I continued to pursue healing for the experiences I had gone through in my more than 50 years on this Earth—through new friends, a stable life, and the consistent love and support of the Dr. Peter Centre. I was broken, and certainly my cracks were clearly visible, but I was mending day by day. It wasn’t too long after I had given the CBC interview on the new highway to Tuktoyaktuk when I got another call from the North. A young teacher in Inuvik was on the other end of the line. The teacher, Steve, explained that he was teaching a Grade 9 English class and was doing a unit on Truth and Reconciliation. He and his students were reading a text about Chanie Wenjack’s fatal escape from a residential school in Ontario, and he had heard about my story from an Indigenous woman from Aklavik who worked with their school board. He had tracked me down through my family in Tuk and wanted to know if I would be willing to come north and speak to his students about my own experiences. He wished for them to learn their own history and a story that happened right there in Inuvik. He had read my story in an old anthology of Indigenous authors and he wanted to meet me, to hear my own words and connect me with his students. He explained that he was working with another teacher in Tsiigehtchic, the woman from Aklavik, and his school board. They wanted to hold an honour ceremony for me and the families of Jack and Dennis—to honour their memory and have Elders pray over me and the road that now traces our horrible journey.

After I hung up the phone, I sat for a very long time. It was like time slowed. I breathed in and out, trying to slow the pounding in my chest and clear my mind. Immediately I felt fear and panic at the prospect of returning home. I couldn’t imagine talking to students and telling my story. I couldn’t imagine going back to Inuvik and spending time in the memory of the most devasting time in my life. I couldn’t imagine facing family after the last time I left home. I had changed and was finally finding myself. Could I risk undoing that work— getting sucked back in? When time resumed once more and my mind was less muddled, I thought about what the teacher had been saying. His school board would fly me to Inuvik and I would speak to students about my life and the time I spent at Stringer Hall and my escape from Tuk. The community would host a reconciliation ceremony—an honour ceremony—to address what happened to us and offer healing and support. Jack’s and Dennis’s families would be there, as well as members of my own family. Then I would travel to Tuk for a few days to see my family before returning to Vancouver. Everything would be taken care of; all I would have to do was get on a plane. I knew I wasn’t ready. But suddenly I realized the power of teaching students that something awful had happened to me, that I had fought my whole life to feel safe, and that I could help them learn and feel that they are loved and safe in their lives. It was like I felt strength return to my body, filling my veins with hope. Despite my fears, I had to do it. I had to go.