Swan River was where
my sister died
at four years of age
Measles took her
and left me filled
with rage.

As I said in Chapter I (The Roots Of Me) I didn’t know much about my ancestors, but I did learn a few things about my Dad over the years.
Like me, he must have been a dream chaser when he was younger because we seemed to move around a lot chasing something..

One of our first adventures began when we boarded a ship bound for Australia.
For some reason, my Dad and my Uncle Jack were planning on building a bowling alley but unfortunately they soon found out that the Aussies didn’t want to bowl.

All I remember about Australia is that my sister Sandra was born there and how weird it was to go to the beach at Christmas time. (Me pictured above with my Dad.)
Oh yeah, and somehow, we had the only Christmas tree in the neighborhood.

It seems that my Dad came across a whole forest of them one day, so he chopped one down and brought it home.
It was so cool our having the only Christmas tree until we read in the newspaper that the police were looking for the vandals who’d cut down a rare tree at an experimental tree farm. 

After two years in Australia once again we boarded a ship but this time it was bound for Vancouver.
My folks had always dreamed of living in Vancouver, and all was well until I came down with a severe case of bronchitis so the Doctors recommended taking me to a drier climate.

I was in Kindergarten at the time, and all I remember was getting on a bus that took us to a small town in Manitoba called Swan River.
My Dad worked as a car mechanic until he finally found out what he should have been doing all along.

When my Dad was at home he was an introvert, but when the Singer Sewing Machine Company hired him as a sales rep, he became an extrovert.
He was very good at sales so our life started to pick up speed.

Then out of nowhere, disaster struck when my four-year-old sister Sandra died of measles. (Sandra pictured with me below.)Even though I remember kindergarten plus first and second grade, unfortunately, after my sister died, the only thing I remember is starting 5th grade back in Winnipeg.
However, I do vividly remember my father’s boss refusing to let him use the company car to rush my sister to a bigger hospital in Dauphin, Manitoba which was about a hundred miles away

My dad of course took the car anyway, but unfortunately, it was already too late and I’m pretty sure that the rage that burns inside me even today began the day my sister died.
In fact, if I was driving somewhere and that ugly fat f**k stepped off the curb in front of me, there’s no doubt what I would do.

My Mother never got over my sister’s death and I’ll never forget talking to her on the phone a few minutes before she passed and she actually seemed happy.
Thankfully, my brother Reg was by her side and as it turned out, we were the sad ones; my Mom genuinely believed that she was finally going to be reunited with her daughter after all this time.

My Dad, on the other hand, (pictured above with my brother Reg, me, and Mom) adored Sandra, but after she died, he never mentioned her name again.
I can only think that it must have been too painful for him to think about her and he was probably trying to somehow look strong for my mom too.

Sandra’s death was just another tragedy in my Dad’s already trauma filled life which began with the deaths of his parents when he was only an infant.
He ended up in an Orphanage until eventually his oldest sister took him in. However, when his trust ran out, he was put in the streets at fourteen.

I think that my sister’s death must have taken my Father over the edge because from then on, he took a lot of so-called nerve pills.
Today, I’m pretty sure that he would be diagnosed as having acute depression.

All I can hope is that Mom and Dad are with Sandra and they’re all watching me as I struggle to write this with tears in my eyes.