Coming home should feel like peace.
After spending years away from Metlakatla—learning, growing, and becoming someone I hoped could give back—I made the decision to return to the place where I was born and raised. This place is in my bones. It shaped me. The salt air, the dock creaks, the sound of seaplanes in the distance—all of it is home.
I didn’t expect a red carpet, but I never imagined coming back would be met with so much resistance. It’s weird. And it’s sad. Because I’m not here to take anything—I’m here to give. To help. In any way I can.
The biggest reason I came back is family. My dad, my pops, has been facing the early stages of dementia. It's hard to explain how strange it is to watch the strongest man I’ve known start to slip into confusion. And my sister—my sissy—is my rock in all of this. She gets it. Without her and Dad, I don't know if I'd still be standing here.
Coming back wasn't about nostalgia. It was about showing up. About being present. About standing beside the people who’ve always stood beside me.
But it’s hard when the place you love doesn’t feel like it loves you back.
Still—I’m here. For my dad. For my sister. For the deep roots I have in this land and these waters. And even if I don’t feel welcomed by everyone, I know why I came. And I’ll keep doing what I can, even in the quiet, even in the background, because that’s what family does. And that’s what home should mean.
Comments
Post a Comment