When Ken died in February 2021, we had an outpouring of messages from readers, with many telling us how much his columns meant to them. In light of that, we thought we would go back through our files and republish some of them. Ken would be flattered by the kind words readers expressed. We miss him as a friend and as a storyteller.

Survivors are my inspiration. It seems like no matter how difficult the situation I find myself in, there is always someone in a worse one. For the past 10 years I have been in so many hospitals I lost count. It’s taken a decade, but I am finally at a point where I feel healthy and am living without pain. I had developed an intestinal illness which almost cost me my life several times. But, somehow, I survived. Today I have a whole medical team — surgeons, specialists and other doctors — who keep track of my progress. There’s interest from the medical community because I am walking through it all without pain medication. Not that I have no tolerance for pain. But for most of my life I have attended First Nation ceremonies where I was taught how to control pain.

However, my true inspiration comes from the people I met through my stays in hospitals. I remember being in an Edmonton hospital where I was recovering from an operation. I was well enough to stand on my own, but I still needed a walker to help me. It was winter and cold outside. but I still wanted to go for a smoke. After a few days of standing outside, I decided to explore the hospital to find a place to have a smoke in some warmth. I went to the basement floor and found an underground parking lot. There was what appeared to be tunnel. I found a place where I would come down with a cup of coffee and have a smoke. One day while I was in this tunnel I could hear motors and children laughing.

I decided to go further into the tunnel to explore. What I witnessed would make the most hardened person cry. I didn’t realize the tunnel led to another hospital, one for sick children. There were kids in wheelchairs kicking a soccer ball around. Most were hooked up to IVs, some with several bottles. There were parents, grandparents and nurses pushing the children around at the same time as holding onto the IV metal poles. These children, several with bald heads, were laughing and having fun like any other children. I have never heard such beautiful laughter. I went back to my room thinking I have nothing to complain about. I fell asleep with no pain and with the echoes of those incredible little survivors’ laughter. Then there are those who survived all odds and completely turned their lives around.

I lived in the Riversdale area for more than 10 years. There, I met people who once couldn’t live a day without shooting something into their arms. There were people so far into their addictions one might think their lives were over. And yet many of these same people have turned their lives around to a point where they are helping those who are still caught in the vicious cycle of extreme substance abuse. I met young women who were pushed to walk the streets because of economic and addiction circumstance only to come back and help their sisters. There are so many I met while living in the inner city of Saskatoon, who were in terrible situations, only to go back to school and eventually to university. These are survivors, people who had been there and done that. I met war veterans who survived the most horrific situations only to come back to start a family and create a brighter future. I met immigrants who walked through deserts, rode on boats filled beyond human capacity, dodged bullets and did not succumb to torture. Then there are those who survived residential schools. What amazes me is how they kept their language. Even though they were beaten and abused for years, most came out still fluent in their First Nations language. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be speaking Cree today. Survivors are my inspiration. Just when you think you have it tough, there’s always someone out there in a worse situation.

-Ken Noskye