In May of 1986, my son, Joseph Samson was murdered while at a 'bush party' in northern Alberta. He was Native American Indian, those who took his life were not. Under the then current 'young offenders’ legislation, they walked away.

My son and I struggled with many things as he went through his teen years, some the usual others more serious, like drinking, drugs. Our last conversation was an argument about his drug use, and he said that he had his whole life to get straight, now he was going to have fun. We parted on angry terms.

Two nights later I woke up from a nightmare of him calling for me, and knew that he was gone to the Spirit World. His body was not found for more than six weeks.

His death still impacts on my life today and I seek healing in the Traditional ways of my people. I miss him terribly and have searched for some meaning in his life and loss, for both myself and my other children.  Grieving and healing are hard work and take time.

I knew that I was on the right track in my healing, when I woke up in the middle of the night, sat at my kitchen table and put the following words on paper. I clearly felt my son’s presence then, and often do today, when I need comfort.

I invite each of you who sees these words, envision them written on paper that has autumn hues of trees in brilliant colours, next to a lake. The lake mirrors them in reverse. I was taught that the Spiritual is a reflection of the Physical, that life is a reflection of death, the invisible but the unseen part of the visible.

These are offered as a gift to those who pass by this way. Please make any use of them that begins with a good heart, and if you feel moved to do so, share with me, if anything results from your having read and considered the contents, for in that way, for me, my son's life has meaning, as did the manner of his passing.

You are invited to take what learning you may find, and enrich your relationships, while you have time. For no one knows when time runs out, or when there is...

Last Times..

KiiskeeN’tum- She Who Remembers

Email: mohawk@mormonmohawk.com
 

Like so many last times I did not know
That Last Word we spoke together was all that we would share.
I thought we'd always have tomorrows, have time have the future.
I did not know how often I would wonder if you knew how much I cared for you.
 

        Like so many last times, I did not know that was the last time
        That I would put my arms around you and hug you close.
        You'd grown so much this last year, son of mine,
        Once you fit on my lap to be rocked to sleep.
 

How could I know it was the Last Time you'd say "I love you Mom"
Children are supposed to outlive us, and I thought we had so much time
To work through the problems we faced, together.
This is not fair, for me to be here, and you're gone.
 

        Last times are supposed to be obvious,
        Like the last day of the year, last day of school.
        Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring all begin and end on a certain day.
        Children's lives aren't supposed to have a last day.
 

Now, my son, you are gone from our arms.
I long to hear your voice, see your smile.
Even to hear you raiding the fridge for food late at night.
But it was the last time.
 

        So, each new day is a last time.
        So many things left unsaid to you.
        Each new day is savored for it too may hold a last time.
        And I have learned that each minute can be treasured,
        For the last time it may hold.
 

I say I love you to your brother and sisters,
And hold them close at every occasion.
I honour your Spirit, your memory by loving them
And pray, every day, that for this family, there
will never be another Last Time, and never Lost Time.

KiiskeeN'tum- She Who Remembers In memory of Joseph Paul Dennis Samson, May 12, 1966 to May 8, 1986