The missing

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?

Dawn

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Around the corner

Around the corner

I smell it before I see it,

It’s nearer than I think,

I know I can’t ignore it,

I know it won’t leave,

I can’t afford the sorrow it brings,

I can’t change its crimes.

It won’t give it a rest,

It’s out of its mind.

By Dawn

When Darkness Comes

When darkness comes

When the darkness comes,

It blocks out the light.

Hovering overhead to drown me in delight.

A cruel, damp, and soggy mess.

Pours itself into my soul.

While it gasps for air and scratches for life,

My soul sputters and spits the vile mess.

Fighting for life it takes a deep breath,

Takes hold of the darkness and strangles it to death.

Anne Frank poetry

Death March

By Dawn Illsley

We marched like dead souls,

Through hallways, not stopping.

Not daring.

Like the end was our fate.

I feel the shame,

The disgrace.

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,

Reality dissolved,

Time took a break.

Those little rooms,

Housing ghosts.

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 loss,

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)

Fallen leaves poetry

Fallen Leaves

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.

Dawn Illsley