“Unraveling the Secrets of ‘Traditions of a Mutt’: What Your Dog’s Mixed Breed Can Teach You About Love and Loyalty”
Still, while I may not carry the typical physical features of the indigenous, my family history displays the scars of generational trauma. It began with stolen lands, then stolen kin. Weeping mothers and fathers bent over empty beds where children once slept.
Shattered people make broken children, who grow up to pass on their pieces. The hamster keeps turning on its wheel. Most notably, alcohol ruled the many. It became common: to give into the bottle, may it be obvious or subtle.
“You’re not actually Métis, no way.” Should I show the graves of mostly men who met their fate early—my cousins and great uncles and grandfathers? Here, a picture of my grandmother with her second family. We believe her young life had proved too difficult and she cracked. Story goes, she went into some psychosis and ran off, eventually starting a new family. She had little memory of her first life but, for some reason, couldn’t shake the memory of my dad, her first born child. We heard she remained confused and continued to call her new baby by my father’s name, David, for years. A wheel of tragedy that just keeps spinning.
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