I’ve been obsessed with finding the missing lately. All the podcasts dealing with the missing are queued up on my device. Recently I listening to the CBC podcast, Finding Cleo with Connie Walker. It was heartbreaking but so real. We should be all made to listen to the terrible tragedies that have happened to the indigenous people of Canada. Governments we elected have done wrong. Police agencies fail these people daily.
So one day I was on another missing persons site and a little face on a missing poster staring back that me connected with something inside of me. Compelling me to look further. She had a name Diane Lee Todd, 18 years old.
With little information to go on I search around a bit more and find out what she was wearing when she went missing.
No other picture is available and when I searched ancestry there was a birth but nothing else. I searched year books from schools around Annandale. No other photos have been found.
It struck me as sad that a young girl could disappear and there’s no activity ongoing to find out what happened to her. No pleas from parents or newspaper articles at the time talking about her disappearance. I searched Jane doe sites looking for a possible match and came across this reconstructed skull.
Her bone structure is similar. So many things are missing. This skull had to teeth, so no evidence of braces.
I reached out to some podcaster a and websleuth’s online forum and posted both pictures there.
Anyone have any more ideas?
By Dawn Illsley
We marched like dead souls,
Through hallways, not stopping.
Like the end was our fate.
I feel the shame,
We quietly weeped,
As we shuffled upstairs,
It’s still, silence I heard,
On that ghostly trek.
My life faded away,
I was stuck there in that place,
Time took a break.
Those little rooms,
The walls paper thin like a dolls house.
Why is it,
Words pour out,
When tears are flowing.
I saw a pile of shoes
They didn’t need anymore.
Telling a story
Of life never led.
A pile of shoes,
In someone’s porch,
makes me think,
Of that day in May.
The deafening silence.
That I witnessed.
The life that was erased.
(Visiting the Anne Frank Museum)
I’m exhausted, wrung out,
Hung up, what’s left of me dripping, my essence seeps into the ground, feeding the needy parched roots.
They sigh and so do I.
I wish I could collect fallen leaves,
Like I did when I was five,
They were beautiful to me,
I collected one of every shape and Colour,
Just to be fair.
I wanted to save them, give them a home that was warm, and dry.
I thought they would stay alive forever,
If I cared enough.
But like everything,
Their beauty faded,
Dried up, cracked, turned to dust.
I didn’t understand like I do now.
Trying to keep something alive that is dead is futile.
Now their beauty reminds me of the fragility of life.
By Dawn Illsley
Roaring wind lulls me to another place.
Quiet breathing in the margins of my mind.
Pressing thoughts, bossy and demanding,
yank me from my reprieve to reality.
There’s a call for spring outside the window.
An urgent call from a little bird whose hungry.
Then out comes the sun, like a little answered prayer.
The light creeps across the room,
Warming the spot on the floor,
Soon to be occupied
By a little furry beast,
Desperate for warmth.
On the windowsill,
The pink blooms are dried up,
Not the end,
But it seems hopeful for more.
Drenched in sorrow
Drenched in sorrow she sits,
Head bowed, in a silent prayer,
To someone she doesn’t believe in,
About something she doesn’t understand
In disguise by Dawn Illsley
A smile painted on my face,
With lipstick too red for my taste.
Veiled hope in disguise,
A shroud worn to disguise.