Honoring Deidra Ashley Jackson & MMIP
My sister's name was Deidra Ashley Jackson, though we all called her Dee. I want people to remember what happened to her. This is her story.
The Call That Changed Everything
November 10, 2021, started with me in Las Vegas, feeling lighter than I had in years. After my daughter's long health battle and four open-heart surgeries, and the grief of losing my father just a year earlier, I was finally able to breathe. I was with my prayer family, speaking at UNLV. We were like kids in a candy store, enjoying every moment.
That last night, my friend Levi and I went to see a Michael Jackson tribute show. We had an early flight, so I went to bed and packed up. Around 3 or 4 a.m., my phone rang. An immediate feeling of dread washed over me; early morning calls almost always meant bad news.
On the other end was my mother. Her voice was hollow and shaky. "Connie, I really let Deidra down," she said. "She was found dead in her car by Mandaree."
It took a few seconds for the words to sink in. Then, a blood-curdling scream ripped from the pit of my gut. "NO MOM, NO!" I cried. I dropped to my knees on the hard cement floor, curling into a ball. This couldn't be happening. I had just buried my father, and two years before that, my older brother. Not Dee. I was supposed to go before her.
Poor Levi, in the next bed, witnessed the whole thing. "No, Mom, not Deidra," I said again. "What did you do? I thought she was in jail." My mother’s response was a punch to the gut: she had bonded her out. I couldn't comprehend why.
Seeking Justice for Dee
The next few weeks were a blur of shock. I knew I had to bank my raw grief because I needed to find out what really happened. I could sense her spirit, hear her voice in my ears saying, "I need prayers." The prayer warrior in me took over, and I begged the Creator to take her home, to send our relatives to meet her so she wouldn't be scared or alone.
My grief eventually turned to anger. I was furious at the world, at my mom, and at law enforcement. If my mother hadn't bailed her out, she would still be here. If she hadn't been an informant, she might have gone to jail, which could have saved her life.
We had so many questions, and no one had answers. Law enforcement wrote her death off as an overdose, as if her life didn't matter. But someone gave her those drugs. The man who found her said she looked suspicious. Her pants were pulled down to her knees, and the doors were locked. They had to break a window to get to her. The Minot Daily News ran a tiny article: "A New Town woman, Deidra Ashley Jackson, had died at age 35 in Mandaree."
There was no ongoing investigation. No answers. No justice. This is how Native families are treated when a loved one goes missing or is murdered. Our lives are dismissed as if we are nothing.
My sister's life mattered. She was more than just another number, another statistic. This store is my way of fighting for her memory and for all the Missing and Murdered Indigenous People (MMIP) whose stories have been ignored.
In Dedication to Dee's Memory
In dedication to my sister's memory, 10% of our revenue will be donated to the Deidra Ashley Jackson MMIP Fund. Once the fund is built up, we will contract with a private investigator to help a family with a missing loved one, covering the cost of the investigation.
When you purchase from our store, you are directly helping to search for our Missing and Murdered Indigenous People. Our people matter, even those struggling with substance use disorder.
This is also a call to other Native American small business owners: help support the MMIP cause. Together, we can and will bring our brothers and sister's home.