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My husband asked me to go on a road trip with him a few weeks ago. I was mostly happy but a tiny bit terrified. He wanted us to go to Sioux Lookout, Ont., for the weekend to visit his old residential school. Worst-case scenarios littered my thoughts. Would he show me unmarked graves of school children? Break down into a shuddering lump on the ground, or share stories that would give me nightmares? A few years back, I went with my uncle to support him when he had to recount his abuses in detail to his lawyers. It was part of...
