I’ll never forget the horrific sadness that enveloped us on May 27, 2021, in Kamloops when still in the midst of the pandemic the announcement was made by Kukpi7 (Chief) Rosanne Casimir that a potential 215 graves had been discovered in an old apple orchard near the former residential school on the former Kamloops Indian Residential School grounds.
As a mother and grandmother, my heart felt as though it literally shattered when hearing of this devastating find nearby to where we were living in Juniper Ridge, in Kamloops. I remember standing outside with tears running down my cheeks staring across from our hillside to the Tk'emlúps te Secwépemc First Nation area where the former residential school building still stands, a place we pass often on drives heading up towards the North Thompson Valley.
My mind went immediately to the thought of those innocent children, torn away from their families and sent to an unfamiliar and what would turn out to be for many, a cold place full of fear instead of the welcoming halls of learning it should have been for sweet, eager, young minds.
I struggled with my emotions every time I drove the highway in Kamloops following the announcement leading up to a nighttime ceremony that would soon follow, as we saw multiple children’s outfits, both boys and girls, staked along the shoulder of the road, a visual message of remembrance of these little ones lost. A small red dress, a boys shirt and pants, another little colourful dress, and so on.
A large semi truck convoy made its way to Kamloops, horns blaring to honour the children, the survivors, and their families, the honking could be heard far and wide. Families streamed to the nation’s memorial to offer condolences and support.
On the afternoon of the first of many ceremonies the Tk'emlúps te Secwépemc First Nation graciously invited all who wished to attend to show their respect, honour those lost and those who survived and welcomed gestures of teddy bears, children’s shoes, flowers, cards and signs of compassionate grief to be placed at the base of the monument to the victims of the Kamloops Residential School.
I went alone that evening, quietly and reverently after parking with so many others on the outskirts of the dirt road leading to the monument and old red brick building. Walking along, I carried a drum given to me by an Indigenous elder and friend a few years prior, “a gift I made for you” Elder Sam Saul had said, bringing the drum out from behind his back with his familiar smile to hand it to me in my office next to the North Thompson Aboriginal Cultural Centre in Clearwater. My surprise made him chuckle, my joy increased his smile. The next week he brought me the handmade stick to go with it and it hangs where I can see it now as I write. Even though he is no longer with us, I cherish this memory and gift so much that I decided to take it with me for that evening of remembrance for those lost.
The gifts surrounding the monument grew larger as more and more gathered and the drumming and singing began. I stood quietly at the back of the structure, knowing it was a time of listening intently, respectfully to the speeches of survivors, families, and of course Kukpi7 Casimir and other honourable speakers. The drumming grew and I joined in softly keeping rhythm with the loving emotions flowing upon the evening air. Layer upon layer of tears, the power of the honour songs and drumming, the scent of smudging, the collective grieving but love that was undeniably so inspiring shared with courage through each story told.
I will never forget that evening for as long as I live. As I was driving up along the highway earlier, I had pulled over onto the shoulder, suddenly moved to take a few photos, something touched me deeply that encouraged me to do so when I captured the image of the small red dress and the building, pow wow arbour and memorial in the background. When I arrived home, I couldn’t believe the image as though there was a special sphere around the dress. A circular light that I hadn’t seen through the camera lens… somehow speaking to my soul as though to say, ‘I’m here’.
I hope my own account will encourage you to take a moment of silence and remember those lost, and those who have survived as victims as we honour them and their families now and always on Sept. 30 and for all time as we strive to support those still healing, standing strong to protect the vulnerable against injustice so none may ever suffer again.
