My brother, Billy Jay Sharpehead, is from the Enoch Cree Nation. He disappeared in September of 2003. He was walking down a dirt road in Enoch, and he was last seen by his father-in-law. From what we were told by the RCMP, my brother had been in an argument with someone and he was despondent, so he left. That was the last time that we saw him.
Read More About Johanne Sharpehead-Arcand Honoring Her Brother
"What was he like as a person, such as his goals, passions and connections to culture and community?" (WLMN Interview Question, 4:16, H. Williams)
My brother Jay was a person with a heart of gold. He loved women very much. My mother and myself, he really held us in high regard. He was a dancer, a singer, a drummer, and an artist. He was a very creative person, very much like the rest of our family. We have a lot of musicians and artists and performers, so that was something he sort of gravitated to. He would always draw. He loved to sketch eagles, and funny enough, we put an eagle on our ribbon skirts when we had a ceremony for him, basically for my mom. What I said was, when we do the ribbon skirts, we'll put an eagle on there and that will represent my brother, because he is free now. He is free from the pain of his life, and he's flying free in the sky. We had that put on the skirts, signifying that part of his life and his journey.
"Is there anything you want others in society to understand about your brother, or about other stories similar to his?" (WLMN Interview Question, 5:26, H. Williams)
My brother came from a family with a lot of trauma. Our mother is a residential school survivor. My father, it was difficult for him as well. Growing up, there was a lot of poverty amongst our Nation. He didn't have the best start throughout life, and I think part of that trauma that our parents suffered definitely came onto all of us. It was very hard for him to navigate life. There wasn't a lot of support for us when we were growing up and going through the things we went through. He sort of got lost in that, and he ended up in prison a lot.
Being institutionalized, it was hard for him when he did come out of the institution to try to live amongst society. He didn't have a lot of support when he was in prison, and when he came out he didn't have a lot either. He kind of just "flopped around," if you will, and tried to figure things out. For him it was definitely harder, because being a man, like, growing up my dad always said to my brothers, "Be a man, be strong, be tough." But they needed that help. The men need that help as well too, right? It was more available for me. It felt like I had more opportunities to get that, but my dad would say to my brothers, "Be a man, be tough, you don't need that kind of stuff." That's not true. Our men are human beings just like we are. To not have that support throughout his life, it really was devastating to him, and that's why I feel like he went in that direction. You know, I think there should be more of that, especially for our men, because there are actually a lot more missing and murdered Indigenous men out there than there are women. People just don't know that.
"In your perspective, what does 'healing' and 'justice' mean to you?" (WLMN Interview Question, 7:35, H. Williams)
Healing for me means coming to these sorts of things, these gatherings where we can meet with families and share our trauma, and talk about all of the different aspects of their loved one and how they disappeared, what their life was like. That's just the common goal, is a lot of the residential schools stuff and Sixties Scoop stuff. In learning and talking with people, we form this bond, if you will, and it's like healing to us, because they can understand how we feel and we can lend support to each other.
Justice, more help. More help for families, for discovery, to really take a look at what this all means. It's more dangerous for us, and they just don't see that. I feel like they should get down to speaking to us, the people who are the families of it, and really listen to what we are saying and telling them, that we need more support. We need more support for our men, our women, our communities, all of that stuff.
"How was culture and community a part of his life?" (WLMN Interview Question, 9:08, H. Williams)
Culture, from my mom's family, she's from Mistawasis, so my brother took a lot of that from being over there. We went back there for ceremony a lot of the time. When he was institutionalized, he also had the opportunity to enjoy that. When he was in prison, he actually made his own grass dance outfit. To him it was part of his healing, he said, to create that and to teach himself how to dance. Towards the end of his life he was really starting to appreciate our culture more, and it was starting to strengthen him. He said, "I feel like I can start to live." I think that's what he said about it, but he said, "I feel like I'm starting to live now," because he had designed his own regalia, he was singing, he was drumming and all that stuff, he was sketching more. He said, "You know what, sis, I feel like I can get it together." That is one of the last things he said to me, and to me that was beautiful. That's part of our culture, reminding us that, you know, we are connected to the earth and Mother Earth will always take care of us. That was a really beautiful thing that he told me towards the end, before he disappeared.
For me and my family, it's been a struggle, you know. It's the uncertainty. Not knowing what happened to him is the most hurtful thing of this whole journey that we've been on, because you spend your life sitting there wondering. When I'm driving in my car and I drive by somebody that's walking on the street, if that person kind of looks like my brother, it automatically stops my heart, and I think, "Is that my brother? Is that my brother?" On one occasion I did drive by somebody and I thought he looked like my brother, so I turned around and went to drive by him again, but it wasn't him. Just stuff like that, where you're wondering, right? Then in the news, if you hear, "Oh, remains were found," I'm automatically on the phone calling whatever detachment it is: "Hey, listen, I am just calling to find out, is it a male, female?" It's always that thing that I am constantly doing, looking out for my brother.
I continue to search, even though we had a funeral service for him. I continue to do work on my computer. I'm not able to physically go out there anymore, but I still do that kind of work. I email with a number of Facebook groups. Facebook is fantastic, by the way, when sharing information. I go on TikTok, I go on Instagram, I go on Snapchat, I go on all the platforms, and there are a lot of great people out there that continue to help me, and sadly, they're strangers. But if the people around us could help, you know, we would appreciate that more.
"Is there anything else you'd like to share about your brother or his story?" (WLMN Interview Question, 12:37, H. Williams)
Just that my brother mattered. He was a great person. He loved life, he loved his family, whether that was someone close or like a second or third cousin. That sense of family was the most important thing to my brother. I think in prison, when he was in there, that's what he was really missing, that connection to his family. That was one thing that he really loved. He loved his community, he loved our family. I just wish he loved himself a little bit more, perhaps, you know, the terrible things wouldn't have happened. But again, growing up in that kind of environment, it was hard to try to have that attitude and outlook towards life. I just want people to know that he's never forgotten, he's always loved, and he's always in our hearts.
