From the Shores of the Ottawa River

ANNIE 1946- Christmas 2024

Remembering Annie: A Christmas Day Goodbye and the Power of Forgiveness
1946–2024

Annie was the sister who always wrapped me in the warmest, tightest hug when we greeted each other. “I love you, my baby sister,” she’d whisper as she held me close, her embrace full of comfort and reassurance. When I think of Annie, I think of someone small in stature. Her heart was so big it could move mountains. She was the kind of person whose love for others was boundless, always putting their needs before her own.

Annie’s passion was teaching. She spent many years in Fort Chipewyan, Alberta. There, she shared her love for the Denesuline language with her students. The community loved her deeply. She was cherished not just as a teacher. She genuinely cared about everyone she met. Her kindness was a quiet but powerful force.

In 2017, Annie’s world began to shift with the diagnosis of early-onset dementia. I remember telling her, “Don’t worry if you forget things. I’ll always have enough memory for the both of us.” We laughed. As time went on, that promise became a way to hold on to her. It gave her something to lean on. She spent her final years in a long-term care facility, and this Christmas Day, at 5:05 a.m., she passed away peacefully at the Northern Lights Hospital in Fort McMurray.

In the quiet spaces of my grief, I’m flooded with memories of her—especially from my childhood. One of my favorite memories is a summer I spent at their fish camp. The scent of spruce trees brings those moments rushing back. I can still feel the soft, fragrant boughs we’d lay down on the floor of our tent. We laughed together as Annie teased about getting a “new carpet” each week. The warmth of the clear, shallow water on that long sandy beach feels so close. The stories we told around the campfire feel so close. The simple beauty of those days feels so close. It is as if I could reach out and touch it.

A significant truth stands out as I reflect on Annie’s life now. It feels even clearer in the wake of loss: Life is fleeting. We never know how much time we have left with the people we love. In just a short span, I’ve said goodbye to too many dear family members. I lost my nephew just weeks ago. My brother passed last December on my birthday. Now, my sister is gone, just this Christmas. Each loss serves as a reminder that time is precious, and it doesn’t wait for us to be ready.

If you’re lucky enough to have someone who loves you, take a moment to really let them know. Let them feel your love. Don’t wait. Life is too short to hold on to anger or regret. From losing those I hold dear, I’ve learned something important. Forgiveness is not just a gift for others. It’s a gift we give ourselves. Life is too short to carry those burdens.

Grief, I’ve found, is a complicated thing. When someone close to us passes, the pain is raw and real. And with that pain comes many emotions—some gentle, others sharp. Family dynamics often shift, and old wounds can resurface, leading us to blame others for our hurt. But while it’s okay to feel those emotions, I remind myself—and others—that we all walk through life with different challenges. Some are visible, some aren’t. And everyone is doing the best they can.

So, I ask you to be gentle with yourself and others. Be compassionate, without judgment. Give yourself permission to feel, to heal, and to forgive. The space we make for forgiveness is where healing can begin.

Annie, you will always be in my heart. Your love, your laughter, and your quiet strength will never be forgotten. I will carry you with me, as I always have. I will do my best to live in a way that honors the lessons you taught me. These are lessons of love, kindness, and the importance of cherishing every moment.

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