It was a quiet Sunday night, September 22, decades ago. My younger teenage brother had just left for his part-time job. None of us knew that night would change our lives forever. It was the night our mom, Joanne, was brutally murdered by her husband, Bob.

That moment is seared into my memory. It was not only the loss of my mother, but also a cruel reminder of the reality of domestic violence in Canada. I was one of the children left behind.

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As a young man, my world shattered. I carried the weight of losing my mom in silence, believing that if I buried the pain deep enough, I could survive it. But silence didn’t protect me — it left scars that I still carry today. The truth is, I’ve struggled with mental health ever since. Keeping it inside only made the pain worse.

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