To quote Governor General Mary Simon, “Every day, Indigenous communities mourn the loss of sisters, mothers, loved ones and children who have gone missing—or whose lives have been violently cut short or forever changed.” It’s a dreadful burden to carry.
At the SILR conference in Edmonton last week, Wayne Jackson told a powerful story living with profound loss, an example set by his grandfather who lost 9 of his 10 children, yet still managed to live with joy. Wayne’s own mother, who walked ahead in 2024, was the only one of those children to enjoy old age. Wayne also lives with the loss of two daughters of his own. Although their circumstances were different than those of the murdered and missing, the lesson of living well despite the pain feels like a message of hope worthy of sharing with families living with the unspeakable pain of not knowing.
The traditional-style song is one he used to sing to his daughter from the time she was small. Her middle name was Rainbow – a sign of hope in itself – which they translated into Cree as pîsimoyâpîs. In sharing this, I want to join Wayne, too, in thanking Charlotte Ross for capturing the moment.
“pîsimoyâpîs, pîsimoyâpîs, pîsimoyâpîs takohtêw anohc,
pîsimoyâpîs, pîsimoyâpîs, pîsimoyâpîs, pîsimoyâpîs”
“ᐲᓯᒧᔮᐲᐢ, ᐲᓯᒧᔮᐲᐢ, ᐲᓯᒧᔮᐲᐢ ᑕᑯᐦᑌᐤ ᐊᓄᐦᐨ,
ᐲᓯᒧᔮᐲᐢ, ᐲᓯᒧᔮᐲᐢ, ᐲᓯᒧᔮᐲᐢ, ᐲᓯᒧᔮᐲᐢ”
“Little Rainbow, Little Rainbow, Little Rainbow has arrived today,
Little Rainbow”
#pîsimoyâpîs #silrgathering2026 #reddressday2026
(Ever the educator, Wayne also shared this link to a traditional story about how the rainbow came to be – and how his late daughter got her name.)
