My heart was broken upon hearing about the 215 unmarked graves found at the Kamloops Residential School. We were mourning and grieving as a nation. I knew I would be making something to share my grief and hopefully provide peace. I started sketching and did at least 20 designs before I settled on this one. Simple. Poignant. it had the number #215 in it. As I prepared the tshirts I noticed that I had spelled the word "MOM" in form line. This was not intentional and it gave me peace. I hope you find Peace in this design knowing that these little souls will be at Peace knowing their little bodies have been found, they are remembered, they are being sent love, they are being fed. Love and Light.
Partial proceeds to DEWC. Letter colouring is limited as stock is low.
Phyllis Jack Webstad Story in her words:
I went to the Mission for one school year in 1973/1974. I had just turned 6 years old. I lived with my grandmother on the Dog Creek reserve. We never had very much money, but somehow my granny managed to buy me a new outfit to go to the Mission school. I remember going to Robinson’s store and picking out a shiny orange shirt. It had string laced up in front, and was so bright and exciting – just like I felt to be going to school!
When I got to the Mission, they stripped me, and took away my clothes, including the orange shirt! I never wore it again. I didn’t understand why they wouldn’t give it back to me, it was mine! The color orange has always reminded me of that and how my feelings didn’t matter, how no one cared and how I felt like I was worth nothing. All of us little children were crying and no one cared.
I was 13.8 years old and in grade 8 when my son Jeremy was born. Because my grandmother and mother both attended residential school for 10 years each, I never knew what a parent was supposed to be like. With the help of my aunt, Agness Jack, I was able to raise my son and have him know me as his mother.
I went to a treatment centre for healing when I was 27 and have been on this healing journey since then. I finally get it, that the feeling of worthlessness and insignificance, ingrained in me from my first day at the mission, affected the way I lived my life for many years. Even now, when I know nothing could be further than the truth, I still sometimes feel that I don’t matter. Even with all the work I’ve done!
I am honored to be able to tell my story so that others may benefit and understand, and maybe other survivors will feel comfortable enough to share their stories.