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 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".