This has been a difficult article to write, not because of my personal circumstances, but because I have a hard time writing a joyful article when the residential school story is stirring the heartache of so many again. My mom's cousin, Wilma, who was like my aunt, had been sent from Nebraska to the Carlisle Indian School in Pennsylvania, but she never talked about it around me. It may have even been a good experience for her; I don't know. She was a bright light in my life. She taught me how to polka, ride a horse, and deliver lambs. Her love was always in the background of my youth.
I attend...
