If I only knew then...

                                                

                                   

I was having lunch with an old friend a few weeks ago. Nothing fancy just mighty taco. We were sitting at a small table catching up with each other. It is sometimes hard to carve out time for friends when both of our lives are so hectic, so we hadn’t see each other face to face for months. We both do face book but it is always nice to be able to talk. For me it has not been the usual schedule of work, work, work, since my car accident on 10/19/10. Instead it is going from doctor appt to the chiropractor, acupuncturist and massage therapy appointments that keep me running. That and being a full-time mom with three children who are involved in basketball, wrestling, and hockey really keep me stepping.


As we were visiting and lingering over our diet Pepsi I noticed a well dressed woman come in with a baby in a car seat. She was striking in that well tended, immaculately dressed, manicured, coiffed way that speaks affluence to me. She ordered her food and then was on her way to set her baby down with a friend who was already waiting for her at a table near us. In route to her table she stopped at ours as she was a friend of my friend and wanted to say hello and let her get a peak at her new bundle of joy.

Like most people do when they see someone that haven’t seen for a while they were also catching up. The new mom reached into her bag to get out a paper and pen in order to give her number to my friend, and in doing so she grabbed a receipt that was within reach in her oversized bag. As she was writing I could see where it was from and what it was for and was awestruck. It was from a store that had delivered and installed five (5) car seats. These infant car seats were priced at $260 each and throw in the delivery and installation charge and the bill was, well up there.

She had a beautiful little pink bundle all wrapped up against the elements with one of those elasticized covers over the entire seat. So all I could really see was the little pink face through the opening that was held up by some Velcro. The new mom wrote her name and phone number on the invoice and gave it to her friend and said the usual “let’s do lunch soon.” Never mind that she was interrupting our lunch but that is one of the advantages of getting out of the house and going to meet friends for a bite to eat, you sometimes see other friends as well.

Have you ever had a moment where you see something that is almost like a trigger for your emotions? For whatever reason seeing this newborn in her car seat was definitely that for me. It struck me so hard that I almost felt nauseous sitting there waiting for their quick little chat to end. In that relatively short span of time my mind went somewhere else.

I thought about the day that I left the hospital with my first born son. I was in a hospital in Hamilton, Ontario away from my immediate family. Back then it had just recently become a law that you had to have a car seat in order to leave the hospital with your baby. No car seat, no baby until you came back with one. Luckily for us there was a programme in the hospital that offered car seats at the subsidized price of $15.00. It was one of those rears facing jobs that looked like an egg that had been cut in half on an angle and flattened a bit on the bottom. Since then there have been some obvious design changes.

I remember my husband coming to pick me up for the ride back to our apartment in Brantford, Ontario. We had recently moved into a two-bedroom apartment on the third floor in an apartment complex on Grey Street. The nursery consisted of a crib I had gotten from my cousin and a dresser that I bought at the Salvation Army that also handled the duties of a change table as well. I had sewn the comforter, and curtains myself. I don’t think there were even bumper pads back then like there is now.

We had only one car and therefore only needed on car seat. Soon after I arrived home from the hospital to begin my new life as a mother things shifted somewhat in our marriage. My husband was not really ready to be a father. We had been married for three years and life was good up until that point. He began to go out after work. Our son was only weeks old when one weekend he didn’t come home at all. He had gone to work on a Friday morning and didn’t find his way home. By Saturday night he had not called me and I was both scared, and bewildered. I had called all his friends and family but couldn’t locate him. On Sunday morning I had one diaper left so I bundled my new bundle of joy, and he was such a beautiful blue l bundle as I put him in his buggy and walked a dozen blocks or so to Zellers in order to get him a small bag of diapers.

He was born in April so that day it was quite cold out, bitter, arctic cold. I barely had enough money to buy the diapers so calling a cab was out of the question. Calling my family was not really an option either mainly because of the embarrassment that would have caused. I would have to explain why I had no husband there to send to store, why I had no car to use to go to the store. So my pride being what it was then didn’t allow me to humble myself enough to make a call for help. I just bundled him and myself up and walked to the store and back that cold Sunday morning.

I think that when we purchased the buggy I envisioned idyllic walks to the park, walks around the block, using it at the Indian picnic and Border Crossing to show off my beautiful boy. While buying the stroller it never crossed my mind that I would have to use it in the middle of winter pushing it thorough snow drifts just to get something as basic as diapers. Lucky for him and for me I nursed him so I didn’t have to worry about getting baby formula too. If only I knew then what I know now.

Later that Sunday night or more like early Monday morning my husband finally came home. He was drunk and reeked of alcohol. I didn’t hear him come in the apartment as I had fallen asleep on the couch waiting to hear anything from him or about him. What woke me up was a punch to my face that he delivered as he began to berate me an accuse me of running around on him. I jumped up and tried to get out of range of his rage and his fists. I went into our son’s room as he was crying then from all the commotion he was hearing. I picked him up and my husband followed me into the room and hit me again so hard that I fell in the hallway holding our son in my arms. I was stupefied trying to figure out how the situation had escalated to this point. My forehead was cut and was bleeding. I went into the bathroom at the end of the hall and locked the door. I got toilet tissues and pressed it against the wound. To settle my son down I nursed him as I sat on the toilet applying pressure to the gash on my face. My husband kept pounding on the door but I didn’t come out.

Someone in the complex must have called the police because they were soon banging on our door. The first of a few visits they paid us while we lived in that apartment complex. They took him out of the apartment for a few hours but eventually returned with him. He passed out in the bedroom but somehow was able to get up and make it to work that morning.

It was this incident that ran quickly and lucidly through my mind as I sat in Mighty Taco with my old friend. She was concluding her chat with her friend as I returned to the present. I wanted to cry, I felt that tightness that comes before you breakdown and I just kept swallowing, swallowing my long suppressed grief and rage at my ex-husband for all the abuse I had suffered at his hand. Some much of it I still don’t want to think of but weighs on my mind and body as if I was carrying it around behind me in a large garbage bag over my shoulder, make that two garbage bags full of pain and misery. It is way past time to let that all go, to leave it in the past and to move forward.

My friend knew that something was wrong but it was neither the time nor the place to discuss something so personal with her. I couldn’t trust myself to even begin remembering it aloud with her. The pain was too present and I wasn’t ready to voice it. We finished our visit and made our promises to each other to keep in touch and set up another lunch date for a couple months down the road. Only after I got home was I able to revisit that memory and process it piece by piece.

I think that the thought of someone who has perhaps five different vehicles and probably never will have to take her baby out into the cold like I had to that cold April day over two decades ago ; just brought the day to the forefront of my brain. It brought back the isolation I felt that day and how in a moment of clarity that day I saw that my life had to change in order to get my needs and my son’s needs met.

My son is 28 years old this April. He is soon going to be a father himself this year and I wish for him only that he will have the ability to be the parent that his father was never able to be to him.


THINGS I DIDN’T KNOW THEN ABOUT…Domestic Violence


Domestic Violence is a pattern of behavior used to establish power and control over another person through fear and intimidation, often including the threat or use of violence.

Emotional abuse
Being insulted, intimidated, humiliated or isolated are some of the more hidden signals that a relationship may be abusive. Abusers often maintain power over their partners through behaviors that lower their partner's self-esteem and make them feel helpless. Abusers may use both emotional and physical abuse to exert control. Even if it does not leave scars that you can see, emotional abuse can cause serious harm. Depression, anxiety and low self-esteem can be lasting consequences of abuse.

Physical abuse
Being slapped, kicked, punched, pushed or choked are more obvious, physical signs that a relationship is abusive. Bruises, scratches, welts, cuts, broken bones and abrasions may result, but abusers may consciously hurt victims in ways that avoid detection by the casual observer.

Sexual abuse
Sexual abuse can include a wide range of forced or unwanted sexual activity, including touching and suggestive or offensive comments. Being forced to have sex against your will is rape, even if the perpetrator is your partner

Financial abuse
Being denied access to money is a more subtle sign of abuse. Taking paychecks and withholding bill payments are a few examples of economic abuse. This leads to financial dependence on the abuser, an effective method of power and control.

Someday

Yesterday I heard the craziest, scariest thing I ever heard. My friend, who shall remain nameless, told me about her dream of long ago. She said that she remembers being at her grandmother’s house in Six Nations. She said that when she woke up she had dreamt about her gram’s sister, lying in a casket all dressed up. She then went downstairs and told her grandma about her dream and her gram just said “don’t worry it was only a bad dream”. But my friend said that within two weeks of that dream she was at her great aunt’s funeral and her aunt was dressed exactly as she had seen her in the dream.


This event frightened my friend so much that she locked it way until just recently when she had another dream just like it. I knew that occasionally she would smell flowers and then find out that someone she knew and/or loved would die soon thereafter. I never knew that she had such vivid dreams that would foretell a death.

This same friend said recently that when she was leaving her acupuncturist a few weeks ago, she turned as she was leaving and told the acupuncturist that she should call her brother Richard. My friend doesn’t know the acupuncturist personally but this name just came to mind with the thought that something was wrong. And bizarre thing, the acupuncturist said she had a brother and he has been having problems lately.
I’ve always believed in God and believe that he has ministering spirits who are put here to help us daily in our lives. It just comes as a surprise to me that my friend is so open and receptive to these spirits. To me it is an intimidating ability to have. I think one that I would try to lock away and ignore, but then again it must have been given to her for a reason. I just don’t seem to have the capacity to understand that rationale at this juncture in my life. In I Corinthians 13:12 it states: For now we see thorough a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

To me this means that this life that we are living is a mystery to us, we don’t always see things clearly or understand the how and why of events as they unfurl themselves before us. But some day we will. Until then I will just try to live my life to the best of my ability without trying to overanalyze everything. Someday I will understand.

Now that you're gone...

My heart is breaking for my BFF, who also happens to be my niece. I think about her still as the young, vibrant, voluptuous, tough as nails woman who played volleyball, basketball, and swam a mean butterfly on our high school swim team. My mind goes back and forth often as I can still picture her in her aerodynamic swim suit as she is powering through a 100 m butterfly race or as she is setting a ball with her beautiful hands for the spiker to slam it down on our opposing team.

Then I see her as the mother she has become to four gorgeous grown children, the grandmother she is to four sweet grandbabies. It is hard to believe that we are that old, that time has passed so quickly it seems. In my mind’s eye I still see us both as girls, tittering away the nights on the phone. Talking together during and after practice, or our way to college together, as we talk about our hopes, our dreams, our plans, and our latest crush.

Flashbacks are usually kinder and gentler ways of remembering about the journey along the way that has brought us here to who we have become. The reality of what our life is now is sometimes not so kind and gentle. For my favorite niece life resembles a nightmare right now and that is why my heart hurts for her. Her marriage of over 25 years is ending, her husband has been served.

On my reservations sometimes when people are in a relationship for years their names become synonymous with one another’s and in some cases their identities become so entwined in one another that it changes their name. There is a woman who to this day I still think of as “Pat-Mike”, people refer to her that way often, yet she has not been “Pat-Mike” since two marriages and over 50 years ago. She has now been widowed twice. My own brother’s wife is referred to as “Khrissy-Duck “because his name is Donald and they have been married for over twenty years.

Tess never became “Tessy-Joe” but it their names were always intertwined, if I heard mention of one I would always think of the other as well. They had been together since we were in high school. He was the love of her life. But time has a way of changing people as they grow older their emotions change, their beliefs, and sometimes their love slips away, dissipates, loses its hold on them.

I’ve heard it said that one can easily walk away from the man who has done one wrong, it isn’t easy and definitely not a pain free process. It is the marriage that is harder to end. A marriage that at one time meant everything to that young, beautiful couple in love. As time erodes that love and erases that commitment to one another it ends the credence in the marriage itself. It is only when the credibility and confidence in the nuptials are gone that the acceptance hits. The knowledge that it is over can be like an epiphany or like a death. It all depends on how you see it and in what direction you want your life to move.

I went through a divorce myself quite a while ago. It hurt down to my core, I felt I was to blame I was the failure, because that is what he wanted me to believe. Instead I took that time of loss and grief and used it as a jumping off point to a better me, a stronger smarter me. I hope for you that you can do the same.

We may never pass this way again

Like the twilight in the road up ahead
They don't see just where we're goin'
And all the secrets in the universe
Whisper in our ears
All the years that come and go
Take us up, always up

{Refrain}
We may never pass this way again (4x)

Girls rule, boys drool...or i love being a mom

My thirteen- year-old daughter had her first sleep over last night. She invited three of her BFFs from her basketball team to come and spend the night with her in her slightly messy room. They arrived a little after 9 pm because Jess had a late hockey practice in Cheektowaga. This after I picked her up at 4 pm from her basketball practice. Originally she only tried out for the team because her BFFs were trying out too.


I really didn’t know what to expect other than knowing that girls laugh a LOT. As well as being imbued with the ability to talk incessantly about anything and everything. They were still awake at 1:00 am and I could hear them laughing and running up and down the stairs. I heard the bathroom door close every time one of them had exceeded their intake limit of pop. They came with bags of chips and other snacks, their reinforcements for a night of hilarity. The sugar and caffeine from the pop and general childish inanity that goes with being with friends had them fueled for a long night of merriment. No shenanigans were to be had just crazy fun with their BFFs.

Jess had spent many a night at their homes but there always seemed to be a reluctance either for Jess to invite them here, or perhaps on the part of the parents to let them stay. Jess has three older brothers and for some parents whose job it is to protect their children, this house full of older male siblings seemed like a gamble they weren’t ready to take with their daughters. Being a social worker who has worked with high risk families, with pregnant teens or parenting teens I could well understand their underlying fears. I think though that having three girls come over en mass somewhat lessened their fears to the point of manageability.

I was watching the news last night and there was an Amber alert out for a three- year- old boy, still a baby in my eyes, that some young mother had let get in a car and go with someone she knew only by Chris. The mother stated that Chris was only going to do some errands but after three hours elapsed with no sign of her very young son she called the police. Now that my friends is one mother who was either higher than a kite, was jonesing, and/or had lost her ability to think logically and reason things out, thereby losing the protective factors necessary to keep her son safe. Or perhaps someone who never really understood what it was to be loved, cherished by her own parents and thereby didn’t know how to protect her son from predators. Either way her young son was finally located in Rochester, NY and they were reunited. She may be charged with something like neglect or endangering the welfare of a minor for allowing her baby to go unescorted with a man she barely knew. I think maybe that isn’t enough to shelter this baby from harm but what other options are there, short from taking him from his mother, not always the best option either.

Shield, defend, guard, watch over, these are all things we as parents are charged with as well as to love, adore, raise, educate, and see our children as jewels in our crown of life. We are almost like sentries or sentinels who patrol the periphery of their lives to keep them safe from all harm. There are times when we can’t keep them safe, we can’t wrap them in bubble wrap, they have to live their lives too and sometimes they get hurt physically, emotionally, and sometimes mentally. We as parents do the best we can using what we know from our own parents, our own upbringing or from things we have learned during our own journey through this thing we call life.

The gender things comes into play here. We tend to think about our girls as fragile and delicate as flowers and we want to keep them safe far longer than our sons. I love that one cartoon character that was created by a T-shirt company in Florida, David and Goliath. It is a bit controversial in some circles but for me it embodies the way I wish my girlie saw boys till she was at least thirty.

I do have to mention that my girl is no shrinking violet, her brothers run from her because she is as rough and tough as them, if not more so. At her last basketball game she had a foul or two; at the last hockey game she played in she was in the penalty box three times. She plays defense and she protects her house like a bastard. (My favorite saying). In lacrosse if the ball goes in the corner she comes out with it nine times out of ten. My girl takes no guff and to me that is a good thing. My sisters say to me all the time “you plant corn, you get corn” as a metaphor for my life. I had five brothers, one was a year younger and one a year older. They were tough and I was tougher, I never let them make me cry if we fought. My feet were always firmly planted on the ground and I wouldn’t budge an inch, if I didn’t want too. I love my favorite daughter as much as I do my three sons and like Bruno Mars sings “I would catch a grenade for you” that is what you do for someone  you love with all your heart, unconditionally, forever and ever.

This morning I will go down and cook the girls, and the boys,  breakfast and then Jess is off to a basketball practice and two hockey games today and the boys to wrestling practice. GO REGALS!!!  GO FALCONS!!  I love being a lacrosse, hockey, wrestling, and now a basketball mom.

PS i just did a fb chat with my friend 2 let her know i blogged. she said she saw it and would read it later but first she had to get her kids to stop killing each other LOL. i replied i know what u mean i have days like that daily bahahahaha

Happy 60th Birthday to Vera Jane

This past weekend we all traveled up to Six Nations to attend a surprise birthday party for my older sister VJQ. She turned 60 on January 2nd. Trying to keep a big venture like an intimate gathering for 50-60 people secret isn’t an easy undertaking. Doing all the organizing on the down low was a lot easier with the utilization of Facebook (fb). My niece, Vanessa was able to send out her original idea back in October to everyone involved, her brother Vinton and all her aunts. From that point everyone was able to add their input and volunteer to do something to make her big day memorable.

My contribution was to put together a Power Point slide show with pictures of all her friends and family members through the years. I was able again to employ fb to gather pictures of VJQ and her children, and extended family. After working on this labor of love for my sister I ended with 99 slides and many pictures of my parents and grandparents I had never seen before. It is always fun to look at old pictures that captures your likeness in a moment in time whether you are in your “Sunday go to meeting” finery or maybe in your underwear. It is all there in glorious Technicolor or black and white depending on how old the picture is. I have to admit I love pictures, who doesn’t? I love the way people laugh at their baby pictures, no matter their age. The way everyone says “OMG look how skinny I was then.” It is a walk down memory lane that never disappoints, unless of course it is a really bad picture that is not flattering to the viewer. Everyone else usually gets a good laugh regardless.

Listening to the morning news as I write this the announcer mentioned that Hugh Hefner is engaged to a 24 year old woman, one who said she doesn’t see the age difference. He then said she probably can’t tell the difference between a grape and a raisin. Age is a big definer. One some people try desperately to fight against. Getting a little long in the tooth is not something people want to admit to. Sometimes some people may long for those “glory days” when we were 50 pounds thinner, our hair was thicker, our face was smoother, we could get out of bed with a spring in our step and shake our junk so hard with no painful after effects. Hence the big cosmetic surgery industry. Nancy Pelosi on the TV with nary a wrinkly fold in her forehead, a crow’s foot, or turkey neck in sight. Ah, the wonders a scalpel and Botox can achieve, or the opposite, think Kenny Rodgers.

I think more importantly when people yearn for their youth they yearn for a time when things were uncomplicated, when there wasn’t as much stress to deal with, a “do over”. Many people have some regrets that they carry around with themselves, every day like a full garbage bag of slights, hurts, doubts, and they secretly wish for a “do over”, an “if only…” Those are the people who are not happy as they age. But for others, especially mothers and grandmothers, the joy they find in their families love offsets any reluctance to age that they could possibly have. Families are the cornerstone of love and society, in my mind anyways.

The best part of VJQs party was seeing people who at one time where a very important part of her life but because of the bizyness of life she hasn’t seen for weeks or months, maybe even years. It was such a delight to be able to touch base with old friends, to play catch up and find out what everyone else has been doing. To hear about grown children, grand children, jobs, loves, losses. Life goes on for everyone whether they are an integral part of your day or one you try to keep up with now on fb. It is these connections that enrich our lives.

The other part of her birthday I enjoyed was remembering all those who are no longer with us. Seeing all their pictures up on that screen warmed the cockles of my heart which in turn rekindled memories of those in attendance. The PowerPoint slides were like a process of remembering people, events, stories which in turn brought stories bubbling to the forefront of everyone’s mind. It was this act that allowed stories to flow freely and these shared experiences then allowed the young people there to learn more about VJQs life and about our connections. Winter time is traditionally a time of storytelling, which teaches us skills and passes along beliefs we may need to draw upon in our life, or just helps us to remember those who have gone before us.

Peg or maybe it was Bean brought a box of small cards that were put on every table. These were called “Wishes”. The intent was for everyone to write on their card their wishes for VJQs upcoming year. These were read and for the most part they were all wishing her happiness, and continued good health in the coming year. Some wished for her a new man with a “big one” and $$ to go with him. This of course then brought about more storytelling and hilarity. It was a wonderful day and it leaves me hoping for a 70th birthday gala to again reconnect with friends and family.

This new year brings opportunities for new beginnings and another fabulous event I am looking forward. Ness and her beloved with be exchanging vows this year.  :)  <3 <3 This will again bring together our clan and well as his for more connections and storytelling.

Nya:weh to Ness and Daniel for all their hard work and determination in keeping VJQs birthday a secret. <3 u!

Happy New Year!!

Muscle Cars

My father and brothers were all gifted with the ability to repair cars no matter how old they were or what was wrong with them mechanically. They could fix them up in no time and have them sounding good as new, sometimes with a little tweaking here and new headers there, better then new.


Because my dad had a garage behind our house that was always filled with someone’s 1972 Olds Cutlass Hurst, 1969 Chevy Nova SS, or Plymouth Fury Sport to this day I am able to identify an older model car’s make, model, and year at a glance. This ability seemed to impress people but seemed like nothing to me, I thought everyone was able to identify a 1970 Mercury Cougar with a 357 Cleveland engine at ten paces. But apparently not everyone can, it might be considered an acquired skill. Although I was never interested in getting my hands under the hood I did like to look there. It was interesting to see the different engine sizes and hear the car run smoothly after a tune-up or the installation of some headers or glass mufflers to a muscle car like a 1974 Plymouth Barracuda with dual exhaust, or maybe a 1968 Chevy El Camino.

Since the age of twelve or thirteen I could drive a standard and loved to drive my brother Dave’s 1971 Ford Mustang with a three-speed transmission through the woods, unbeknownst to my brother I would take it when he was at work and my mom wasn’t home. One time when we were visiting my gram in Six Nations , Dave had gone somewhere with my other brother Wayne Clair and left the Mustang in the drive, the maroon mustang was always calling my name, or so it seemed to me.

My cousin, Didder, and I thought it would be cool to take it for a ride around the Rez. I got to Thomas’ Corner and thought it would be really hip if I did a donut in the middle of the corner. I had done donuts many times in the middle of fields back home and figured it would be no problem, but spinning in circles in a huge open field is much different than doing a donut in the middle of the road , it wasn’t that simple. I ended up flying backward into the ditch, and then the car stalled. It took a while to get it restarted because in my haste to get out of the ditch I flooded the carburetor. I had to wait a while in order to get it started and thought for sure either Dave or my mother would drive by and catch me red-handed and red-faced. I was so glad to finally get the car started but even so it was a bit tricky for me to keep it going as I attempted to rock the car out of the ditch. My cousin wasn’t too pleased with me when I made her get out and push us out of the ditch. Her shoes and legs were all covered in mud from all her exertions and the spinning of the tires. We got enough momentum going to escape the ditch and we made it home before anyone knew we were even gone, or so I thought.

Living on a small Rez doesn’t’ really afford anyone much privacy or anonymity. Everyone knows everyone else, their mother, father, grandparents and all their business. I thought that I had really pulled one over on all parties concerned but not so, by the end of the day both my mother and brother had gotten phone calls about Didder and I being stuck in the ditch up at Thomas’ Corner.

That ended my joy riding in Dave’s mustang after that I think he must have installed a kill switch somewhere because I never could get it started again, with or without the key. My mom wasn’t too happy with my antics either and I got a damn good lickin’ with a switch I had to go and get off the tree myself, a red willow switch. Either way, after that day I limited my joy riding to one of the jalopies out back they were easy to start by touching the right two wires together and I stayed off the road. It was a breeze to get around the Rez through the various trails that wove through the woods, although most of the time I didn’t have a destination in mind I just liked to drive around and do a few donuts out in the fields by myself, relishing that sense of freedom a car, or an old jalopy, could provide me.

To this day I prefer to drive a standard to an automatic transmission, and nothing gives me greater joy than to follow someone driving a 1969 Chevy Malibu SS and hearing the deep rumbling of the engine, and the headers as they lay some rubber. That noise resonates within me and brings back the memories of the old garage behind my old homestead, and the feeling of pure delight that I always got from fast, loud cars. Not loud cars that go boom, but cars with big engines that go VROOM.

A Gift: Remember When

 
I woke up suddenly, aware of a light shining directly in my face. This is such a shock because I am sitting in the driver’s seat of my black 1997 Ford Escort at a stop sign. I must have passed out or worse been in a black out because I have no recollection of how I came to be slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious. Now as I look towards the light I heard a male voice saying “hey, hey wake up, are you alright?” I look up and see through the front windshield the stop sign, then the street sign that reads Cockshutt Road and Sour Springs Road. Across the street I could see Derris’ Sunoco station. I know exactly where I am, the question that is blaring inside my mind was how did I get here? HOW?

A horrible realization is coming into my psyche; I am drunk, I can smell the alcohol on my own breath as I put my head down in both shock and disappointment. How could this have happened, to me, sober for over twenty years? Disillusion, panic, dismay, and frustration were all feelings that suddenly entered my thought process, as subdued and muted as it is at the moment.

My door opened and I looked down and could clearly see the black pavement, a small circle lit by the flashlight being held, and the small gravel that lay on the road. Then I saw a rather large, probably size 12, black leather shoe there and looking up I see a blue stripe on the side of his black slacks and as my eyes travel further upward I see a gun holstered. He asks “Have you been drinking? Step out of the car?” I am so filled with disbelief that I cannot move, cannot fathom that this is real. All that is going through my mind is “how did this happen?” In less than a month I am set to graduate from University with a graduate degree, a job in the court system awaits me. This can’t be. I can’t be arrested for DWI; I’ve come so far and have so much to lose.

Instead of getting out of the car as his directive urges me; a thought, no a clearly discernable voice in my head says: “run.” So I do, I slam the door put the car in first gear, let out the clutch quickly as I gas it and turn right. At the first road I turn right again and am headed back towards the Six Nations Reserve. I drive faster and faster as I see the flashing lights coming behind me in my rearview mirror. I know where I can lose him I turn off my lights and know that a side road is coming up I turn down the road and quickly turn into a laneway. There are many cars parked there and they line the road in both directions. I jump out of my car and run towards the house, I’ve lost him, relief floods through me.

As I knock on the door I know where I am, I don’t wait for someone to say come in or to open the door, and I just walk in. The house is immediately familiar, my Grandmother Vera is there, as is my Aunt Spence, the house is filled with people laughing and eating. Although I know where I am I feel confused and eerily think to myself that this can’t be real because I know both my Gram and my Auntie have been dead for years. How did I find this place? I ask my Grandmother to help me; I tell her what has happened and feel shame and embarrassment in the telling and can feel the heat travel up into my face. She calls my Auntie over and we go to the door. She comforts me and promises that she will help me and we will work this all out. I wonder how it can be so.

As we leave the house I look up and down the road first and then I follow her down the steps and out to a car, her car? I can’t be sure but she gets in the passenger seat and my Auntie steps around me to get into the driver’s seat. Suddenly a large white dog is in front of me as I try to get into the back seat, its large teeth showing as it snarls and snaps at me. My Gram gets out quickly and steps between us, she opens the back door and pushes me to get in. As the door closes and she gets back in I am still wondering how this can be. My heart is pounding; sweat has dampened the back of my neck.

I wake up suddenly and am so filled with relief that it is only a dream. My heart is still pounding and my nightgown is damp with my own sweat.