When Laurie and I fell in love with Eric, and decided to make him our family – this after he’d won our hearts with that unforgettable smile – we knew we were taking on much more than a child of our own, that it would entail undefined challenges, and that we would rely on each other and on the support of a broad community.  Many of you were part of that; we thank you from the bottom of our hearts – in many ways it is your involvement in Eric’s life that gave him much of the happiness he did know.

I will never forget the first time we set eyes on Eric, when the Cambridge Bay social worker dropped him off at our house on a Friday evening.  He was wearing polo pyjamas – that’s all – and that big irresistible smile.  He was 2 ½.  He pointed up at the cupboard and said “num-nums” – very nearly his only words at that stage.  He was already learning how to put on a happy face, an early-adopted secret in his repertoire.

We must all remember that Eric had a rich life, albeit short.  He is probably the most widely travelled Inuk under 20 in this country, which we hoped would help him feel at home in the wider world.  With Laurie and me he travelled to Germany, Austria, Italy and Switzerland for holidays with European friends, and to Japan, where at six years old he showed the Princess Takamado around an exhibition of northern art.  Without us, as part of various youth programs, he travelled to Columbia, Norway, Hungary, Finland and Russia.  He sailed with us throughout the Caribbean, and down to Venezuela twice.  I remember he lost his first tooth at sea en route to Venezuela.  He sailed to France – well, to St Pierre and Miquelon off the coast of Newfoundland, that is. He sailed north along the Labrador coast.  And best of all, he did five long canoe trips and many short outings with us in the far North we all love, Eric’s homeland.  Eric was proud to be from Nunavut, and increasingly comfortable in recent times in being who he was. 

Eric had so many fine qualities that endeared him to us, and we know, to all of you. He was fiercely loyal to friends and team-mates.  He was determined and hard-working, liked to pitch in with chopping wood and other physical tasks.  In recent months, since last summer, he’s been employed full-time as a surveyor’s assistant, where, we’re told, he was well liked and respected for his work ethic.  They were hoping he’d consider it for a career.  Yet, he was sweet, playful and child-like – well into his teens, he enjoyed hide-and-seek and having Laurie take shots on him in the driveway. He loved cuddling with us and with his dog Jazz, and laughing at the funny and awkward moments of life, and most of all, making other people smile.

I have spent much of my life engaged in modest adventure – it is a lifestyle that Eric took to naturally, was well suited for.  Whether in the Arctic wilderness or at sea on our sailboat, I have not travelled with anyone more easily counted on in a time of crisis.  When the grizzly bear walked into our camp up north, it was Eric that went silently to get the bear bangers.  When we once had a man-overboard on the sailboat, it was Eric who quietly performed the rescue.  One night on the boat in a wind-storm, our anchor dragged and the boat was heading toward a rocky shore, but Eric’s quick and competent assistance made all the difference.  Together, he and I managed the situation, but I could not have done it without him.  The next day, he said to me: “That was fun last night – can we do that again?”  He had a calm under pressure that I admired.  A couple of years ago, his hockey team made it to the city championship final game, played the regular time and the overtime to a tie, so the game was to be decided by a shoot-out.  Eric went immediately to his coach and said “Let me shoot first.  I will score, and it will take the pressure off the shooters after me.”  He scored, but they lost.

At times, he struggled, yes, but he was making real progress and trying so hard to be good.  He said recently: “I just want to be happy.”  He had a taste of that success.  Not to trivialize it, but this horrible outcome seems to me like the talented hockey player who dekes out the goalie, then shoots at the empty net, and hits the cross-bar.  He should have scored, but bad luck and perhaps a tiny error in judgement intervened.

I want to tell you all what happened, to answer the very human need to know.  Eric died in bed, in our home, while asleep, in the middle of the night of December 30th.  He did not suffer, we are assured.  He was unaware of what was happening.  He simply went to sleep and never woke up.  Our hearts go out to Indira, who was with him.  To Indira, I want to say this: know that we love you, Indira.  Thank you for loving Eric, for giving him the joy and love you have shared for the past year – we are truly glad that he had this as the final chapter of his short life.  We hope you will keep Eric in a small corner of your heart, and move forward with your life as you must.  There’s no doubt – that is what Eric would want for you.

Finally, let me say this.  Eric bore the pain of his ancestors who lived in the decades before him, and he was forced to carry this burden through his own life.  Eric is now one more Inuit child in Canada who has suffered as a result of what our dominant society has inflicted upon the First Nations and Inuit.  When will the tragedies stop?  There will be more.  We can only hope that all of you will now be among those who will demand change.  It takes an entire society’s action to ensure that all children are valued.