It?s difficult to imagine myself as you once knew me?three years old, bright-eyed and playful. But I sing lullabies and cry for that little girl, too. I protect and take care of her, and I do so fearlessly, just like you did. I know you had hoped that child wouldn?t share your fate and grow up with the same pain, but forces beyond you had other plans.
Our family had left the Lower Mainland of British Columbia and headed north in search of work. On our journey, we lived on each end of the Highway of Tears, from Prince Rupert to Prince George. I remember our house?3112 Spruce Street. The sandbox I played in was right by the raspberry bushes that lined our backyard. It attracted hungry bears. I recall you squeezing me tightly after a ranger shot one that wouldn?t leave. You let me reach out my tiny hand and touch its sparse brown fur. You were relentlessly hard-working. Sometimes you?d be away for days at a time on long-haul trips as a locomotive conductor for the Canadian National Railway company. But you?d always come back. I remember you in your worn-in denim overalls, kicking the snow off your boots at the front door. I?d run to you, and you?d pick me up and hold me tight. You were a superhero in my young mind.
We would sit in the bathtub together, and toys floated on the warm water like boats on the open sea. One time, we both screamed when a black wolf spider crawled out of the faucet. You whipped me into your arms and carried me out of harm?s way.
Then a real monster en...