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".