(September 26th entry from Honorary Indian Decolonized, available on Amazon.) Last night as I prepared for a good night’s rest, I couldn’t help noting the calm, the peacefulness that seemed to fill my very soul. I have spent the last few months moving, settling, and then moving again as slowly I established my home once again in Thunder Bay. I confronted ghosts of the past and made peace. I shared my new self with friends of old, demonstrating the self-confidence, the pride, and the strength that comes from survival. Soon I will once again travel south to retrieve the last of my belongings, and once collected I will return to the north, to my home, just in time to nestle in before the winter comes. Yes, as surely as the cold air moves in over the Great Lakes, so too does the calm take root in my soul. Summer – the season of hustle and action, of movement and growth. Winter – the season of reflection and meditation, of calm realization and growing maturity. Winter is coming and I am ready. It is time, and I so want and need this season.

(September 25th entry from Honorary Indian Decolonized, available on Amazon.) I can remember the moment so clearly, even though I couldn’t have been more than six or seven years of age. We were on the Couchiching First Nation in northern Ontario. It’s where my Great Aunt and Uncle lived, and my Great Aunt was THE only person on the entire PLANET who could treat my Mom like a kid and get away with it, and I LOVED IT! I loved everything about coming here. I didn’t have grandparents and we never had company at home, but here, even as a young child, I recognized the undeniable feeling of being among family and I liked it. It was a beautiful summer afternoon, and the adults were chatting inside so I did what a typical six-year-old girl would do; I journeyed into the back yard to play among the dandelions growing healthy and strong on the lawn. This was the age of the residential schools as many were still fully operational including the one built right on the Couchiching reserve. As an adult, I could not even fathom what it would have been like to be a child in that school, to be able to look out a window and see your aunt, your Mother in the back yard, and not be able to go to them. As a child, all I knew was this building was evil. It scared my Mom and you had to be pretty terrible to invoke fear in my Mother. I played in the yard and suddenly I felt it. That unmistakable feeling that someone was watching me. I looked up at the school. There, in what I can only assume was a hallway window, was a little girl my age, looking out at me. I don’t know who she was. I don’t know her name or her story. All I know is the overwhelming feeling of guilt that I felt at that moment. Guilt over the simple fact that somewhere, in some big building, in some far-off city, someone had decided that I could be with my Mom and she couldn’t. We stood there for an eternity, then she was gone, and all I could do was run inside and hug my Mom.

(September 19th entry from 'Honorary Indian Decolonized' available on Amazon) As some of you may or may not know, yesterday I was diagnosed with high blood pressure. Okay, she diagnosed. I argued. She insisted. I debated. You get the gist? At the end of the day, the reading wasn’t different ... but my attitude was. I did my research. I found out that one in five Canadians have high blood pressure. (I’m sorry! That’s pathetic!) This explains why it’s no big deal to so many. I don’t have that cross to bear (and funny, yesterday I would have said, I don’t have that luxury). I watched high blood pressure and diabetes take my Mother from me and my eldest brother. So, as I said to my roomie, “I ain’t ready to say good- bye to my kids.” With the morning sun today, I am resolved to my new life and excited about the possibilities, and I know that I have learned some things ... • I know that high blood pressure doesn’t mean a death sentence for me, but it does mean a wakeup call. My health IS a gift, and as I have often stated, a gift not cherished is soon lost. • I know that my Mother was an amazing, warm, intelligent, loving person who sometimes made bad choices. I have no doubt that if she had taken her diagnosis of high blood pressure as seriously as she did her diabetes diagnosis, maybe I wouldn’t be writing this note. I will learn from her mistake, as I hope my children learn from mine. • I know that quitting smoking is minimal to the benefits of a great new body, good lungs, and great health, and I’m excited about the future. • I know now that my ‘work out’ isn’t something I should take time out to do, it should be a priority. I know now that ten years from now the report that is due won’t matter, but my health will. • I know now that every cigarette I touched, or every fatty calorie I inflicted on my body equals time my kids will have to do without me, and I’m just not that selfish. The cigarettes are gone and the calories I will save for what my body needs. A treat now and then, sure, that’s life, but more than that ... not what I or my body deserve.

(September 24th Entry from Honorary Indian Decolonized, available on Amazon.) You think me selfish for taking this time. You think I should be focused on my children, my job, or my partner. You do not understand why I analyze as I do. What does it matter? You don’t understand that by taking the time to feed my soul I become a stronger, happier, more confident me. You don’t realize that a stronger me is a better Mom, a more empathetic friend, a more impassioned lover. You don’t see that an empowered me empowers those who love and in turn, their friends, and counterparts. One empowered person at a time, our communities grow strong, and our futures become all we have envisioned they could be. So, thank you for your concern, but rest assured I am not wasting my time. I do care about those around me and because of that I will take the time I need daily to learn, to grow, to relax, to rejuvenate, and to live. My family deserves it and so do I.

(September 23rd entry from "Honorary Indian Decolonized" available on Amazon) Tonight, as I work out, I look over my pristine living room and again there is that feeling … that feeling that refuses to be denied. Something is wrong but what? The room is perfect … and that’s when I realized, that is exactly what is wrong. I looked to the picture of my Mom and realized that words of wisdom no longer escaped her beautiful lips. I looked to the pictures of my kids and desperately wanted to hear their voices, their laughter, but it was not to be. As the waves of loneliness hit me, and the tears fell from my eyes, my gaze returned to the picture of the woman I miss so terribly. You were lonely sometimes weren’t you, Mom? The tears fell harder as my heart ached to apologize to her for not knowing, for not being there …. but just as the thought of apologizing entered my mind, so too did the realization that there was no need. My Mother’s spirit spoke to me without the need for earthly words. Suddenly I knew that this was simply part of life and that she held no malice towards me. Yes, sometimes she was lonely and that is normal for a Mother once her children have gone off on their own. It is real and should not be denied. It simply is. So, like my Mother before me, I cried. I cried for the days when my home was filled with the giggles and screams of my children, for the days when I laughed over a game of cards with my Mother. I did not fight the tears and I did not seek out solace from my friend. Instead, I cried, and I healed, and I lived as my Mother had lived - authentically.