Pre bedtime rituals consisted of learning Ojibwe words and songs, many laughs and too many stories I can’t remember.
She healed my bad dreams by telling me to only think good thoughts before falling asleep.
I used to climb up on to the railing and jump onto the bed – it felt like skydiving.
I can hear the fan running, the gentle wind on my feet and the warmth of my grandmother beside me.
It was a bed she and her grandmother spent similar nights in.
This bed holds memories of a maternal love built in language and joy.
I wrote the first part of this a few months ago but it came back to me today. A day arguably built with a colonial construct but built with good intent nonetheless.
Sleeping next to my grandmother was a grave reminder of the fear that lived in her – fear of me being removed from my home, from the safety of our family. How tightly she held on to my mom and I, she was always worrying and she was always thinking of us.
And now I think of them – my grandmothers. My matriarchal strength. Women so strong, they fought battles I can’t even imagine, in order for me to where I am, to be who I am. I’m grateful for them and they fought every obstacle they had to overcome.
She healed our family as her and I would fall asleep together – making sure I was safe, teaching me the language and bringing laughter into my life. For that, I am eternally grateful.
Ambrace 