As some may know, I was a victim of the 60's Scoop, the forced adoption of thousands of nDn babies and children into white families. My childhood was filled with physical and emotional abuse at the hands of my deranged adopted mother. The one good thing that I must say about my adopted family, and this is pretty much the only good thing I can say about them, was that my adopted father was a kind, gentle, and wise man who never laid a hand on me. Though he had no idea what was happening to me at the hands of his wife, and I couldn't bear to break his heart and tell him when I was finally able to speak about it well into my 30's that his wife was a maniac who beat all her kids and myself particularly viciously, I never held that against him.

The wisdom he passed on to me, the love he had for every living creature and for the planet we all share, and the respect he taught me to show my elders, and all living things, I can say was key in keeping me out of trouble, out of jail, away from drugs and alcohol, and I will always remember him with respect and love. He tried so hard to teach me to love myself and my people and all my life he told me to be proud of where I came from. He was more of an nDn than I will ever be and he truly had the spirit and courage of a warrior. He was a World War II veteran and hero who survived the horrific destruction of the Sherman Tank he was driving as it was struck by 88mm shells fired by the Germans. He witnessed the violent deaths of his crewmates and friends as his tank exploded into flames and machinegun fire cut them down as they tried to escape. He was blown clear of the burning tank by the final shell but survived somehow, laying in a ditch in the fields of France in what is referred to by historians as "The Falaise Gap" mortally wounded and unconscious. He is my hero, my inspiration, and my role model. I learned more about respect and honour from him than anyone could have ever taught me. One year after his passing into the spirit world, I had an incredible encounter that I wrote about shortly after it happened. This is that story:

on the one year anniversary of my father's death; a moth appeared on the curtain beside me as i was writing in my journal about my father's passing. in that very instance, i knew that the moth was sent for me. i felt the presence of my father. i could hear his voice, as clearly as if he were standing right there, telling me to talk to him. my heart thundered in my chest and i broke down and cried. every pain i had endured over the past few years, every hurt, every ounce of sadness inside me, burst forth and i actually fell to my knees, sobbing.

i looked up through tear filled eyes, to see that the moth was gone from the curtain. i felt panick surge through me. there was so much i wanted to say to him. there was so much i needed to let go. as i stood there, shaking and terrified that i had missed the one chance i had to speak to my father, i looked down and saw the moth, sitting there on my shirt sleeve, looking straight into my eyes.

in that brief moment, i felt my fathers hand on my shoulder and i heard his voice in my ear whisper, "lets go outside and talk, son."

I put my finger in front of him and he gently climbed onto my fingernail, and i took him outside. i placed him on the windowsill, facing away from me and he turned around and looked once more into my eyes.

i opened my heart to him and we spoke for almost a half an hour. i felt a peacefullness that i havent felt in a long time; like laying in a loved ones arms; as i poured my sould out to him. as i talked, I burned some tobacco to thank his spirit for coming to me. he never moved the entire time i spoke to him, yet i could hear him so clearly, that it was almost frightening. he told me to be brave, to be strong, and that no matter what, he would always love me and be proud of me. he told me to stay true to my heart, and to never be afraid because the Creator, my ancestors and he were watching over me.

i got my guitar from the living room and came back outside and put my finger out in front of him. he again climbed onto my finger and i took him back to the table where we had first met, and i set him down on it.

i played my guitar for him and sang him some songs. he always loved to listen to me and i felt so good making him happy one last time.

every care i had in the world disappeared as i spent another hour with my father's spirit. i could feel him smiling upon me and i heard him say to me, and i will never forget the sound of these words in my ears;

"Ronald, I will always love you my chosen son. I am proud of you and no matter what happens in this life, stay strong, be brave and know that i am always watching over you."

as those last words echoed in my ears, he rose from the table and disappeared into the night. I looked up into the darkness and said, "Goodbye Dad.. I love you too. Thank you." and he was gone.

i stood there, alone in the back yard, tears streaming down my face, staring up into the dark night sky, in a moment that i will remember as long as i live.

meegwetch my friend

be at peace and know that i love you