Boots Under the Stove

His body went home to Lloydminister and I came back to my little house nestled between the hills and Bonaparte Creek. They had given me his belongings and when I got home, I took his new boots that he had received a couple of weeks earlier for Christmas and put them under the wood stove to dry. My husband was getting ready for bed. I sat with a cup of tea and snuggled into the warm chair trying to rest and not quite believing how it had changed in the last few days. How I felt was different and how I saw the world.

Thankful for a fire roaring in the stove and listening to a blizzard howling down the valley between the hills. The snow seemed to swirl and dance around the house looking for a crack to send its icy fingers in. The flames seemed to know and leaped up as if to answer and send them away laughing into the night.

I held his watch and wished the steady ticking of it was still the beating of his heart. No I can't do this. I can not begin to doubt the Creator's way. I thought of the old man who cries outside the sweatlodge before we enter calling on the power of the four directions to help us, as we are like children and we don't know. I thought of all the loved ones I had lost to Spirit's call home.

But the missing and the pain--the loneliness crept in and the haunting moan in my mind asked "Why did you go home Randy? Oh my Father who art in heaven bring the peace I know that some with letting go. Let the whispering winds tell him all is OK and guide him from this place to his spirit home."

I begged for peace. I pleaded for understanding and the strength to get through the last part of this journey. Soon a warmth crept in and sleep slid into the edges of my eyes.

I think of him who has gone and wonder what is to become of me and this hole in my soul that knowing him has left. Where is the peace? I so need to rest.

I sense a presence in the room and I look up to see him sitting next to me. It is him in the physical like a hologram vibrating, but it is him. Wondrous joy saturates my being. I look at him and in that instant, all the pain of the last few days leave like they have never happened.

He looks at me those big beautiful brown eyes and his faced is filled with the most incredible love. He said, "I did die".
"No Randy its not true," I say as anguish pours out of me. "You are here".
"I did die. This is how it is. I love you and I will always be with you."

He faded and I was left with the most wonderful feeling of peace and love I had ever experienced. I knew then, in that instant, there is no time and no boundaries, and that love is eternal and never dies--that his love for me was so great that He sent him to let me know and that his last act was to teach me this.

I knew that this was of the Great Spirit for in your greatest time of need he will send you a voice, one to call you out of the wilderness and lead you home. Love is all there is. You will get a sign and he will provide all you ever need in your deepest, darkest hour of need.

With renewed strength and a peace that I still keep in my heart, I went to bed to dream of a place where there is no darkness, no shadows, no mysteries, and I knew from here he could see me.

I am blessed by a man named RANDY.

The drum began its deep throb, quietly at first

At the graveyard, the drum began its deep throb quietly at first then building to a strong crescendo that ran over the prairies. It filled every crevice and slid through the trees bare of leaves. Winston's beautiful voice rang out calling Spirits to help our brother home. He sang to the ones who have gone before us so they may meet the man called Randy and help him cross this last barren stretch. He held the drum high to Father Sky and asked to help us, his earthly children and those left grieving for his life. His voice covered the Mother who lay sleeping in her whiteness. "Go home son; go home where there is love; go with the love of your earthly people; go with the love of your earthly mother who even now cries from the deepest part that began the birth of your being; go across the sky; go beyond this place and rest in your home on high".

I heard this in my being and I was humbled to have this man, my cousin, do the honoring ceremony for us. His words comforted us and he said, "All will heal with the drum, for it is the heartbeat of this nation and our beginnings".

The 60 degree windshield factor couldn't compare to he frozen state of mourning i saw in the eyes of my siblings. "Randy, let the love we have for each other be what helps us now,"

I prayed.

They lowered him into the opening of the earth. We threw frozen earth down so, once more, Mother Earth would cover him on the prairies, much like the fine silt she swept over him at the bottom of a cold clear lake. I knew that this was the right way for us to send him home. This is what we have done from the beginning of Indian Time.

We gathered in the church basement to eat and talk and take strength from each other. My siblings and I grouped up to take pictures, naturally leaving a spot where Randy would have stood. We have never been minus one, so we didn't know what to do or how to be. For a moment there was silence and the loss made visible by the empty space. We closed the gap and held each other tight. While hanging on, we knew this is how it would be until SPIRIT CALLS.

Leaving was painful. Everyone came and held us and said good by to a man they said was too young to die.

ALL MY RELATIONS

These are my memories of it. The pain as I write is still there in the Randy part. I am able to do this now, because I am no longer in this picture. I stand and watch it from time to time. Often when a big blue 18 wheeler passes me, I see him at the wheel waving and happy. I hear him in a crowded coffee shop filled with boisterous truckers. I hear him on the wind. I see his light in heaven whenever I sit on an open prairie, or in the quiet of my home by the Sea of Cortez. If I look towards the star blanketed skies he is there twinkling. Sometimes he is the wind U TEN ACH CHIMOO. It sings to me the song of long ago when he was here and he sang THE MUFFIN MAN.
I will always remember this, his last words to me, "This is how it is. I love you and I will always be with you".

Randy, my baby brother, loves Chalen Ewing who is MORNINGSTAR WOMAN.

Drum Song

So we did all the things one has to do to bury a loved one. The day dawned clear and cold and our very breath was snatched away through mittened hands. The wind screamed and stung any skin left exposed. The minus 40 temperatures froze the tears, already stinging our eyes, when we greeted each of the people who arrived to share the pain of the man gone home. It was a homecoming and he'd have been proud of the crowd that pulled up to share the loss of him our brother.

The big doors of the church kept opening letting in family and friends as they searched for each other and sat in close family groups.
It was healing to finally sit with my siblings. It was the only comfort we had for days and we leaned in close to share our common pain. Our sorrow was great and cloaked us, as we held each other up.

Winston Wuttunee, my cousin and a revered singer, spokesman and entertainer, brought his ceremonial drum and walked down the aisle. Our people stirred and a rustling was heard through the crowd as we turned to get a look at the drum and the voice coming in that would reach out to sing him home.

We were startled to hear the minister, upon seeing the drum, announce that he, (Winston)could not sing or bring IT into the church, as they did not allow any pagan ceremonies. The people would not like it. Apparently, he hadn't looked out into the church at the sea of black shining heads and brown faces. He then informed us he had no control at the graveyard so we could do IT there.

The pain of grieving had taken its toll and all I could do was to turn away. It was just one more blow to a mind and body now running on grief alone that threatened to consume it.

I was out of my body and not aware of much of what he had to say after that. It was probably something that addressed love and understanding. He looked at our drum with eyes as cold the snow coming through the cracks in the church door.

The presence of my brother Randy was there and I could still see his eyes telling me, "Its OK. They don't know," and that he would always be with us. I could hear the cries and quiet sobs of our family and friends. It was good to be here in a common place. I thought of why we where there and it was so painful like an open wound.

Tears ran down and scorched my face while stinging my swollen eyes that could barely stay open. What was left at that time, I wanted to leave there because I knew that only time could heal the gaping hole in my soul. It seemed as if the only thing that I had left of him was pain, but that it was OK as it was connected to him. I knew that here I could find comfort in the midst of sorrow, for too soon, I'd have to do this on my own.

If ever I thought that I would fly off the planet, it was then, at that very moment. Only the hand of my sister kept me from leaving my body forever.

The voice from the front of the church kept on pushing me deep into by being as I reached to touch my brother's essence once again. "Its OK", I heard him say, "I am here".

I thought of the teachings that had lead me this far on my earthly journey. The grandmothers and the grandfathers who sang the song with the drums, the heart of our nation. I thought of a hilltop high in the mountains of Norway--a Golden Face that had appeared to me in another hour of need. It told me to look around, that everywhere I looked I saw the face of God. Randy again said, "its OK sis. I am here".

For an instant I let go and was whisked away to a mountain high and again, love and light filled my soul. I felt the edges coming together reaching to heal me. I let go of thoughts of pagan drums and people who speak these words, and forgiveness washed my soul and angels sang the song long forgotten.

The Wind In The Trees

As we left the morgue, Grandmother Moon was shining through the tall pine trees and there was a freshness in the air. It felt like it was the the first breath I had taken or become aware of in days. I could hear the wind coming through the tops of the trees. We say the wind tell stories, U TEN ACH CHIMOO.

It came singing through telling all the winged ones, he is free. The bluebird has gone home and now he flies to the Great Mystery to talk to the angels. He is in the place that allows him to listen clearly and to see clearly, that which we miss here as we walk the Mother Earth. His head is no longer down. He sees the Great One now with eyes that can hold the beauty of all. All things were rejoicing for we are sending you a voice.

Tears flowed for the beauty of it all--for the No Place. I had walked through the No Place.

There was only the details now for the burial of his body. The tears no longer stung, but they ran for the pain of my relations and his son and his wife. A week earlier, we had sat on the banks of the Bonaparte Creek and ate apples that had fallen, "just for us," he had said. With our faces together facing and munching, we made our amends. Mostly mine, for today I walk the Red Road of Recovery.

"Hey boy,"I said.
"Don't call me boy," he laughed.
"OK then, Big Boy," I laughed.
I told him if I had ever hurt him in anyway in this lifetime, I was sorry.
"You never did," he said.
I laughed. He said he probably didn't ever do anything to me, but since we were coming clean, he was sorry if there was the remotest possibly of a little tiny hurt that he had done. I reassured him, there was none. We agreed times were hard when we were little, but we sure did all love each other. Yes, we agreed on most things. It was easy with him.

It seemed like a lifetime ago, his face and my face talking and laughing. Sitting beside the sweatlodge as the creek ran lazily by. The coyote called a lonesome call as the ole Grandmother Moon tipped over the trees. A promise of a light to show us the way home.

This I know to be just a small part of the stairway to heaven and each and everything is connected. Nothing by mischance. As I was strapping myself into my seat on the plane home, I heard the attendant say they had to phone the funeral home. I asked if there was a coffin on board. they looked at me weird.
"I think that is my brother," i said.
"Yes we're stopping to pick up a body soon in Comox."
It was him. It was where they had sent him before he'd fly home.

"Looks like its just you and I Randy," I said as we left.
So we flew over the mountains and I saw the inlet and the highway looked like a silver ribbon winding its way through the mountains. He had driven these roads lots of times. No more for you Randy. No more pounding tires, no more winding roads. You have traveled your last highway.

We weere above the clouds and the sky was bright with the morning light that burnt orange. Floating on the tops of cotton candy clouds, soft droning engines seemed to sing "Randy we are going home where our people wait for us. You will rest on the prairies where our ancestors lay sleeping. You who have gone before us, we will send you home in honor with our drums and our songs to guide you".

You Were The Rock

"Randy, for being my brother in this lifetime, thank you. For holding my children when they cried, thank you. You were the rock, the one who called us in every corner of the province and made us promise to be at the lake you picked out. You always told us what to bring, what we were going to eat, and how much.
Oh boy did you love to cook. You used to say to us, "No wonder I'm this big. I have to sample all this food to see if it's good enough." It always was.

I let his name echo through the pages of my memories. I saw him as a toddler, then starting school and coming home to sing us his songs. I HAVE A LOVELY BUNCH OF COCONUTS and the one about THE MUFFIN MAN. We agreed he was the muffin man.

His wedding and his children. Him doing all the cooking at all the get-togethers.
I thanked him for validating my place in the family that only other siblings can do. They know because we've shared the same womb.

My son and husband and my brother Ed stood nearby sobbing quietly, each man in his own pain and running after the memories of this special man. Brother, brother in law, and uncle.

The room was cold and gray, but the light that bounced off the walls was warm and felt free. I thought I heard him say, "It's OK sis, I'm here". I knew then he was free to fly where spirits go when Great Spirit calls. I said a prayer. I send my prayers on eagles wings way up into the sky, so I can see from mountains high where angels go to cry.

His truck was blue and I called it The Big BlueBird. Now he is the bluebird. "Go fly away home Randy. Its OK now, thank you for your being, for your love, thank you for loving me. Go fly away home, its OK".

I took a small snip of his hair and I could smell his essence. I kissed him and stroked his hair once more. "Oh Father, hold this one dear and keep him safe on his spiritual journey home."

I could leave now and as I held his lock of hair to me, I heard him say, "remember me in this."

Stairway To Heaven

My brother Ed and my husband were with me now. We talked to the R.C.M.P and were allowed to go out to the accident site. On the way out we listened to the radio. The announcer was talking like it was just another accident. "officials are saying the propane truck in Buttle Lake was potentially the biggest bang near the Campbell River since the Ripple Rock disappeared in 1958". He goes on and on and ends by saying, "The crisis ended Sunday with nothing louder than a long sigh of relief."

What! Is he crazy? A long sigh of relief for who? Oh, there he goes again, "this has to be the worst accident I've seen in 13 years, or at the least, the most difficult in terms of salvage, if not in the terms of loss of life," says one of the R.C.M.P constables. He goes on to talk about the video footage and how if it sparked it would create a bang like which they've never heard around these parts. It never ends. Now its a closed road to the site of the accident and a NO FLY zone.

But we had to go. We had to see for ourselves where it happened. Maybe it would make sense of a world gone mad. I had to go to the place, the spot that spirit had called my brother home, just to drive those last few miles. Oh ya, I could see him now driving along with my son laughing and talking with his big brown arm out the window.

We rounded the corner and there it was, his tanker floating in the lake and skid marks that had left deep gouges in the highway. With everything I knew about myself and death and grieving, I knew I had to be here. I'd just wonder every time I saw water, is this the last thing he saw? We got out and walked to the edge of the cliff. I looked over and saw my son's clothes on the rocks below. My heart skipped a beat as I was told by search and rescue that he'd hung onto the ledge for 6 hrs.

The divers were just taking off their gear and they told us they had just found the body and we had passed it on our way there. I could see their lips moving and heard snatches of the danger if the tanker blew up. They were sending in experts across Canada to get the truck out.

We drive back along the road and I now know where he died and it was important so there would be no more holes in my heart, that was wounded more with every new bit of information. The scene was unfolding, but I didn't care. I couldn't.

Next we were at the morgue to identify the body. This was bittersweet. My rational mind knew he had gone home. The elders say this in not our home. We are here for a short time and its a gift of the Creator and when we leave we go home. Creators grace could never take us to where his love won't look after us. Even it it was in death i had to be with him and to make sacred the last sight of his being.

The coroner asked if I was afraid. I told her no, that the body that housed my brothers spirit was what I needed to say good bye to. She was so kind and compassionate and asked if there was anything she could do. Just don't' cover him up. Take the sheet off his face please.

When i walked in there he was filling the whole table that he lay on. A big beautiful man resting as if in sleep. Looking at him, I saw his perfection. His chiseled face, a beautiful straight nose, his mouth soft and full. This was no death mask. This exquisite man whose long eyelashes lay resting on his brown velvet skin had gone home and mother earth had gently covered him in the soft silt of the lake bottom. I wiped the creases in his nose and I stroked his hair and told him what a gift to have had him in this lifetime as my brother. I thanked the Great Mother for covering him and rocking him gently as if to sleep.

My son Russell was with us now and told his uncle it was a good day to go home and that he would always miss him and remember him. There was no hint that he had fought in his last moments. On the quiet clear bottom of a cold mountain lake, he heard the forgotten song, slipped out of the body we loved and the winged ones took him home, safe in the portals of heaven.

When Spirit Calls.

I thought that I might just die from this pain that was slowly crushing the life out of me. He is dead. Oh my god! He is gone from this world. It just can't be.
The sharp loud ringing was disturbing the report I was writing at the addictions centre I was working at.

Waking up that morning, everything was familiar, as was the Bonaparte Creek gurgling its way past my window. The car purred along as I drove the winding highway to work. Oh Creator, thank you for filling me with this beauty everyday. The majesty of the interior of British Columbia is still one of the most beautiful places that I have lived in. Gentle hills rolling into the Thompson River, an eagle swooping down to pull a trout that dangles from mighty talons. Dark green pines with a short shadow, as the morning light sent beams of silver into the water tumbling from mountains high. I loved to see the hills lying like full breasts on the Mother Earth who was now getting ready to wear her winter coat. A view from the hilltops let a glimpse of the valleys below beckon me to enter to the silence within.

That persistent ringing not only interrupted my writing, it changed how I was to understand and live my life. "Who is this?," I asked. "its me, Russell," sobbed my eldest son. "What has happened?" I shouted. "Oh god mom, I don't think I can make it. It's awful. There's been an accident and uncle Randy is dead and Billy is in the Campbell River hospital in intensive care."

Dead? this totally foreign thought brought white shocking pain like someone was crushing my head. "Oh God mom, please come. I can't make it. Please come here. I just can't make it," pleaded Russell.

As I left my body, I could hear the anguish and moaning of us both, that carried me into a grey misty place. Someone's screaming slammed me back into the room that was now void of any warmth. Shaking and numb, I could hear him trying to tell me what had happened. "They were on their way to Vancouver Island; Uncle Randy picked up Billy and took him with him. They were going around a series of S curves and the semi-trailer flipped over the guard rail and down a 70 foot cliff into Buttle Lake. He was carrying 39,000 litres of propane."

Randy, my brother, dead and my youngest son was clinging to life in the hospital on the Island? There was more, but I didn't hear, except the part that he was leaving for the Island and would see me as soon as I got there.

I was in a NO Place. There were muffled sounds of my co-workers making plane arrangements. Someone driving me home on the highway that hours earlier, was magic. The world held no colors, no more magic or beauty--just the wind screaming over the tops of trees that seemed to have suddenly dropped all their leaves. They too felt a life stripped and barren.

Oh my God, Randy is dead, echoed in my being like an endless loop of sad, sad song.
"I'll see you in 3 days," he said. "I'll be back for supper on Wednesday, I won't be long."

The sudden wrenching away of a loved one steals what you know to be normal. How you see the world and how you react to seemingly everyday situations changes in that moment of time. There is no beginning or end, just that loop calling you to leave and go away from the pain.

How can anyone just be gone in the blink of an eye? One moment here talking, laughing, seeing their smile, holding them, hearing them tell you they'll see you soon. I suspected that there are times in this continuum, (that we know as time)that is your portal to go to the great beyond. Like we came with a map and when we get to that portal, something reminds us this is where we leave and we have no control over this. It takes you as you are, finished or not. So was this it? Oh Randy, did the elders who have gone before us, meet you here? No, this was the doing of the Great One and I screamed to him, "I know you who makes all things and knows all things did this. I have walked and always knew you lead the way, but this has got to be a mistake. This can't be right. We had no warning. No time to say good-by. He had every reason to live. Why did you take my brother? Why??? became the endless loop. Another verse of the sad song.

His Journey Home

My husband Eric and I met him at the Husky House restaurant--the one at the corner in Cache Creek. As usual it was busy, as all the truckers stopped to eat together and bring log books up to date. He was quiet and seemed distant, and amidst the clatter of dishes I heard him say, "I just don't want to do this." He told us he had to pick up a load of propane--35,000 litres. The mine was on strike and only natives could cross the line. He said he gave them such a high quote hoping not to get it and they accepted, so he had to go.

He sat and talked to Eric about his new truck. I pushed over and sat closer. I could feel his leg warm under the table. As i looked at him I could see his black hair glistening and beads of water on the nape of his neck. His aftershave was familiar and I thought about how much I love this big gentle man.
I was born with the gift of insight and many a time in my life, it told me things. A voice inside that lead the way and cautioned me. On the reservation it was not made fun of. My elders would talk quietly about what was in store for me, with that gift, in this lifetime. Nothing told me anything at the table, but he did seem distant and quiet. We agreed we'd have a spaghetti dinner when he got back.

It was Dec 31st, the day of the year I brought my journals up to date. I looked back at what we had done, what we had learnt and dreamt of the happiness I wanted to come.
I settled in the big chair with a cup of tea and began to write. Immediately, I felt an ice cold wind blow seemingly through me. It took my breath away. My husband heard my gasp and asked what was wrong.
"Eric, someone we know will be taken away from us very soon, its like I felt the angel of death come into our house and suck out a life."
"Wow, that's a big one. Who is it," he asked.
I don't know I said. Just someone we know. I wrote, Creator, someone we know is going home soon. Please give me the strength to go through it.

"Gotta go. See you soon." Randy had said.

Is soon time? Well death takes soon away too. It makes all the days and nites run together. Phones rang in the distance, murmured voices crying, loved ones with red tear filled eyes because death turned on that tap too.

At the hospital, I bent over my son, my baby, grateful that he at least was still here. My mother heart aching to make him all better and then remembering the scream and the thud as my own mother fell to the floor, her heart broken upon receiving the news her son was dead. She had a heart attack and was taken away.

His breathing was so shallow, but he was here and the pain bore witness to that.
"Bill its mom," I said. "can you hear me?"
When his eyes opened, I could see that somehow a light had gone out in him.
"I saw you when I was in the water. I saw you all. I called for you, for anyone to help me to help us. I tried, i really tried. I couldn't find him and he couldn't stay up. We were calling to each other. Uncle. Uncle kick your legs. Bill, I can't he said. I can't. I lost him mom. I went under the water and I got lost. I didn't know which way was up. I thought I was going to die. I wanted to just take in water and let it be all over. It was just so much. But something came and lifted me up under my arms. A strong warm strength brought me to the surface." Was this my brother's last act, even in death, to help? "Mom, where is he, where is uncle Randy?"

"Oh Great One, help me say the right words at this time," I prayed within myself.
"Help me, you are the most Holy and you know my heart. Keep us safe with your eternal love so I can give my son the right words so that he can begin to heal."
Bill, they haven't found him yet. They have divers going to look for him."

The nurses had just given him his pain medication and I could see him slipping away.
"Oh mom, did I make the right decision? Did I do the right thing?"
"Oh Billy, you did the right thing. You did all you could."
"Yes, but can I live with it now?"
A shutter shakes his body and he lets go and slips into sleep.

There is no end to this anguish that threatens to completely unhinge the door to my heart where this fear and the icy fingers of death reach out to pull me through to this time that has no end.

I was born into the Red Pheasant First Nation in the middle of the prairie in Saskatchewan, Canada. I am a traditional woman. I am more than pow wows and drumbeats that fill my soul. I am more than braids, feathers, and beads. I still hear the steady beat of moccasined feet dancing into the night. We are camped at the Sundance grounds and...

Sundance

Sundance is coming. I can feel the excitement. "Braid your hair young one and say your prayers." says kokum always making sure I braid and pray.

My prayer is this, "Oh Great Father, you who are most holy and reside in all your people, thank you for this time. We are the Red Pheasant First Nations and we are gathering to thank you for all that we have and all that we are. Father let us feel your love as we see the old ones who come to help us remember the ways of our people. Let all that is sacred rejoice for we are sending you a voice. All my relations."

I could hear the wagon groaning and the horses snorting as grandfather pulled the team up to the tent. "Child, get in. The people wait for us. It is time to start the ceremonies."

It is what we do as Prairie Cree. It is the time now and even the oldest one, great Grandmother Maggie, hurried as much as her old bones would let her. We will give thanks and dance and run on soft green grass.

I sit on top the teepee poles and hold onto a large black pot that will swing over a campfire. We are going to Sundance.

Morningstar Sees

Welcome and come with me to sun and sand on the warm white beach in Baja Mexico. My name is Morningstar Woman, a Cree elder walking the Red Road and living the way of the ancient teachings.

We are the ancient ones remembering the forgotten song that whispers to us, "Here is your shelter. Here in the midst of life's journey. Lay your burden down and bring forth the wisdom that lies hidden in your heart."

Grief is the knock, pain is the symptom, this your calling to release and listen, see your destiny written on the sands of time.