60
MY STORY
The missing and murdered Indigenous women I won’t forget WORDS BY BREYZE AGNES WYNTER BLAKE
Photos by Nathalie Heiberg-Harrison
W
hen a member of your family goes missing and you find out they have been murdered, it affects your family a lot. You could say my family is one of the many unlucky ones. My grandma was murdered when my mom was just six years old. Then, two years ago my childhood best friend was murdered. I had seen her two weeks before. Missing and murdered Indigenous women aren’t just a statistic. You grow up with them, make memories with them, and your life somehow seems incomplete when they’re gone. It really hurts. Your family and friends are what helps make life more fun. They are the ones that are supposed to be there through thick and thin when you need help.
When my grandma was murdered, my mom was forced to grow up quicker than a normal child would. She had to become a role model for her younger brother and sisters and learn everything a growing girl should know without a motherly figure around. It was hard on her. There were 10 of them, and my mom leaned on her older brother, aunts, uncles and my great-grandma for support. Although my mom tells me stories about my grandma from time to time, she doesn’t want to talk about it yet fully. I know that it was hard for my mom and she still suffers today. Even though this happened to my mom and her brothers and sisters, they don’t allow this to affect their kids today. Most of the pain stopped with them.
