My name is Juliet Sarah Rabbitskin Loon, daughter of Kathleen Rabbitskin and Jacques Filion. I wanted to share the story about my late aunt Juliette Rabbitskin and the process of bringing her home to Mistissini.
Number 74 on the calls for action from the Truth and Reconciliation Commission states: “We call upon the federal government to work with the churches and Aboriginal community leaders to inform the families of children who died at residential schools of the child’s burial location, and to respond to families’ wishes for appropriate commemoration ceremonies and markers, and reburial in home communities where requested.”
The first time I went to La Tuque and saw her grave, I remember seeing my name written on the tombstone and realizing that she was just a little girl. I had always thought she was older because she was my aunt. Her grave was placed far away from the other graves, more in the bush. I remember feeling so sad because I had this overwhelming sense that she did not belong there.
Juliette Rabbitskin was only six years old when she was taken to residential school. Even though her parents did not want her to go because she was not able to speak, government officials still took her. They threatened to stop their family allowance and other incomes if her parents did not allow them to take her. It was heartbreaking; her parents felt they had no choice, knowing that they had younger children to care for.
What struck me is when I heard that Juliette loved helping her peers with their duties at residential school and extending her arms to hug those who may have needed a hug. Despite being away from her parents, and her limitations, she was always smiling. She was resilient.
Juliette got sick with a flu-like condition and Mary Coon and Caroline Rabbitskin took her to the nurse. The girls never saw her again and later learned that she had died that day. She was then buried in a cemetery at La Tuque two days later without her parents even knowing about her death. Her brothers, John and the late Paul Rabbitskin, were able to attend her funeral, but brother Matthew and cousins Emily and Caroline were quarantined and not allowed to attend.
When the residential school in La Tuque was demolished in February 2006, my grandfather William was invited to attend. He wanted to go see his daughter’s gravesite, but was told the gravesite was closed during the winter season. Just two days ago, I learned that William never had a chance to visit her grave during his lifetime.
This act of bringing Juliette home is a step toward our healing, not only for my family but also for our nation. Many Indigenous children across Canada left home and never came back. Juliette’s story is not the only one that ends the way hers did – never returning home after being sent to residential school. But we are bringing her home now, on September 30, 2024, 58 years after she was buried in La Tuque.
We are all affected by residential schools and their legacy. My mother went, even though her older sister passed away there. Imagine the fear in her father’s heart when he had to let another daughter go. My mother Kathleen was four years old when she attended. I cannot imagine letting my four-year-old go somewhere to go to school and being taken care of by God knows who.
We are all affected, maybe not directly but we are still affected. The pain is there, the hurt is there. This is where we hear of this concept we call intergenerational trauma, which means that we feel the pain of our ancestors. We are also hurting because of the pain they went through. That pain and hurt lives on in our blood, in our lives. We can see it and we can feel it. We see the hurting families in our nation, the broken relationships, and broken childhoods.
Bringing Juliette home is a step toward breaking this trauma and bringing healing, allowing her family to grieve their loss, and the community as well. Bringing Juliette home is an act of restoring a nation and trying to right a wrong that has been done. It is not perfect, but it is an act. Sometimes when people say they are sorry, we question if they really mean it. This is one way that the government is showing that they are sorry; and for us, it’s a step toward forgiveness.
May forgiveness be abundant in our nation. Forgiving our parents for not giving us the emotional support we needed growing up because they never received it since they were taken away from their parents. Forgiving our parents or siblings for not being able to communicate with us because they were never allowed to express themselves while at residential school. Forgiving them for being violent with us because it was all they knew when they were children.
May we heal as a nation. May we understand that the hurt is deep. It is not just on the surface. Bringing Juliette home is a symbol of reuniting the family. Bringing them back together after years of conflict and grief. Healing begins in our homes and in our community through connection and relationship.
What is it you carry from your ancestors? What do you carry in this generation to give out and share your skill, your knowledge, your wisdom? Don’t give up! Take your place, be who you were meant to be. Do not allow michmindou to ruin who you are meant to be. Find your healing and restoration chemindou Aydad. Only He can restore you and heal your innermost hurts.
I want to acknowledge the children that were with Juliette at the time of her passing: Emily, Mary and Caroline. On behalf of Juliette and her family, we love you and appreciate all you did for her and how much you cared for her. You were children and it was not your responsibility to care for a child who was very sick. Do not carry any guilt or shame with you, you are loved, you did everything you could do at the age that you were, and we love you for what you did. Please be at peace and let your inner child heal. We do not blame you for anything and it was not your fault that Juliette passed away while she was with you at residential school.