Babaamaajimowinan (Telling of news in different places)

Heal, Women and Sisters! You Are Not Alone!

One of my brother’s earliest memories is of him watching me in my father’s van while our father drank out by the river. My brother said I was only a baby, and he didn’t know if my dad would come back, so he sat in the cold van, feeding me an empty bottle. The trauma within my family runs deep and wide, and we’ve been healing for years. Part of that healing is telling the story, regardless of its implications concerning culture or community.

As a baby girl I was brought several times to my uncles home because my father had broken ours, searching for drinking money. Several times I was forced to witness my mother’s body being broken by my father, a man I loved in spite of his monstrous nature and proclivity for pain.



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