My cousin passed away the next day. When my mum called me to tell me he had died, all I could think of was, “we don’t say goodbye, we never say goodbye, I’ll see you again.” On our hike that day, I walked to a beautiful spot, took a photo, put some tobacco, and prayed for him. When we buried him, it was hard. That was the last difficult goodbye.
In the morning the sun shines and reminds me I’ve been blessed to have another day. I greet you with a morning kiss and remember, I am blessed to spend another day with you. I breath in joy, happiness and hope and go about my day.
In the evening I express gratitude. I sit and reflect on how much I love you. I’m grateful to still be here. I’m grateful that I gain a new life everyday overcoming fear and remembering that you are with me too. I am grateful for every day experiences and blessings.
In 1990 when I was 18 there was a stand off in Oka. I watched the news every night worried for the people who were fighting for their land. I watched as the government criminalized the Indigenous people. I watched as racism raised its ugly head and hate filled the hearts of many people. I ended up writing this poem about the warriors that were fighting.
Tall, brave, defiant stand the young warrior. Praised by his people for his valor, fighting for his cause.
Yet people once friends now label him an enemy. Insulting things that they do not understand. They call him names and laugh in scorn at the proud warrior
“What is this they fights for?” they ask. “A piece of land, what possible meaning could it have?” They suggest to give up; for they believe it is a lost cause.
Still he, the warrior, remains resistant, standing with gun in hand, ready, waiting for the tanks to lumber across the land, his ancestral home. The burial ground of his grandfathers. That is why he fights.
He fights for that final resting place, his historic homeland. He, the warrior is fighting for something that belonged to his forefathers. His land by right, snatched from the hands of his predecessors. Into a corner his ancestors were pushed; now his generation comes out fighting.
His people were forgotten, pushed away until now. For now his people have taken a stand, wanting to get back what is rightfully theirs.
I wrote this on August 28, 1990 during the Oka stand off. For those who were on the front lines and those that were there in spirit.
We remember when we used to walk free to gather medicines, hunt for food, have our ceremonies and raise our families.
We remember.
We remember when we were asked to share the places where we walked free as a nation, where our ancestors walked before.
We remember.
We remember when freedom was taken, and we were confined.
We remember.
We remember when our children were taken and we had to have permission to visit them.
We remember.
We remember when after we were confined we needed permission to pick berries, gather medicines, hunt for food and practice traditions.
We remember.
We remember these things, we know how it impacts us. We remember. Now it’s time you learn our history, our losses and acknowledge your gain. We remember, you should too.
We remember.
Etikwe, I suppose. I’m not sure why this word popped into my mind, I suppose there are lots of reasons for it.
I think about how many different times I’ve heard this word in my life. Etikwe, I suppose it’s a lot.
Etikwe, it means I suppose or maybe just suppose. Awina etikwe, I don’t know who or maybe I wonder who depending on the context. I suppose I should talk pîskiskwêw to my dad about it.
I suppose I’m supposed to use it more. I guess I need to use the words in Cree as they pop into my mind.
Etikwe it is to remind me that there are words that I know and that I need to learn more.
So that I can pê-pîkiskwêw
Ekosi, that’s all my thoughts for now, etikwe

My parents often speak about their grandmothers. They’ve told me many stories about them. My dad has told me how much his dad’s mother loved him. He has told me that she used to always feed him whenever he went there, which was very often. He said that when his mother died his dads mom, his grandmother helped him a lot. He said when she died he was very sad. He wasn’t very close to his other grandmother. My mother also only had one grandmother. Her father’s mother had died when her father was young. Her mother’s mum had a profound impact on her life. Her grandmother was a midwife and a layer out of bodies. She was a washer woman and she was Welsh. My mother said that her grandmother had an air of mystery about her and that her grandmother loved her family fiercely. Both of my parents loved their grandmothers strongly and remember them in a way that keeps them alive to anyone who listens to them talk about them.

When my daughter had her son I became a grandmother, a kokom. It changed how I thought of the world of grandmothers. I thought I want to be remembered the way my parents talk about their grandmothers. I want my grandchildren to still talk about me when they are grandparents. I want to bring happy thoughts and thoughts of love and comfort to all my grandchildren no matter how old they are.
It made me think about my own grandmothers and I wondered what it would have been like growing up with them. My parents speak of their mothers with love. All I have is my parents memories of their mothers. Both of my grandmothers passed away before I was born. I know how much I love my nosim, grandchild, I can only hope that would’ve been that would have been the same for me. Both of my grandmothers died from health issues that I’ve experienced, one from gallbladder issues and the other from cancer. In some sense I’m connected to them through those things and the stories my parents tell me about them.
While I didn’t grow up with a grandmother in the sense that most people had grandmothers. I did have women in the grandmother role. In dominant society you can only have a certain amount of grandparents. In my culture you have many grandparents. I’m blessed to have many grandmothers. There have been several grandmothers that showed me that grandmother love.
On my dad’s side I was blessed to have my dad’s aunties as Kokoms. I will always appreciate them. Those beautiful women made me feel connected to our family. They were excited for me with every milestone I experienced in my life. They encouraged me and taught me. They were chapans (great grandmothers) to my children. We all loved them.

On my mum’s side I was blessed to have her stepmother. She was the only grandmother I had from that side and although we called her Auntie she was one of my truest grandmothers. She fussed over me when I was sick. She taught me how to draw perspective when I was 11. She was proud of me and I know she loved me. When my children were born she knit them all kinds of little sweaters and I wish she could have met them but she lived in England and we lived in Canada.

All these grandmothers that walked in my life; whether that’s in spirit and through my parents memories or physically with me, they have shown me how I to be a grandmother. They have taught me that a grandmother’s role is to love a child and to create memories that will always comfort you no matter how old you grow. I look forward to all the happy memories I will create for my grandchildren.
Grandmothers are important and you can always impact a child’s life in a positive way, whether you are related or not. Be the grandmother you needed as a child and create memories of love and happiness that last a lifetime.

I paint as an expression of what I feel that I cannot always explain with words. Sometimes these paintings come to me very clearly as this one did. I had been thinking about how much my family has been impacted by residential schools, how colonization has affected us and how these things are passed on generationally.
This painting represents how imposing blue quills has been on my family. There is a lot of intergenerational trauma because of it. We had multiple generations of family members attend this s hool.
Flowers represent medicines to me. The flowers are growing over the photos and bringing healing and change. Medicine comes in many forms.

The photo of blue quills is large because it had a huge impact. It’s not covered because it will never go away.

The smudge and eagle feather are clearing away the pain through reconnection to culture. Culture is medicine.


Each one of the flowers represents someone in my family. The purple ones are my dad and his siblings. The yellow ones represent myself and my siblings that’s why there are 5 of them. The orange ones are my parents grandchildren. The pink dots represent all of my cousins. The berries represent change and new growth. The sage also represents growth through healing. There are two photos of my family members as youth when they would’ve been in Blue Quills Indian Residential school

The background colours are there because of how this painting came me. Red is understood to be connected to healing, it is also understood to be the only colour that spirits can see.
Overall the painting is like a prayer for healing, separating my family from the school and the impact it’s trauma created.

What a difference a year makes. I’ve been thinking about today since the beginning of September. A year ago today I had my last chemo treatment. I felt sick, really awful in fact. Most of the time I was napping 2x a day, I had all kinds of physical things going on in my body but I made it to the end of 6 treatments. I was bald and cold all the time.
Definitely there are improvements, like I’m in remission and I have hair. There are somethings that will stay with me for a long time like the neuropathy in my feet, the tiredness (although not as bad) and brain fog (there’s lots to that, no it’s not like menopause brain). All things considered that is a trade off I’m willing to make to still be here.
Being here means I get to hold my beautiful grandson and see his firsts. I get to be with my children and see them become amazing people. I get to be with my husband and listen to his silky jokes that make me laugh. I get to talk to my nieces and nephews and remind them how much they are loved. I get to still be around my parents and hold their hands, give them hugs and tell them I love them. I get to see my siblings, to tell them I love them and how important they are to me.
I get to visit with family, my cousins of which I have many and I love them deeply. I get to be around my friends, they are so important to me. Some of them I’ve had since I was a child and we can laugh and reminisce, rembering the adventures we had.
I get to enjoy the beauty of this world. It’s an amazing place. Nature is so healing and it renews my soul.
Hold onto those you love and those who are important in your life, they are the people who walk with you when times are tough and the ones who celebrate with you in the good times. Create beautiful memories and laughable moments and stay hopeful. ❤
#ovariancancersurvivor #ahkameyimok #ovariancancer #ovariancancerawareness #TEALSISTER #hope #soulhealing #healing