Dear Pop,
I love you.
This is a story I don’t know how to write, except these
words are the easiest. Pop, I love you.
Today I met one of your grandsons, and his beautiful family.
Ray’s boy Peter (my first cousin/ your grandson) brought his two sons, Robbie
and Stevie, his beautiful Jill and Robbie’s Kandace.
Pop, you probably don’t know that after you died, we knew
you had a son. The State Archives were missing so much of your story. But the archives
were full of another little boys story, just like you he grew up without his
biological family. The papers confirmed that infant son that was taken away
from you, and his name was Ray. A little baby boy who future was decided by the
Chief Protector of Aborigines, because at the time you had no rights as a
father. A little baby boy who you were not allowed to hold, or love, or care
for. A little boy who was put into State ‘care’. He grew up and had a family, he
had a big one. He had your name too. The archives come with many letters and
voices, none of them are yours. They also come heavily laden with racism, and you
and I know how big it is to be Aboriginal. Sometimes they say that the experience of
great pain, can enhance our ability to give and experience great love. Pop, I
love you.
This is a story with a middle, and here are the facts.
Every year or so I type Jard into google and social media
platforms and see if relatives show up. I found these Jards on Facebook, and
they essentially found me back. The next part of the story is that they came
around to meet. I shared everything I knew and I was nervous. As wonderful as
it is to be Aboriginal, you and I know that the racism that comes with it is a
burden, and there is unfinished business. We are left with a responsibility, and
it can break some of us, and for others they turn their back. I want you to
know that I was nervous because it’s a big thing to share. I want you to know
that they have support. Not just from me, but Pop, there is an ecosystem of love
that surrounds them, and for that I am grateful. I know you would be thankful
too. Pop, I love you.
I wish you could see them, they are happy, proud of their work,
proud of each other, proud to be Jards.
I wish you could see them, they are making plans, enjoying
their passions (football just like you), and growing as a family.
I wish I had met you so I could tell them what you were like
first hand. I guess that leaves another chapter and they will have to meet Dad
so they can hear and see the love. The love you gave to my Dad, he has passed
along to me. Pop, I love you.
I wished you could see Ray’s babies. There were stories of
his pain in his life, and moments of searching for his mother, but there was
also love. So much love despite it all. I want you to know that Ray was a loved
Dad and a loved Grandfather. I want you to know that there seemed to be joy in
his life, and that he was strong and determined, and an advocate, and he passed
that on.
I wish I knew your bloodline, yours / our mob, so I could
tell and share, that with them too.
I most deeply wish you could have had more moments with Ray.
That one I wish for the most.
I can’t tell you that he found peace. I think that there
were moments in his life that he searched for his mother.
I can’t tell you if he had support to understand his story, and work through his pain.
I can’t tell you what he thought of any of it, growing up
without being surrounded by blood relatives.
I can’t tell you if he felt proud of his identity, if he had
the words, or what he thought of his treatment due to the colour of his skin.
I can tell you that the questions that can be answered,
raised more questions that can not be answered. I can tell you that I feel peace and acceptance.
There are things I will never know.
I wonder how you managed the pain. I hold my babies, as they
fall asleep in my arms. I hold my babies and think of the babies taken away. I
think of the pain. The human rights that were taken away from you because of
the colour of your skin will always bring me pain. As an Aboriginal parent it
is a regular thought that haunts me often. It has ended for me and my family but
it still continues in different forms for our people.
I wonder what you felt as a parent, as you held your other
babies at night, remembering the ones that were no longer with you.
I wonder what you felt as a father who worked where they told
you to work (still being under the Aboriginal ‘Protection’ Act), and took jobs
you had to, to survive. I wonder how you felt and thought about missing out from tucking
your kids in at night, or their missing their milestones and moments. Our
babies grow so beautifully.
I wonder about your
thoughts you may have had back then, but also what you would have thought about
the 26th May, National Sorry Day recognising the Stolen Generations.
I wonder if you would agree that it is still not enough. I wonder how you want
to see the unfinished business addressed.
I wonder how else you experienced the pain, or if it changed
your experience of joy, and love in your life. I can’t imagine. I will always
wonder. I will always have unanswered questions. Pop, I love you.
I wonder about unfinished business. The ugliness is not ours,
but the burden is left with us. With all
of that, we are in a generation where we have allies and I hope you would be
thrilled with the progress we are making. For some, our progress will come too
late, but for some our progress will save lives, and hopefully families like
ours. Love tempers the heartbreak that still remains. There is unfinished business, but we are getting it done.
This is a story that has a beginning, and middle, but I don’t
know the end. There are other chapters, and more stories outside this letter to
you, so I promise to keep writing, and sharing our story.
Pop, I love you.
I will sign off by saying how grateful I am for you. Thank-you
for the gift of life you gave to me. Thank-you for my Dad Barry, he is our
Poppy, and we love him, just like he loved you.
Love Rina.
Some photos are enclosed.
A beautiful picture of you, Pop (William Willie Jard), with
Nana (Lorna Jard).
A picture of brothers, Poppy (Barry Jard aged 49) and Ray (Jard aged 65).
A picture of me (Rina Abbott-Jard) with Peter and his boys
Stevie and Robbie (all Jards too)!
We don’t have the name of Pop (Willie) Jard’s group, but he came from far North Queensland, around the area of Mission Beach. He is thought to be a member of the Birra Nation.
