The sad indignity of it all

The gravel trail that leads to where April Hornbrook died is only about 30 metres long. The 24-year-old woman's body was found there last Saturday morning. She was killed, but so far no one knows who did it or why.

If you come into the path from the sidewalk on the Main Street underpass, you'll walk past a bunch of thistle bushes, as tall as a man.

If you enter the path from King Street, past the noise and bustle of the scrapyard, you'll walk by what was reportedly going to be a memorial for missing and murdered aboriginal women in Manitoba.

The memorial is about 60 metres from where Hornbrook was killed.

I've gone by this area hundreds of times before.

At night it's very dark, and there are sometimes sex-trade workers standing around. The area is part of what's known as "the low track." But April Hornbrook wasn't a sex-trade worker, just a girl in the wrong place at the wrong time.

When I walked over this afternoon, I noticed a middle-aged aboriginal couple seated on a makeshift bench not far from where Hornbrook died.

They got up to leave, and we crossed paths briefly. The man nodded at me as they went by.

I think they were relatives of Hornbrook.

The path is a well-used shortcut, flanked by an abandoned building on one side and a hill on the other, leading to the train tracks that stretch over the Main Street underpass.

In the middle of the path there's a rough clearing, and a pile of old rocks sits in the middle of the empty lot.

There is junk strewn about. Old clothes, a floral armchair, a faded photo, a scribbled note to remind someone they needed transcripts and a discarded business card from victim services.

It seems too many of us are victims these days.

Not far from the pile of rubble is an oddly coloured purple spot on the ground. It looks vaguely like a chemical substance, and it measures a bit bigger than a person. This is where I think they found the body.

I can't imagine having to look at this spot and knowing it was my daughter who was killed here. How could I go on with my life after that?

I came here to pay my respects to this woman who died so young, but I was expecting some sign of a makeshift memorial.

But there is nothing.

All that is there are overgrown weeds, garbage, and the train yard nearby. As I walk around I notice homeless people have used this spot as an outdoor toilet as well. There are vomit and feces nearby.

I can't help but feel sad about the indignity of it all.

All I have to offer is a handful of tobacco and some black-eyed susans that were growing nearby.

From what little I know of April Hornbrook, she barely had a chance to live. She'd probably never seen the ocean, driven a fancy car or decided what she wanted to do with her life.

There are many aboriginal organizations in our community -- some just a stone's throw away. Maybe one of them could set up a sacred fire for Hornbrook.

Someone lit a sacred fire back in 2005 when 11-year-old Kathleen Beardy hanged herself in a backyard behind Selkirk Avenue. Surely this girl deserves the same courtesy.

Traditional Ojibwa teachings say to keep the fire burning for four days after a person has died. Give it tobacco and food, because that person's spirit needs it while they visit everywhere they've been in their life.

And that includes this spot.

On this hot summer day in the dying hours of August there is only the sound of crickets, cooing pigeons, and the clatter of trains.

Say a prayer for Hornbook's family who lost such a young woman. We'll never get to see what good she could have brought into this world.

Colleen Simard is a Winnipeg writer.

colleen.simard@gmail.com

Republished from the Winnipeg Free Press print edition September 3, 2011 J1