I grew up in a very small reservation called Rapid Lake. It had no paved roads. It took over an hour to get to town. I didn’t have much growing up; I didn’t have what the other kids had—they all had bikes, four-wheelers, name brand clothes, ski-doos.
I mostly stayed with my mom because my mom and my dad separated when I was younger. I stayed in a small house along with my sister, Migon, who is 4 years older than me. My sister had a different relationship with our dad than I did. It always made me feel unwanted.
Growing up I always thought that my mom and my dad broke up because of me. My dad left a couple months after I was born. Then he came back. He kept leaving and coming back, and then leaving–but my mom got tired of him coming and leaving and told him to stop coming back. And during that time, that’s when he got another girl pregnant, and that was my little brother. My entire life I felt unwanted by everyone.
Most nights I would stay at my kokom’s house, then spend the day with my sister or my cousins. We would all play in the basement where my kokom kept things she didn’t really use anymore. She had old sewing machines down there, an old couch. I never stayed in one place. I was always staying at all my family’s houses because my house didn’t feel like home.
When I was around 8 years old, I started going to see my dad a lot more. I almost moved in with him. I wanted him in my life. I wanted the attention I never got. My mom didn’t want to let me leave. She said I was too young.
For the next two years, I saw him a lot more. One time, I was supposed to stay with him for three weeks. He had a new girlfriend, but I didn’t know that until my mom had dropped me off and driven away. I was really disappointed that our visit wasn’t going to be just me and him, and we got into arguments that got worse and worse until one really bad argument.
“Why can’t you treat me as good as you treat Migon,” I yelled at him. He couldn’t even say anything back. I told my mom to pick me up and she came the next day.
When I left, I didn’t even hug him.
A month later, we got a call. He had a heart attack and was in the hospital. The next day, we went to the town where the hospital was located. We spent three weeks there, waiting and waiting for him to wake up from a coma. I sat by his bed begging him everyday to wake up. “Dad, please wake up,” I was always saying. “I’m sorry. I can’t lose you.”
“Let’s go visit your dad one more time today,” said my uncle. My dad had been in the hospital for three weeks. My uncle and I were at the store, to get stuff for supper.
“We’ll come back tomorrow morning,” he said.
“Okay,” I said.
When we walked into the hospital, we saw my step-mom running out of my dad’s room. She was crying and talking to the doctor. My uncle gently put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me out of the way to go see what was wrong.
Once I got into the room, my uncle was next to his bed holding his hand. Crying, he looked at me.
“He’s gone,” he told me. “They have to unplug him.”
I hadn’t said goodbye or hugged him the last time I saw him, and now I would not hear his voice again, feel his touch, hear his laugh. I ran out of the hospital crying, people staring at me as I ran out. I went to sit by the stairs outside.
Five minutes later my auntie came to see me.
“Come on, we have to go home,” she said. “Go see your mom.”
I went to the car. It was a really quiet ride back to the house. I was looking out the window trying not to cry.
Once we got to the house, I went to go look for my mom. She was in the bathroom.
“Mom, he’s gone, Dad’s gone,” I said, as I collapsed to the floor crying. She opened the door with tears in her eyes and came and hugged me, and then went downstairs to tell my sister what happened.
Four days later we had his funeral, and when it was over we went home. When we got to the house it didn’t feel like home. I didn’t want to be there anymore. A month later, I had to celebrate my birthday, but I didn’t want to do anything. I had to start therapy.
A year later, I graduated from elementary school and moved to Maniwaki for high school. I stayed at multiple places with different people—mostly family, somehow.
In grade seven, I was alone until I got to school, because I had some friends there to talk to. I never wanted to talk about how I felt about losing my dad to any of my friends. They would just feel uncomfortable and not say anything after. I wished I was able to talk to my friends about my dad and how I felt—instead, I just kept everything to myself.
Years later, in grade nine, I got invited to a party back home on the reservation, and I went with my friends.
For the first time, I was actually able to talk about losing my dad—because everyone knew him. It wasn’t awkward for them to listen to me.
Now I’m in grade ten, and I still feel the same way as always. When will this go away?
I ended up asking my English teacher if I could read my old writing book.
The first thing I had written in it was, my mind feels empty like there’s nothing going on in my head. I don’t remember writing that. I wish I was able to give my old self a hug and tell her that she was gonna make it out of there.
Seneka McDougall is a 15-year-old girl and a member of the First Nations of Barrier Lake. She’s a Secondary 4 student at Maniwaki Woodland School. She writes about family grieving, and hope. She likes playing broomball and sharing stories/spending time with family and friends.