Grief, rage and love: Mother mourns son killed by police in Campbell River

A busy pier forms the backdrop to the small courtyard next to Island Funeral Services funeral home in Campbell River.

Laura Holland sits in the shade of a nearby maple tree, waiting for the memorial ceremony for her son to begin.

She recalls one of her favourite stories about him.

When he was seven, he surprised her with a small book he had crafted about orcas, which he had been learning about in his Grade 2 class.

“He told me, in great detail, how he made the book all about the orcas and how they were families and how they stayed together forever,” Laura, who’s of the Laksilyu House of the Wet’suwet’en Nation, says in the quiet shade.

“He put his little arms around my legs and he said: ‘Oh, mommy, I’m going to be like a killer whale. I’m going to live with you forever.’ ”

Jared Lowndes, known as Jay, was killed by Campbell River RCMP on the morning of July 8 in an altercation that began when police said he failed to comply with attempts to stop him for an outstanding warrant. He was 38.

The Independent Investigations Office, a civilian-led police oversight agency, is investigating the case.

Jay’s family and friends have publicly questioned the validity of the police pursuit and called for answers, accountability and an end to targeted police violence.

After his death, his mother went to the scene and touched the ground he had lain on.

“I don’t feel him there. I don’t feel him here. I feel him everywhere,” she says. “He’s in the sky. He’s in the clouds. He’s in the trees, he’s in the ocean. He’s surrounding us everywhere.”

Twelve days after he was shot, friends, community and allies gathered, filling the funeralhome parking lot, sharing stories about the man who they remembered as a kind father of two daughters and beloved mentor who would do anything to support his loved ones.

The ceremony was both a memorial and a protest, as the community grappled with the circumstances around his death.

Some held signs with messages including “Jared was loved” and “Jay – a loving father” while others called for the RCMP to be disarmed and for officers to wear “always on” body cams.

Jay’s daughter Phoenix, 13, says it’s really hard to believe that her dad is gone. “I always thought I would live with him until I’m 18, and he would walk me down the aisle when I got married, but now that can’t happen.

“All I know is that I lost my best friend and the best dad, the person who understood me most. I’m just glad we got all our good and funny memories, though. I’ll hold onto that.”

Jay’s sister Chenoah Holland remembers when she was five and her brother was 15, she had just watched a documentary about African fire ants when she was sitting on a white wooden fence and saw some red ants.

She screamed, and within seconds Jay had jumped out his window to comfort her. He always left it open to listen when she was outside playing, she says.

For most of the past seven years, Jay lived with friends Lee Hackett and Dorothy Andrew. Dorothy says the memorial was a chance to meet all the people from Jay’s stories.

“He was a kind, genuine person who would do anything to help anyone. He knew what it was to be alone and didn’t want anyone else to feel that,” says Dorothy.

He had dreams and plans of building his own place, she adds. “A home, for him and his daughters. Somewhere they could always go. To be together, to be safe.”

Experiences of abuse in the foster-care system left Jay with the wish and motivation to create strong roots for his daughters, his friends say.

Jay was proud to be Indigenous, and proud to be Wet’suwet’en, they say. His nation had given him permission to build on land that was originally his grandfather’s. His goal was to have his home finished by Christmas.

“He was a protector for those without voices. He would stand up for us when nobody else would,” Randy Geddes says in a eulogy. He grew up with Jay, who became a role model. Any time Randy was going through a low point, he says, he could reach out to Jay.

“He would remind me of the reasons to stay sober and bring me back to why I am doing the things I’m doing,” he says.

“He wanted people to be the best versions of themselves, to do well and be happy. I wish I got to tell him that I loved him.”

Four warrior cries ring out when Sean Holland brings out his brother’s ashes. Randy sings a spirit song, and drumming follows.

“My son is gone. I can never see his face again, but he’s with me,” Laura says. “I’ll take him with me in everything that I do. Every breath I take, I’ll bring my boy with me.”

A procession carries Jay’s ashes through Campbell River. “Jared would have wanted us to be loud,” Laura tells the group.

Mourners and supporters stop at the RCMP station, with drumming and songs that rise in volume as they approach.

Laura walks into the station with her daughter Shoshannah drumming at her side.

“You were created to control and kill Indians and you have not stopped,” Laura says to the RCMP.

An officer tries to say: “I understand.”

“They will say: ‘We understand.’ There is no possible way that a non-native person would know what we’re going through,” she says later. “So many of us have grown up with fear of the state and fear of the government and anything that looks like it.”

Laura says she won’t stop until she finds justice for her son.

Her life’s work has been around advocating for Indigenous people being crushed by colonial systems — on the Downtown Eastside and beyond — and she is prepared to keep going.

“This was a group of mothers I didn’t want to join,” Laura says. “I never expected to be here, I was always afraid to be here, but here I am.”

Laura’s voice nearly breaks when she says she feels “ruined” by the loss of her son, but she holds herself together.

“Waking up in the morning is a struggle,” she says. “But I have other children and grandchildren. I have a fear I will never be happy again, because the horror of my son being shot in the face keeps me awake, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get past that, but I’m going to try.”

“What I know is that the ancestors are watching and the ancestors are with us and they are very, very proud of who my son is. And so am I,” she says.