The Big Book of Canadian Hauntings. John Robert Colombo
in confidence.
Advice and wisdom he wanted me to know; that, above all else, to maintain balance! To never walk too far in any one direction, not even in good times! That I should stay focused and let things unfold in life naturally. Not to be so eager to have all my answers so quickly!
I told him, I had connected with him, that I felt closer to him than to my dad, to my grandfather, or to the man who once raised me. When our conversation ended, I told him that I wished that I could give him a hug. He replied in a very matter of fact tone, “Then just say I love you!”
He had read my mind and I answered back, “I love you!”
Then, I set my phone back down and became teary eyed. I just sat there, quietly reliving his voice and calmness of voice and words. I prayed for the strength to not shout that he had just called, because I so wanted to share it with someone in hopes they could mirror back my bliss in complete understanding.
At the time of this writing, the Chief and I are still very much in touch. I still bombard him with questions, and he cheerfully supplies the answers. We share great laughter and friendship together. Of all the things he has taught me, one came totally unexpected. He has healed a wound so deeply carved into my childhood heart. Only the Chief could cover over and successfully heal such a wound! I pray I come remotely close to offering something as good a trade in return! Like — truth, spirit, conversation, and love of friendship!
The Chief’s spirit is always one with my own! He is one of Canada’s natural resources! His work and his carvings are known around the globe! His roads are many! I am ever grateful to be but a pebble on his path!
For the Chief’s birthday in 2004, I wrote a poem called “The Indian Carver.” He has asked my permission to have it published along with his memoirs! How could I say no to such a great, great honour?
There is so much more to write and speak of about my journey with the Chief! But this is not the time. Perhaps, Mr. John Robert Colombo, you will honour — One Lost Sparrow and One Great Canadian Chief on another path, on another page, on another time!
To you, Chief, until you make camp, the other side of the river, know that I am always and forever with you!
To Wilmer Nadjiwon, Chippewa of Nawash Elder (The Indian Carver), from your little bird friend.
With deepest love, Meegwich, (Thank you)
White Sparrow!
May 21st, 2005
From: SparrowSent: Sunday, May 29, 2005 8:27 PM
Subject: Three Documents!
Greetings Mr. Colombo:
Well, sir, after reading more of your compiled stories, I am teeter-tattering between the value of the ones I am about to enclose to you.
When one is experiencing such events, one has the tendency to feel totally isolated and somewhat out of ones mind!
Then, when one begins to read your books on entire dealings of such strange events, I must admit, my own seem to be relatively tame in comparison with many of the others that I have now read!
What does make them unique, though, is that they happened to me! Some of these I have been able to make later sense of; others remain yet a mystery.
I do, however, admire your patience and persistence to sift though all the submissions that you must get flooded with!
Consider the following three submissions, self-serve style! (Meaning: If you like them, then please help yourself!)
This opportunity is not taken for granted!
In appreciation of your time and efforts,
Sparrow
Body in the Bay
It is important for me to begin this story with the greatest respect for the family and loved ones of this missing body that I make reference to here in this story! It is not my intention to bring sensationalism to what must have been a true living family nightmare. I have had my own personal experience with a loved one who went missing. I can promise you, no matter what the surrounding circumstances are, when you are going through it, it truly is — hell on earth!
It was approximately 8:00 a.m. one April morning in 2004. I was headed east, in the direction of the private resort where I work. I was driving across Highway 26 where it crosses with the old Capitol Theatre. When I arrived at this landmark, I felt a band of current or energy rush through my right side and out my left. It was travelling from south to north. At this same time a strong knowing, feeling, sensation, whatever you wish to call it, told me someone was missing!
As usual for me, I only caught fragments of what this encounter actually meant. What I did know was that someone male or female went missing. The questions that followed went something like this. Had someone on that street lost someone? Was it their energy I was feeling? Would someone on that street find someone who was missing? Was it their energy I felt? Had someone just learned of someone missing? Could it be a child that had gone missing? This last question didn’t seem to hold water, so to speak, as it was still April. Generally, children are more apt “in my mind” to go missing in June, after school has let out for the season. For whatever reason, I talked myself back out of this equation. It just didn’t seem to be fitting.
Thoughts overcome me when something like this happens. It consumes my thinking and my emotions. It leaves me feeling helpless and frustrated, as I don’t have all the required pieces. It also makes me feel different and apart from most of the folks who for the most part seem to be so grounded and practical. You know! Those who have never encountered or admitted encountering anything unexplainable! Somehow, these experiences seemed to have been saved for me in my circle of family and friends.
Anyway, when I arrived at the resort that morning, I immediately told my experience to the Assistant Manager. Just her luck — she usually is the one to end up listening to my tales of the unexplainable. During our conversation, I asked her to write down the date and put missing person beside it. She did as I had asked and then proceeded to put the small piece of paper into her desk drawer.
Weeks and months passed and nothing. No news of a missing person. That was the good news. The bad news was, one begins to feel foolish and out of whack with reality when something so strong and strange ends up going nowhere. You start thinking that everyone around you thinks you may just be over the edge a bit, if you know what I mean. However, life moves on in its own peculiar way and there’s nothing we can do about that.
The following April, I heard a helicopter hovering over my home, not once, but many times. It had a pattern of making numerous return trips, concentrating on my area in particular. I told myself this was not the usual military training pattern that often transpires. (You see, the town of Meaford, where I reside, is home to the Meaford training and tank range.) Nor did it look like the typical helicopters that generally whiz by.
I turned on my radio; I haven’t been a follower of television in years. I was able to catch a portion of the news that explained that a man somewhere up in his late seventies had been missing for a day or so. Apparently, they had brought out the dogs a day or an evening earlier, but this part of the search had ended unsuccessfully. The next active step was for the community to come together and organize a manhunt.
The military and regular police were already obviously involved. This new search was to be made up of volunteers, and they wanted everyone to meet at the community centre in town. They were inviting all interested parties to please come out and join in the efforts.
My mind immediately flashed back to the previous April. I was already in the process of getting ready to go in and work my shift. I just decided to speed things up a bit and head in a little earlier. I was eager to get to the intersection of the Old Capitol Theatre and Highway 26. When I got there, I craned my neck from side to side to read the street name. It was Collingwood Street. “I knew it,” I said out loud. This was the confirmation that I had been unfortunately waiting for.