Mothers

Amelia and Joe McGregor are pictured with their grandchildren and great-grandchildren (left to right) Wahsontanó:ron, Karonhianó:ron, Karihwiiostha, Iakenhniseriiostha and Wahsontoktha. (Courtesy: Amelia McGregor)

Story told by Amelia McGregor

When our youngest daughter was five years old, she went to kindergarten in the community.

We were told that one of the children in her class had an accident on the weekend, where the milk truck ran over her classmate.

Here we go again, right?

We had already lost a child. I know perfectly well what that means.

I told our daughter, “We have to go see your friend.” 

I wanted her to understand. That’s what we do culturally. We include our children in these things because they need to know it’s not just older people that pass away, it could be young people as well.

Those are the times they need to ask questions.

When we went, I had a hard time, not her. She didn’t really understand everything. When we walked in, I had to swallow really hard. It’s just like us all over again, when we had to bury our daughter.

The mother was there. I was trying very hard to go, pay my respects, and leave. I turned around and the mother was standing right there.

She said, “Of all the people that are here, everybody’s giving me their condolences, but I’m screaming inside my body. Unless you lost a child, you don’t know what it feels like. But you know what I feel like because you lost yours.”

So we cried together.

There’s other people that felt the same way as me. And so you get together with other people who have the same feelings, not just the same experiences, but the same feelings.

“Can I call you?” she said. “Because I’d like to talk to you after this is over.”

So I said, “I’m just a phone call away if you need it.”