NUNAVUT
In the year 1956, it is estimated, one in seven Inuit contracted tuberculosis and subsequently resided in a sanatorium - about 1,600 in total, yet there are no definitive numbers.

In the Qikiqtani region, Inuit were tested for tuberculosis on the repurposed Coast Guard Ship C.D. Howe. The vessel is seen here near Pangnirtung in 1951. - photo courtesy of W. Doucette/National Film Board of Canada/Library and Archives Canada

A resulting horror was the federal government's practice of burying those who did not recover at gravesites near the many sanatoriums throughout southern Canada.

The tragedy of the epidemic that swept through the North and affected so many Inuit families is now well-documented in research and books, including in work completed by the Qikiqtani Truth Commission, which documented stories of the illness and its wide-ranging effects on families.

But these are much more than tales told of the past. Some have found the graves of their loved ones, and therefore closure, but for many the search continues. Yet others have arrived at uneasy peace.

Jack Anawak's weeks-old grandson carries Anawak's mother's name, Piovaa.

For Anawak, this is both moving and miraculous. Since the birth of the boy, he's received news about where his mother Piovaa might be buried.

"So since then, I call him my miracle baby," said Anawak.

His mother was taken from Naujaat when Anawak was six. He now thinks she was sent to Clearwater Lake Indian Hospital, a repurposed United States Army field hospital built in 1943 and run by the Sanatorium Board of Manitoba on behalf of the federal government.

"Two years later, March of 1958, we got word that she had passed away," Anawak recalled. "They didn't tell us where she was buried."

At least one-third of all Inuit were infected with tuberculosis (TB) in the 1950s. Piovaa was one.

In Naujaat, as Anawak and his friend Piita Irniq remember, Inuit were gathered by the federal Department of Health at the Roman Catholic church, where everyone had to strip off their shirts as a group - men, women and children.

"Then they would go back to wherever they came from, we never knew where they came from, and find out who had TB. They would send a message back to the Roman Catholic mission or the Hudson Bay Company people, identifying the people who had to go south for treatment," recalled Irniq.

In the Qikiqtani region, Inuit would be tested on the repurposed Coast Guard Ship C.D. Howe, and for some years those who tested positive were not brought ashore to say goodbye to their families.

Suzie Muckpah recalls making a promise to her own mother Elizabeth when she was 12 or 13, the same age Elizabeth was when her mother Tuungaaluk was taken from Pond Inlet.

"My mother used to tell me a story about how she longed for her mother. I started questioning, asking what had happened to her," said Muckpah. "She said she was sent away on a ship because she had TB and was close to becoming blind."

The young Elizabeth waited and waited for Tuungaaluk to come home, watching for every plane. She took on her mother's duties in her absence, caring for her siblings, sewing her father's clothes.

"Many years passed and she still waited and waited. She would tell me stories of what she used to do with her mother. I had a mindset: I was going to find my grandmother's grave. I wanted my mother to have peace of mind. I told myself, at 13, I would go on a mission, when I was finally able to speak properly in English and was more educated," said Muckpah, whose family later moved from Pond to Arviat.

"I loved my mother dearly. I promised her that one day I would find her. I will have closure for you, mother."

Muckpah cries.

Tuberculosis treatment for Inuit could last several years, said Irniq, who recalls his parents spending a year at a sanatorium 200 miles southwest of Winnipeg.

"One person from Naujaat spent four years. So many of them spent many years," said Irniq. He was one of the lucky ones: his parents returned.

Record-keeping of burials in the 1950s and '60s depended mostly on the sanatoriums. Some kept good records, others did not.

"There were so many sanatoriums," said Irniq.

In Naujaat, those to be sent to the south were given a brown envelope to wear around their necks bearing their name and disc number.

"In Churchill, the government agents would find them by reading the brown envelope around their neck, and let them continue down to Winnipeg. When they got to Winnipeg, a government agent met them at the airport. Once they had them there, they would put them on a bus and bring them to a sanatorium, where they would spend months and years being treated for TB," recalled Irniq.

"You have to remember, Inuit did not speak a word of English when they were taken south. They had no translator at the TB sanatoriums. And the southern personnel did not speak Inuktitut in those years."

Which makes finding the gravesites of those who did not return all the more difficult. Some graves have a person's name, or even the names of two people. Some have just disc numbers, and some have nothing at all.

Muckpah did keep her promise to her mother. When she finally set out on her mission, it took her over a year.

"I did a lot of digging," she said.

The gravesite is located in Winnipeg, marked only with Tuungaaluk's disc number.

Muckpah took her mother and her aunt to visit their mother's grave in 1991.

"It was very emotional. They finally had the sense of closure. There were tears of joy and grief."

Muckpah pauses, as her own tears flow.

"It hurt to see my mother in pain. It was so touching. When I think about it I still tear up, even though my mother's been gone for eight years."

Muckpah says it made a difference for Elizabeth to finally be able to say goodbye to Tuungaaluk.

"It changed her. Now I know why she used to be so angry at times. She was in pain, longing for her mother from the age of 12. But I felt they had a sense of closure because she was different after that. It was as though there was a big load lifted off her shoulders."

It was a big load off her own shoulders, as well. Muckpah also carried anger.

"We're human beings, not dogs," she said.

"But I needed to let that go. I had to back off. It happened before I was born."

Anawak says under colonialism, Inuit were not really considered people.

"We were not important enough for our people to be sent home. We were not important enough to do what would be done for anybody else - which is bring the body home."

Anawak has received messages from his mother, such as in 1988 when an aunt relayed that Piovaa had told her to "make sure Jackie always has kamiik."

"It was like a message from her 30 years after she'd passed away," he said.

Another 20 years passed, and Anawak attended a burial in Naujaat. A woman from Iglulik recognized that he was Piovaa's adopted son.

"She happened to be down there 50 years ago and she said (my mother) was always talking about me. Again, a message from her that she loved me," said Anawak.

Yet another person, an elder, told Anawak he noticed how Piovaa always used to hold her son's hand when they walked.

"It's heartwarming, but at the same time I was still looking for where she might be buried. Over the years, it's been constantly on my mind."

Facebook helped Anawak with his latest lead, when he posted about his grandson's birth and naming.

Through word of mouth and shared stories, Anawak has learned Piovaa may be buried outside The Pas, close to where the Clearwater Lake sanatorium was located, six hours north of Brandon, where Anawak originally thought she might be.

"Apparently there is a reserve right near The Pas where they buried Inuit who passed away down there. Ever since then I've had my hopes up, planning a trip to The Pas," said Anawak, adding a cousin who found her grandmother's gravesite at The Pas also recently sent him a message.

Now Anawak is in contact with someone there who has offered to help find Piovaa.

"It's a nice feeling to think I may be able to put closure to that whole thing. I hope."

He cannot predict how he will react when he finally finds his mother.

"I think about what my cousin Cathy said when she found her grandmother. She got to the grave, and she collapsed. So I think in those terms. If I am looking at my mother's grave ... I ... think it will be joy and grief, and everything, in that moment.

"In one way, I'm very hopeful. In another way, it's like, 'I'm so sorry I did not find you sooner.'"

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