With her slight frame perched on the edge of her chair, Donna Bartlett is seated at a wooden kitchen table. The unique support facility for families affected by violent crime in downtown Winnipeg, Candace House, is a far cry from the cold, sterile court two blocks away, with its warm lighting and walls full of artwork by indigenous artists.
During Skibicki’s six-week trial last summer, the 67-year-old spent countless hours here. The murdered women’s families would gather around this table during those trying weeks, occasionally sitting in stunned silence and occasionally sharing stories about their loved ones over tea.
Donna says, “We would come back from court and just collapse,” “looking around the kitchen as if seeing the ghosts of those difficult days.” Without this place, “none of us could have survived.” Some days, we were unable to even discuss what we’d discovered. We used to talk so much.
Donna is the grandmother of Marcedes Myran. She is speaking on Marcedes’ 29th birthday, which she would have celebrated. A chocolate cake, Marcedes’ favorite, has been purchased by Candace House staff. Donna describes how “She loved chocolate everything,” placing her hand carefully on the white cake box. She will bring the cake to Marcedes’ children.
Donna recalls her granddaughter as mischievous and full of life, always pulling pranks on her Kookum in Candace House, which is quiet.
She smiles softly as she recalls, “She loved to hide my shoes.” She would say, “But Kokum, you can’t leave without your shoes! ” as I was getting ready to leave. Then she would giggle so loudly that she would blow herself up.
And she would always run out and scare me by hiding behind furniture or doors. Even when I was certain she would… She would laugh at my big laugh, and I would still jump and scream.
But Marcedes’ younger self-absorbed was something more important than pulling jokes on her grandmother. She was inspired by a teacher who introduced her to the poetry of the Mi’kmaq poet Rita Joe from the age of 12.
“Donna says, “The day she returned home with that poetry book, something just clicked for her.” She began to write about everything, including our family history, our feelings, and the seasons.
Marcedes would write in notebooks about her future plans, her observations of the environment, and later, as a teenager, about the difficulties of being Indigenous in a frequently misunderstood society.
Donna would find scattered house scraps of paper with her poems strewn all over, tucked under cushions, and arranged in books. She reflects, “she wrote like she couldn’t get the words out quickly enough.”
Donna is now fond of those poems, taking them home to read, and contemplating what the future might hold for her granddaughter without Skibicki.
She believed in people, she said. You would think she would have faith in them when she spoke to and assisted them. That is what caused her harm. As she shakes her head, Donna explains her trusting nature.
Donna adopted Marcedes and her three siblings when they were just three years old. Donna’s oldest daughter, who was aware that her mother would look after her children, was struggling with addiction. Their mother would visit them whenever she could, staying for weeks while she was well and then disappearing for months while she relapsed.
Donna says, “I raised them as best I could,” her voice almost squeaking. sometimes had two jobs.
However, Marcedes was faced with the horrifying loss of her two children to the child welfare system as a young mother herself. When the authorities discovered insufficient food in their apartment, the children were initially taken during a wellness check. As Marcedes battled housing instability and the requirements for reunification, what was meant as a temporary measure quickly turned into a permanent one.
“Letting those babies break something in her,” Donna claims. She had been such a good mother, making sure they received what they needed every night.
Marcedes used drugs to numb the sadness she experienced after losing her children. She spent two years switching between devastating relapses and periods of determination to regain custody.
She was then given a bed at a living-in treatment facility. Donna recalls her granddaughter’s excitement when she called to share the news. Kokum, this is it, she said. I’m going to get my babies back, clean up, and be proud of you. “
Their final exchange was that moment.
The Winnipeg police called Donna on December 1, 2022. They called Donna to gather the family at her home after months of searching for and awaiting news about Marcedes. The worst day of Donna’s life occurred.
She claims that “that day changed us all.”
The police “told us everything,” including that she was murdered and where she was. Because there is enough evidence to convict him, they told us that the perpetrator was already in jail and that they weren’t going to dig the landfill. Simply put, we were like, “Why?”
Donna claims that after that, the days melted into one another. Without any discernible reason, the sun rose and set. She would find herself standing in rooms without any memory of entering them and finding half-drunk cups of tea that she had no memory of making. But she had to unite herself to care for her great-grandchildren.
