Thoughts from Indian Territory

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Thoughts from Indian Territory I arrived in Oklahoma at around 7pm yesterday evening. At around 10pm my parents and I went to the home where Neetanah was staying. There was lots of family there. The pine casket was in the living room. Her coffin is a beautiful (can a coffin be beautiful?) pine box lined with a pendleton blanket. Neetanah was laid out in her powwow dancing regalia and was holding her eagle feather and her dancing fan. Her sacred bundle was placed at the foot of her coffin. All dead bodies look only eerily similar to their live counterparts. She looked like Neetanah, but not. The reconstruction that had to be done on her due to her being hit by a car, was noticeable but well done. I won't go into details. At midnight the fire keeper performed the purification ceremony. It was the third day since her death and the third day at midnight is when the soul leaves the body. We had come into contact with the sacred and we needed to be purified by smoke from a fire that had been burning for 3 days. The fire keeper sprinkled tobacco and cedar on the coals for the smudging. Her mother was in shock. This morning we all went to the long house to have breakfast with Neetanah and the rest of the family. There were eggs, pancakes, and lots of meat. I hugged Beverly, Neetanah's mother, and she began to cry. I cried, too, as she whispered of how the sound of the coffin's lid shutting will be a sound that will resonate in her mind for the rest of her life and that she knew that at that moment she would not lay eyes on her again. I imagined the sound of the coffin lid shutting. The sound I imagined was that of a deep and mournful pine cabinet door shutting. I can't imagine not seeing my child again. At eleven, we went out to our tribal cemetery. The Miami drum played and sang. Many people shared stories of Neetanah. Then our second chief spoke. He also lost a daughter, so he was so full of emotion that his voice was no more than a whisper. After all the words, we tossed tobacco and dirt into the hole where Neetanah lay. The drum played again as the coffin was lowered into the ground and the people filed passed with handfuls of dirt and tobacco. I waited until the hole was filled before leaving the grave. Before we left the cemetery, my parents and I visited my brother Kevin. As our second chief said: "We bury our own." In our larger society we sanitize death. We are removed from the processes of death. There is some measure of comfort in this, no doubt. In Indian burials in this part of the country, death is a communal activity. Death is never easy. Accompanying Neetanah all the way to the grave--sharing part of that journey with her--made me feel better. She was not alone. I was not alone. She was part of our grieving and part of our celebration of her life. She was there...literally...every step of the way. We never left her side. I don't believe in god. I don't believe in heaven. I don't believe in predestination. I do believe in free will. I know we are born and we die--Everything in between is up to us. I look forward to processing all that I have experienced, thought, and felt not just over the last few days of my life, but over the last few years of my life. Change is never easy. Death is change. Moving is change. Love in its various evolutions is change. Happiness is about how well we negotiate that change. Or, at least peace of mind is about how well we negotiate that change. I'm ready to find that peace of mind and that happiness....that will be a change I welcome.