"What would you like people to know about your son?"

When you lose a loved one, especially a child, it's something that cannot be explained. When we lose a partner, you become a widow. When a child loses their parents, they become an orphan. But there's no real word for a parent when they lose their child. When I think about my son, it automatically brings a smile to my face. He was a very outgoing, lively person. He lived his life to the fullest each and every day. He was really a risk taker, rambunctious. He always challenged me, always gave me a hard time, and he'd always have this little smirk. We had a lot of fun and jokes, and we were really close. He was my firstborn.

Being a single parent, it was challenging to raise him alone. I experienced a lot of abuse and trauma in my childhood and growing up. Enduring a lot of that abuse, I struggled with my own self-esteem and self-worth, and unfortunately I ended up in a lot of unhealthy and abusive relationships. With my son Theron, it was my second real boyfriend. I was young and naive, and unaware of how a person could be so cruel and abusive. His biological father was extremely abusive. I really struggled during my pregnancy, and in that effort to survive, I did leave at one point. I went to a women's shelter when I was pregnant. My main thing was that I wanted my son not to grow up to be like his father, who was extremely abusive and an addict.

When I gave birth to my son, it was one of the hardest things I had to endure. I was in labour for about five days, extremely tired and exhausted, and I just wanted him out. I didn't know what my child was before giving birth, but I just knew in my heart it was a boy. I remember pleading with the doctor to take him out, because I was ready to just die. She said, "No one's dying here today." She was very exhausted as well, because she stayed with me almost the entire time. Near the end, another doctor had to come and help. The cord was wrapped around my son's neck, and they literally had to pretty much rip him out of me. I had to stay in the hospital for quite a while. During labour, my son's biological father would come there all drunk. He wasn't a support for me at all. It was a real struggle even to bring my son into this world.

After he was born, my strongest feeling was that I didn't want my son to grow up to be like his biological father. Following his birth, I made the choice to stay away from his biological father. There was a lot of toxic and dysfunctional behaviour in the families.

I continued on in my journey of getting my post-secondary education. Thankfully, my parents, my late father, who was also a well-known Elder, Homer Poitras, and my mother, Elizabeth Poitras, both really instilled the importance of education in us, and I'm grateful for that. My son was only three months old when I went back to Blue Quills College, as it was at that time. I was a young mom. I was really nervous, and I didn't know how people would be. I grew up with both sides of my family heavily influenced by the Roman Catholic ways, so here I am, a young mom, not married, trying to survive and be on my own.

It was so cute. When my babysitter wasn't able to watch him, because she had appointments, I took him with me to class. I was nervous people would be judgmental and harsh and mean, and everybody was fighting over who got to carry him. I had him in his beautiful moss bag. It was a nice experience, my first time bringing him out in public. Certain members of his family did try to help, and I'm grateful to them. But I was just focused on doing the best I could taking care of my son.

Part of my journey, unfortunately, being a single mom, is that when you go on assistance, they require you to go after the father. I understand that, for them to provide some child support. But again, being young, naive, not really having support, not knowing systems, I had to go to court. He and his late mom said I wasn't allowed in the courtroom, and they went in there and lied. They said that he took him every weekend, and he didn't. He was always unemployed, so he didn't have to pay much in the way of child support. To this day he still owes me. He's never paid up. I had to learn quickly that I can't really rely on anybody. I can't count on people being there for me in my time of need.

I continued on in my journey, raising him, going to school. I would go in these patterns where I wouldn't be with anyone for a long time. Then finally, someone gave me a little attention, and I would think, okay, maybe I could try again. Then again I would be making bad choices, being with bad men, or the bad choices they would make. It was unhealthy, and a lot of learning lessons for myself, and for the impact it has had on my children, still to this day. Knowing that the choices I made impacted my kids, I always remember that I was a parent of five and I lost two babies. One was a really violent situation, and the other was a lot of abuse. So, being a parent of five, losing two babies, and then having my son murdered. He was twenty-four. He was murdered on October 2nd, 2014. His birthday is October 8th. Every year we have memorial ceremonies for him on October 2nd, and then we have our own celebration of life for him on October 8th.

September leading up to October is always a challenge for me, because of the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation in September. As an Elder, I do a lot of community work, so I'm really busy in September. Then I prepare for a ceremony for my late son at the beginning of October.

I remember, years ago, I was invited to Ottawa. I was recognized as a national community leader. This was way before the TRC, before anything like that. There were community members and Elders and leaders in this big gala, this big huge room. I remember looking around the room and thinking, there's a lot of people here, community leaders that I recognized, all the while knowing I was the youngest person in the room at that time. I always believed the Creator puts you where you need to be. I was praying to the Creator and asking for help, trying to figure out why I was there and why I was chosen. Always in my beliefs, I'm here to be a helper, to do the best I can to help.

In this big room, we had a sharing circle. Most of the Indigenous people in the room were survivors of the Indian residential schools, and for the first time, a lot of them were sharing things they had never shared before. When it came to my turn, I did go to a residential school. It wasn't run by the church anymore, but I still had some things happen to me. When I spoke, I talked about how, not to take away from everything everybody has gone through in the room, I felt like my generation even had it worse, because it's no longer strangers doing these things to you. Its actual family members.

After I spoke, I had everybody in the room lining up to hug me. Everybody was crying. The Elders there at that time thanked me and said what I had to say was important, that it needed to be heard. At that point there was no real discussion yet on intergenerational trauma, so here I am as a young person bringing that up. I know that impacted my ability to be a parent. I was a single parent for the most part. My late father did help when he could, and my parents. A lot of that harshness, and my own mother, with her mom being a residential school survivor. I can understand things now as an older person, as a person who's endured a lot. I don't hold anything against my parents for the choices and the things I endured. But I know that it impacted me and my ability to be a parent.

I did the best I could. I wanted to give my kids everything that I could to help them. Even though I didn't grow up with a lot of love and hugs and kisses and encouraging words, I did my best to do that for my children.

With my son, like I said at the beginning, there were a lot of challenges. A difficult child, as people would label things. I remember his first day of kindergarten, and already it was challenging. At this point I was still going to university, I was still working, I wasn't getting my funding for school, and I was still doing it on my own. I go into the classroom, and I'm called in right away, along with another little boy, a little Black boy. So me and the Black mother were the only ones called in. Right away we both felt like, okay, here we go, kindergarten day one, racism. I'm talking to this young teacher, and I already knew I had more education than her. She said, "I know how hard it is for you people on welfare." I had to take a breath and pray and explain to her that I wasn't on welfare, that I was already working towards completing one of my two degrees, and I was working to provide for myself to go to university. I was a single parent at that point, a single parent of two.

Right off the bat, my journey with my son was a challenge. I had to deal with racism and with advocating for him. Then I was instructed that I had to take him to a child psychologist. I took him to a child psychologist, and again, here's another non-Indigenous person telling me what I'm supposed to be doing, how I'm supposed to be raising my child, and all the while this person didn't even have kids of their own. I was always having to deal with systems trying to control me and tell me what I had to do. It was very discouraging. I did reach out, and I tried to get help.

I raised them with culture, raised them with ceremony. My late father was an amazing fiddle player, one of the best ever. My son grew up to be one of the best Métis dancers ever. Even as a teenager, we were helping one of my Elders, the late Jerry Wood, and my son was an oskâpêwis. He helped with the rocks. We'd go help with the ceremonial sweat site. I took my son to competitions. One year we went to Batoche, and that one was really beautiful. He was performing, he was in the competition, and he made it through some of the cuts. Finally, near the end, he was cut. He was so angry and so hurt, and we had to walk away from the tent. It wasn't set up the way things are now. They hardly had anything back then. There was one little rickety picnic table by a single standalone concession stand. We went over there, trying to calm him down, because he used to get really emotional and worked up and really angry. They say that saying, wearing your heart on your sleeve. He was like that. He wasn't able to hold his anger or process things. He'd just be really upset.

I took him aside to this picnic table, trying to calm him down. I let him know that a lot of times these things are not fully about your talent, it's kind of who you know. I let him know that he's amazing, we know he is, and the Creator knows all, sees all, knows what's in our minds and our hearts and what our intentions are. The fact that he can still perform and do well, I'm just proud of him.

Off in the distance we saw these really old people walking towards where we were sitting. I remember the old lady had two canes, and the old guy had a cane too. They took a real long time to make their way over to our table. Right away we all got up, because we thought maybe they wanted to come and sit down and eat, and like I said, there wasn't much in the way of anywhere to sit. It was cute, because right away the old lady was holding up her cane, motioning for us to sit down, telling us not to leave, just to sit. So we sat back down. They said, "We came here to talk to him. We want to talk to him." Meanwhile I'm thinking, I don't know if my son did anything to hurt or offend anyone, or what's going on. Then they said they had watched Métis dancing their whole lives. They were really old, and they said my son was the best dancer they had ever seen. He was really happy. I told my son, "See? I know the Creator sent those old people to come all the way over here to tell you that. You can leave here knowing that even though you didn't place, you're one of the best they've ever seen. And a lot of us know that you're one of the best."

He ended up dancing with the Métis dancers because they were short, and they ended up taking first place in the square dancing competition. I told him, "You see? You get to leave here winning first place for that, but also knowing those old people. The old people know. They're just so proud of you." We came back home, and brought his spirit back up.

He was so talented in anything that he tried. He was amazing. I remember one year, again, single parent, I couldn't afford to put him into hockey. I grew up by Kahewin First Nation, on the land we grew up on, Moose Mountain, which was considered a meeting settlement for a period of time. That's where I grew up. I have relations in Kahewin, and through my mom being under Sawridge, I have relations up north. But I grew up in that Treaty Six area. We went back home for a visit to my parents and his cousins in Kahewin. They were in a hockey tournament, and they're just little guys. They asked him to go play. He didn't skate at all that whole season. They suited him up, and he went and played, and he got four goals in one game. Just an amazing, talented person.

Then I remember one time, again, little league soccer, supposed to be community, kids coming out, having fun. He was so talented. He would take the ball and go around players. He'd just fool around, kick it, shoot, and score. I remember one time, again when I was a single parent, by this point I was working full time and had done my education. I had to run and get them from daycare and get all their stuff and rush, and we were running late. I felt bad for all these kids and all their parents. They're yelling and screaming and clapping, "Yay, the superstar's here," never mind their own kids. He always played, always scored, always did amazing.

Then one of my friends asked him, he was only, I think, ten, if he'd go play in a U-sixteen, really high-level soccer tournament in Millwoods. I was kind of nervous, because he was going to be playing with boys that were way older than him. But my son was always solid. He was always husky, a big, solid kid. He went to play in this really high-level tournament, and I went and watched. All these really tall, lanky boys that were just under sixteen were bouncing off my son, and I was like, he'll be okay. The team he played on took gold in that tournament. Any sport he did, any time he went and played, he'd win a lot, even when he was young, even as big as he was.

He wanted a skateboard. Okay, so I'd buy him all this skateboard stuff, and it wasn't cheap. Sometimes my late father would help buy him stuff. He would go and skateboard, do all these tricks, get lots of air. He'd come home with a broken wrist, I'd take him to the doctor, get a cast. Break the other wrist, get another cast. He was tired of having casts, so he'd take it off and go again, break it again. He was a daredevil. He just didn't hold back. He lived life to the fullest, and he'd always push himself and go and go. As his mom, I'd be so worried, and I'd get upset and tell him to be careful, and he just didn't want to listen. He just wanted to live life and go, go, go.

We got to play volleyball. My parents were very athletic, and that was the other thing they really raised us with: a lot of healthy choices and sports. I played a lot of sports. I played high-level sports. When I went to university, I made the volleyball team, but I couldn't commit to it, because I was going alone at the University of Alberta and I had my son. I didn't have any real support. I'd have to go to practices at six in the morning, and travel to different places to play games. It was very disheartening, to make it to that level and not have support. Of course, my son was my priority. I had to let that dream go, but I was always happy and so grateful to have my son, and to have that bond. He and I were always together.

And the struggles. I remember one time all I had in my cupboard was one box of macaroni and cheese. My older kids know the struggle and the hard times and the hardships.

Anyway, back to playing volleyball. We played in this one tournament, and we were short players. At first they let us play with just a few of us, but because we kept winning, all of a sudden they said we couldn't play anymore because we didn't have enough players. But we were winning. I remember playing with him, and I remember one of my last plays with him, setting him up. He's a teenager, he's tall. He grew up to be almost six-four. I just remember setting him up, and he smoked it. It felt good. That's one of my good memories of my last time playing volleyball with him.

We also played ball together. I used to play women's ball. I played a lot of the positions. I've even pitched. There were times when I'd be pitching and practising, and my son would back-catch for me, and he'd catch the balls, no problem. As he got older, we started playing slow-pitch together. He was a big guy, and he was always funny. As he got older he'd get really chill. He used to smoke weed, and I used to get mad about that, but he'd be really chilled. It helped him. I remember we'd go play ball and he would say, "I hit home runs so I don't have to run."

We were playing together in this one league. There was this one really big woman who wanted to play, but she couldn't really. I would play first, and my son would play short. When he'd catch that ball and throw it, holy man, he would throw it so hard, I could just tear up, but I'd always catch it. We were just so good together, he and I, when we played. This big lady wanted to play, so my coach put her on first. My son got really angry, because he didn't want this lady there. The coach said, "Well, there's nowhere else she can play, because she can't even throw the ball." My son gave me a look, and I was shaking my head no, like, don't do it. Sure enough, the first hit that came to him, he just whipped it to that girl. She palmed it, and she threw her glove down, jumping up and down, screaming, crying. You could just see the ball mark in her palm. My goodness. I looked at my son, and he's like, "Well, she wants to play." She got subbed off, and I was back on first.

"Is there an additional memory or message or part of the story that you really want to share? Maybe say his name again."

Just reflecting on my son's journey and my time with him, it was an honour to have that experience with him. As he got older, he started going more on the path of being part of the drug world, being a dealer, and that whole idea of being a gangster. It was very disheartening, and it was really hard for me, because I definitely didn't raise him that way. I completed my university. I worked for the federal government. I've done nothing but community work, and I did everything I could to provide him with a good life. As he got older and went that way, one of my Elder friends told me something I never ever thought of: that he was targeted. These young guys, with a single mom, became exploited. I never thought of things that way. I really took things hard. It was very discouraging as a mom.

At one point my youngest daughter was a teenager and was suicidal, making attempts on her life, and my oldest daughter at that point quit school. I was really feeling like a failure as a mom. My son was in and out of jail. We were really close. He phoned me one time, and I was driving, so I had to pull over. He said, "What's wrong?" He knew right away something was wrong. I started telling him that I felt like a failure as a mom because of what was going on with all my kids. He said, "Don't talk like that. I'm in here, in jail because of the choices I made. As a mom, you did everything perfect." He said, "Mom, these guys in here, they have their stories. I don't have them." I left feeling so good. You would think someone calling you from jail would want you or expect you to make them feel better, and it was the opposite. He made me feel better.

Once he went into that world, I told him, "I can't support you. I can't have you around the girls, his sisters. I can't put us in a vulnerable situation." I had sacred items in my home, ceremonial items, medicines. I can't have that around these things. He understood. He started staying away more. He'd be with more of his friends, some of whom ended up being my spirit sons. He started getting all tatted up. I remember telling him, "What are you going to do when you get old and you have all these tattoos?" He said, "It's okay, I'm not going to live that long." It's like he already knew he wasn't going to live long.

I remember one time I was in Abbottsfield Mall, in the food court. We used to always get poutine, but this time I decided to try a piece of pizza. It was just like eating cardboard. I went back to the guy and told him I wanted my money back. At first he was kind of giving me a hard time. My son was tall, and his friend was even taller, big, huge, tatted-up gangster guys. All of a sudden I hear behind me, both of them, deep voices, "Mom." I turned around. I was so happy to see them, just hugging them, my boys. That guy right away just gave me my money back, no problem.

But I knew my son wasn't going to be around long, just the way he lived and the way he spoke. I used to have visions of the police coming to my door to tell me that my son was no longer with us. I was at home with my youngest. At that point my other daughter was with her boyfriend at his grandma's, and she was pregnant. Sure enough, that knock. I just knew. I just knew that knock, bang, bang, bang. I don't know why cops have to be so harsh. I open the door, and it's a real young cop. I just felt bad for him, because I knew what was going to happen. He was trying to get me to sit down, and already I was in denial. I thought if I didn't sit down, it wouldn't be true. I kept saying no. We went up to my kitchen, and my daughter came, my youngest one. She was still going to high school, getting honours, in an advanced program, and she was working. Just amazing, amazing. That cop told me, and I just knew it.

Then that cry, you know, when they have movies and stuff, mothers when they have their children murdered, or their children die. Just that heartbreaking cry. I feel for police when they have to go tell people their loved ones are gone, especially when their loved ones are murdered. There was such a long period after that when I don't remember things. I lost track of days, time, events. My kids will remind me that I talked to people, and I don't remember. I had people attack me while I was trying to deal with burying him. That was harsh. It's like funerals and weddings, you see the true colours of people.

What I learned after my son's death, his murder, were a few teachings. One is the importance of a spirit family. Even though we have blood family, if they're toxic, dysfunctional, unhealthy, and cause you harm, there's no obligation to be with them. My son's death gave me more of that strength to build my own spirit family. I have a beautiful spirit family now, both Indigenous and non-Indigenous. My son's friends all got out of that gang life, that drug world, and they're my sons now. They've come to memorial ceremonies I've hosted, and just seeing them cry, seeing them bawl for their brother, is so disheartening, but it helps them. I know it's helped them. They're healing and making better choices, and now they're both in homes with partners and have all their kids. Now I have all these spirit grandkids, and I love it when I go places and they see me and they get so excited.

My one son's wife, when they had their last baby, she was pregnant, and they asked if it was a boy, could they name him Theron. I teased him. I said, "Well, if you do, don't be surprised if you don't get him back." They ended up having a girl.

My grandchild, just a toddler, was playing on the floor. We would have my son's picture up and different things around. We brought her up playing with girls' and boys' toys. We didn't say, "You're a girl, you're just this." In our culture, too, you just have both in you. I was watching her play. She was playing with trucks, driving around, laughing, just real cute. All of a sudden she looked up and said, "Uncle." My goodness. I waited. At that point my girls were all working, going to school. My daughter's partner was living with us, and she was working. When everybody got home, I asked each of them individually, "Did you teach Karma the word uncle?" Not one of them did. That was one of the first words I heard her say, "Uncle." My belief, and my understanding of our connection to the spirit world, is that she was playing and he was with her.

These memories and these connections I have, it feels good. When my late father passed, we used to always find dimes. With my son passing, I'm still finding dimes all the time.

When my son was small, he knew I wanted a log house. He told me, "Mom, when I grow up, I'm going to build you a log house." One time I was really depressed, missing him, and I was driving, flipping through stations, and a Barenaked Ladies song came on, the one about what they'd buy you if they had a million dollars, and a house is part of it. It just made me think of him. Any time I'm really struggling, that song will come on, of all places. I was coming back from a National Day for Truth and Reconciliation event in Ottawa, travelling back alone, and my brother had OD'd and passed away. So it's all these emotions. When they landed and turned music on in the airplane, that song came on, and I was just like, my goodness, my son's with me now, knowing I'm hurting. That was last September.

As hard as it is, the things that have helped me are the importance of a spirit family and the importance of asking for help. That's what I learned, having the courage to ask for help, because I suffered in silence. I struggled as a single parent, and I was just used to that struggle. Now, with a spirit family, when I ask people for help, they're so willing to help. I have different disabilities, I've been in numerous car accidents, and throughout all that I still do the best I can to live each day. I'm recently retired. I had over thirty years with the federal government, and now I'm on the other part of my journey, with Elder cultural work.

Being part of this interview, I felt it was time. It was important. I share my story all the time when I teach, when I do ceremonies. But to really take the time to focus and remember my son and have that connection in this way, it means a lot. A lot of families struggle and have a hard time sharing and feeling safe. I want families to know that they're not alone. A lot of times we do feel like we're alone. Our people don't understand. Our people don't care. It's a matter of connecting with the right people. My effort in being part of this project is to let people know there's hope.

The teachings: the first being was Spirit Star Woman. When she was brought here, she was taught how to be a human. At our time, the word "woman" used to mean property of man, and we're not property of anybody. The first teaching is kindness. You need to be kind to yourself, then you can be kind to others. The next one is love. You need to love yourself, then you can love others. Knowing our history as Indigenous people, with all that we've gone through, those two right off the bat are difficult and challenging. But if you come from a place of kindness and love, and you speak your truth, that will lead to trust. So, speaking my truth today, that hope for a better future, to help those families in need: there's still goodness out there, and our loved ones want us to live our lives to the fullest. That's the best way we can honour them.

Before we leave the spirit world, the Creator already gave us the gift of choice. We get to pick who our mom is, who our dad is, when we're born, and when we die. It doesn't matter how we die. That's a spiritual contract, if you will, with the Creator, of our journey. I believe that. I believe my son already knew he wasn't going to have a long life here. He did live to the fullest. He was a daredevil. He pushed himself. He didn't hold back. If he wanted to do something, he would do it. Even in school, he didn't try, but if he did, he would get honours. I remember in grade nine he challenged the Alberta provincial exam for science, and I think he got third. I don't know if it was third in the school or the province or the district, but I remember he got way up there, and he didn't even crack open a book. He knew. He made that choice. He knew what he was doing.

The hardest thing, too, I find with society is judgment. I've had people tell me right to my face that what happened to my son was my fault. It hurts. It hurts. I just know, again, the Creator knows all, sees all, knows what's in our minds, knows what's in our hearts, knows what our intentions are. My son acknowledged he was where he was in his journey because of the choices he made. We always still had a strong bond, love for one another.

One Mother's Day, I was really lonely for him. He had given me a card, and I'd put that card on a shelf by my bed. I was hurting, missing him, even missing my other babies. When I got up that morning, right beside my bed on the floor was that Mother's Day card from my son. I read it again, and I thanked him. I thanked him for letting me know, even from the spirit world, that I'm still his mom. That we had that. That he loved me, and I loved him.

"Share any last words with us."

Again, for myself, taking that time to reflect is important. For families that go through this, ceremony is important, reaching out to Elders, getting the help you need so that you're not carrying all that pain. As you talk about it more, it helps with your healing. It's easier in terms of not breaking down and crying, but it's important to release. It's important to know that the Creator knows all, sees all, knows what's in our hearts and our minds, knows what our intentions are.

One of the stories I want to share about him that I just remembered: I grew up across the road from my grandparents, my kokum and my mushum. My parents helped me with my kids from time to time. They'd go back home for visits and summer breaks. When my dad passed, my son was still alive, and he went and stayed back home with my mom. I'm really grateful that he did that. My grandfather, my dad's father, was still alive at that point. My grandmother, my kokum, was gone. My son would go down the hill and visit my mushum, and they'd play poker. I went back home for a visit and my son was there, and he said, "Mom, that mushum, that real old man, he's still trying to cheat at poker." We always had good laughs and a lot of fun. He would really help me try to slow down and not take things so seriously, just the way he lived. Like I said, I know he knew he wasn't going to be here long.

Just know that when we go back to the spirit world, we will see our loved ones. I've had a few situations in my life, even a few years ago, where I almost passed away, and I enjoyed being on that journey. I enjoyed seeing my loved ones. I enjoyed seeing even my babies. I saw my son, my grandparents, my dad, my late brother. It was really nice and peaceful. But I know that I still have a lot of work to do here. The main thing is to help people and to live your life in the best way that you can. Remember that no one's perfect. We don't have the right to judge one another.

Even the guy who killed my son, we know who did it. Just the way this system is set up, this person is not being charged. It's horrible, because I'm a strong advocate for our people. I strive and believe in justice, but in some situations we can never really get justice. The Creator will take care of things in his own time. Like I said, we don't have the right to judge one another. So for those that cause us harm, for those families, parents, that have had loved ones murdered or missing or exploited, even our relations out on the streets, always remember to be kind and to be helpful, and pray for them when they're struggling.

My late father always taught us the importance of kindness. Be kind to everyone, especially those that aren't kind to you. If you have something that you can give, you give. In my role, the experience I've had with my son being murdered puts me in a position where I can help more people. I don't take anything for granted. There's the importance of memorials, the spirit plate, always remembering your loved ones. It helps those of us left here in the physical world. And again, just that reminder: we will be connected with our loved ones again in the spirit world. I look forward to that day. I'm not in a rush. I always remember one of my Elders saying, as humans we're always learning, and the moment we stop learning, it just means we're dead. So I want to keep learning.

I thank you for the opportunity to share in the way that I have, and for helping me in my effort of healing and moving forward in a good way. I hope that whatever I share today does help others. Anything I can do to help others, I'm here. Thank you.