Pickton

I grew up in Port Coquitlam, on the other side of town from the Picktons. Everyone in town knew, or had heard of, the Pickton family.

I’ve met both of the Pickton brothers. I used to serve them (mostly the other brother) on a fairly regular basis at the local Pantry when I was in my early twenties.

I have met a lot of different people in my life and have my own ‘story of my youth’. I did dumb and dangerous things. I always thought (in my youth) that I was invincible. That nothing could touch me. I am struggling with the fact that I have looked this person in the eye, handed him a plate of food and never felt the chill that I would have hoped would have gone up my spine upon spending even one second in the presence of this kind of evil. Please, please, please let my daughter have the little angel on her shoulder that allows her to sense when she is in the presence of something or someone really bad. Let her know before she is in a situation that she needs to leave... somehow... just a nagging little budge to head on out of there...

It is astonishing to me that these women – (fifty of them!) just kept disappearing and nothing was really done about it. You can bet your ass that if that had been fifty secretaries that someone would have noticed ...

These women all had their own stories, hopes and dreams. These women were all loved by someone. They were someone’s mother, niece, lover, daughter. Each one of these women is missed terribly by someone.