Miracle Blossom Sinclair

This is based on real events. Many men have gone through what I have gone through. This is my way of dealing with one of those life changing instances that we all have in life from time to time. I am an Ojibway man from Ontario. I have used some Ojibway words but I think they are self explanatory. This is how I deal. Year 6.December 31, 2005

Well my girl, another year has come and gone without you. This would be the Third Christmas without you and I am still having a hard time forgiving your mom for what happened. Your mom and I started out more like family than most people do. Your mom’s brother was more like my brother than my best friend. Your Grandfather was more like a father to me than your real Mishomis had been. I lived with your Mom and Grandpa for a long time. When I was away I always made sure I called them on all the major Holidays. I always made time to visit with them when I was gone for too long. But what happened drove me away from my family. What happened that Thursday night drove a stake in the heart of my trust, my love, and my desire to have your mom in my life as a friend or as a companion. I am trying so hard to fight to get these types of feelings back, and I am trying my hardest to forgive your mommy, but sometimes it seems like I will never forgive her for what happened.

In my heart and soul, what happened between your Mom and I caused more damage to me than anything else that has ever happened in my life before now. What happened was worse in my life than the scars that Hitler or Hiroshima have left in the history books. What happened was more devastating to me than Tsunami’s and Hurricanes are to Tropical coastlines. What happened was more painful to me than broken bones or cuts and bruises. In one sudden moment everything that is beautiful was taken from my life and my soul was left empty and barren. Everything that would ever happen was taken from us and we were never given a fair chance... Your mom was never given a chance, and worst of all, you were never given a chance. You were never given a chance to know the love that a daughter feels when her parents watch her play with her dolls. You were never given the opportunity to feel the butterflies in your stomach when you fall in love for the very first time. You were never given the chance to feel the confusion that everyone feels in their teen years. Your mom was never given the chance to know what it is to be a mother. Then, in that same instant, your mother was robbed of the blessing that a woman gets when she blossoms from a girl to a mother and a woman.

I was never given the chore of change your stinky diapers. I was never given the chance to feed you in the middle of the night with bleary eyes and then rock you back to sleep. I was never given the opportunity to burp you or to take you for walks to the park. I was never allowed to sing to you or make little beaded moccasins for you. I never had to worry about your first day of school and I didn't have to pace around the house on the night of your first date. I guess a good thing is that I never had to stand there with a frog in my throat and then give your hand to another man... when you eventually walked down that aisle on your wedding day. And your mom didn't have to teach you how to walk, how to run or dance. She didn’t have to teach you how to laugh, sing or cry. And she never had to teach you those women things that make your dad so uncomfortable and feel so awkward. Neither of us had the opportunity to teach you about our beautiful cultures, and the worst is that we were never allowed to hold you in our arms like proud parents should.


My girl, you would have grown up with more advantages than I have had. You would have been taught the real history of this land and the true history of our people. You would see the underhandedness of the people that elect themselves to be your governors. You would know how it feels to be discriminated against without having to actually be stung by the hatred behind it. You would have been shown how to know these things and still offer help and love to your fellow human beings, even if they hold hatred in their hearts. You would know the stories that people tell during the night around campfires. You would know what it means to be an Indian in the 21st century. You would know how to deal with racism and anger when it confronts you. You would hold your head high when someone calls you a Squaw or calls you a Wagon burner. You wouldn’t allow somebody else’s opinion of who and what you are have an effect on what you do as a human being and as a person.

But maybe this is the best thing that could have happened for us. Maybe you would have received a bit of each of your parent’s fire. Maybe you would have got some of the fire that boils your mothers blood, sometimes a little bit too easily. Maybe you would have gotten some of you daddy’s thrill seeking nature and would have been prone to mind altering substances. Maybe you would have grown to be bitter and cynical while being forced to watch while the people who have sworn to protect you, rape and pillage the land around you. Maybe the settlement offer for all of our grandparents suffering in residential schools would have left you with a bitter taste in your mouth, because the money is not going to dry your grandmother's tears. Maybe you would have eased the suffering of the old ones who remember Residential schools and maybe you would have eased the fallout of the genocide that we have felt for generations. Maybe pieces of you would have died when a new Tim Horton’s opened up on the spot that used to be the pow wow grounds where you entered the Pow Wow circle for the very first time. The same spot where you danced your very first dance holding your daddy’s hand. Maybe you would have been a militant and a radical, hurling obscenities and rocks at the people driving their sky burning SUV's. Maybe you would care about our mother earth and want to protect her as much as our ancestors would want us to. Maybe you would stand up and fight like the proud people that we are. Holding you head high with your fist in the air, A symbol of power, A symbol of strength and of beauty. Maybe you would have toppled the towers of greed and built up homes where people care for one another and help each other. Maybe our fate would have been tied to the likes of the Black Panther Party or The American Indian Movement or Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, and wound up just like Miguel Pinero said… Dying for a cause…

And so my daughter… This has been the third Christmas season without you... Again, for the third time, I put some presents under the tree for you... Then, after all of your cousins finished opening their presents, your little presents went outside for you, hanging beside the swing in the tree in Nokomis' back yard. It’s the same place where I put your birthday presents on June 21. I think that June 21 is a fitting date for your birthday. It’s about nine months after you were conceived. It’s Aboriginal day, and it’s also Summer Solstice… the day of the year that has the most sunshine. This past Christmas, I put two plates of the family's Christmas dinner outside. One for you, and the other for Grandma Ruth, so that she wouldn’t have to eat Christmas dinner alone on her first Christmas home, and far away from the rest of our family. I took a hundred pictures of your cousins so that you can know who they are, and so that you can know what it’s like to play with them... I take time every day for you, to teach you and to love you. I miss you and I am sad that we never got a chance. I wear three little blue flowers tattooed permanently on my skin of my left arm for you. It is on my left arm so that I can hold you close to my heart. The three blue flowers are for your name, Miracle Blossom, one for the days in your short life, and for the sadness that your mom carries with her every day. You see my baby, your mom can no longer have children, and I know she misses you more and more every day, just like your daddy does.

And now I have to leave my mom and family and go back to the big city to your mother. I can't look her in the eyes without crying or getting angry. I am having such a hard time letting go of the resentments that I feel towards your momma... I want to tell your Grandpa about you and how wonderful a person you would have been. I want to ask him to teach you all the same songs that he taught your momma. I want him to go fishing with us and to come over for barbecues in the summer. I want to tell your Grandma that her baby girl is strong and healthy and that everything is okay... I want to let your Grandma know that her beautiful baby grand daughter will not end up like her Grandma did. How she ended up smoking crack on the street and selling her body for drugs. I want to teach you to not be ashamed of any of your family, but to be strong and to be proud of them and to love them regardless of what they do or what lessons they need to learn.

I am a smart man, but I don't know much, my girl. All I do no is that you suffered very little in your short existence. You will never have to go thru the pain of skinning your little knees or feel the pain caused by broken hearts. You will never feel the sting of censorship when someone tells you that you cannot feel the way that you feel. You will never have to learn that feelings can be very strong and sometimes, people will be frightened by them. You will never have to feel the despair that we all feel from time to time and you will never know how heavy it feels to be disappointed by the actions or inactions of a loved one. Because you see my girl, the disappointment from loved ones hurts a whole lot more than any other kind of hurt. And I live with that feeling of disappointment every day. I live with it every day I see your Mishomis and every day I see your Nokomis, because they wanted you as much as I do, and they hurt just as much as I do. I feel the disappointment especially on the days that I see your mommy. And that is when it hurts the most.

Looking at your mommy makes me feel like I wasn't good enough. I feel like she didn't want me. I feel like she didn’t want you. I feel like she didn’t want what I had to offer as a partner, as a father, and as a human being. And now my girl, I'm trying my best not to be angry with your mommy, but It's very hard my baby. It’s hard not to feel resentments towards her for what happened. It's so hard not to be angry with her for everything being away from us. But, I feel that to be a good human being in my own heart and mind, I have to forgive her, and I have to move on.


I am so sorry my daughter. I feel like the resentments that I carry towards your mommy are very disrespectful to her and more importantly, very disrespectful towards you. You are a part of your Mommy, just as much as you are a part of me. And for me to feel resentment towards your momma is to feel a portion of that resentment towards you. I know that nothing is your fault. It’s not your fault that you are not here. It’s really not even your mommy’s fault. There is no one person to blame. There is not one person at fault. Instead, everyone shares the responsibility. Everyone all has their responsibility and everyone has their fault… Even society as a whole shares some blame. And I am now dealing with the aftermath. I am trying my best to put the resentments away and to deal with the emotions that I carry.

My girl, I would rather not feel resentments towards anyone. No matter how hurt I feel by them. I would rather let go of the hurts that were left by Residential Schools and Residential School Syndrome, I would rather let go of the Smallpox infested blankets. I would rather let go of the pain that I feel every day and I would rather let go of how much I miss you and sometimes. I would rather be there with you. I would rather be with you, so that I don’t have to see the injustice and inequality among the people here. But, regardless of what your daddy wants for him self and where he wants to be. I am here, and I am not going anywhere, anytime soon. And I can’t stop the hurt that I feel. I cannot stop the injustice. I cannot stop the genocide. I cannot stop the burning of the sky. I cannot stop hurting. Instead, I laugh at the irony of those people wanting to fight terrorism, while they are terrorists in their own front yard, back yard and inside their own house. I laugh and make jokes about the people that call us names like wagon burner. I laugh when they try to take away our rights as a Nation and as people. I hurt so much it makes me laugh. I laugh so hard I cry. I laugh to ease my pain. I laugh at the imaginary memories I have of you.

N'donis, my girl, my daughter, my Miracle Blossom. You will always be in my prayers my baby girl. An abortion ended your life so young, but you will forever bloom in your Daddy's heart. This, I promise you.


Your Dad.