Death comes calling

Why does death bring out the worst in some people and the best in others?

I’ve seen my share of death, dying, and loss and felt all the corollary emotions and supplementary shocks. It is never easy for family members or friends of the deceased. Some people simply cannot or will not deal with the fact that we are all mortal and that eventually we will all be mort.

It seems that those under twenty-five or so don’t really consider that life is finite. Many at that age have not experienced the loss of paren

ts or siblings, perhaps grandparents but in this mobile society not everyone is as close to grandparents or aunts and uncles as they once were. Families are spread all over the country and don’t see each other daily or even weekly, so to lose someone that is not in your life every single day sometimes diminishes the sense of loss.

My first memory of death was when I was still a child of about four or five. I remember attending the funeral of my aunt’s infant daughter. I remember being lifted up to see her lying in her small white coffin in a beautiful white dress or gown. She was such a beautiful baby with pink cheeks and dark hair. I didn’t understand why she was in there sleeping and not being held close by her mother. At that age I couldn’t begin to understand the pain and loss her mother, my Aunt Caroline “Kayo” was going through. I now know that the baby’s name was Linda Michelle and that her death was related to the incompatibility of the Rh- factor in her and her mother’s blood. After going to the funeral parlor and the completion of the services we all went somewhere to share a meal afterwards, I don’t know if it was at a rented hall or back at my Grandmother Vera’s house. The loss of this beautiful baby was never mentioned again that I can recall. It almost seemed that she never existed except in small flashes of my memory and I am sure contained within her mother’s broken heart.

My next memory of death touching my life was more understood both by my psyche and my heart. I had an Uncle Jimmy Miller who was married to my Aunt Doris Wilamenia forever. Uncle Jimmy had a great sense of humor. My favorite memory of him was from one summer afternoon. I was probably about 13 or 14 years old and we were driving to Waterford, Ontario to perhaps pick strawberries or maybe to visit my Aunt Deloris “Spense” who resided there. I know that Uncle Jimmy was driving and my Grandpa Ty was in the passenger seat. In the back seat was me, my cousins Pauline “Didder”, Rhonda, and Lisa. We were sitting back there whispering about music, boys, and other important stuff and we were laughing loudly with an occasional hysterical scream or some random snorting. Uncle Jimmy turned around and called us a bunch of “gigglers” which brought on another round of hysterics because unbeknownst to him, or perhaps he was well aware of the fact, that was a name my mother often used to refer to male genitalia.

As we got closer to Waterford there were some young men walking along the road. Uncle Jimmy said to us, “Okay you gigglers here are some boys up here, when I get close I’ll beep and you girls wave.” Again we all broke up because it was so funny that we should be waving at boys with Grandpa in the front seat and our Uncle Jimmy as our chauffer. Of course we all hung our heads out the windows waving, screaming, and whistling at those boys. They were astonished at all the clamor and maybe even a bit scared from the looks of their wide-eyed stares with mouths agape they had as the car whizzed past them. More laughter from the gigglers ensued!

The fact that Uncle Jimmy was the chauffer was even more amazing since he had had his right arm amputated. He had been in an auto accident in his younger day and the docs had put his arm back together with pins and plates. Apparently this repair to his arm wasn’t as successful as was originally thought because it lead to some growth of cancerous cells that spread throughout parts of his body. I remember one day I was at school probably in the 8th grade because I was still in the middle school. I was so sick, throwing up and had a fever. I was sent to the nurse’s office and she called my mother. My mother was usually out and about most mornings having coffee and visiting everyone around the reserve, there were no cell phones back then. We were fortunate enough to have had a land line. At any rate on my emergency contact list was my Aunt Doris and Uncle Jimmy. Aunt Doris was working at the Tuscarora School as a cook/cleaner so Uncle Jimmy drove his green Toyota pickup truck to the middle school to fetch me and bring me home. I was never so glad to see him. I remember letting my head lean back against the car seat as I watched in amazement as he turned the steering wheel so deftly with the little ball attached to it. Although the two things I really wanted at that moment was for my mother and to be home and then to be able to lay down in my own bed, Uncle Jimmy was the next best thing in my time of need. He dropped me off and home and then he must have drove around the rez and located my mom because she got home shortly after I did.

Shortly after this incident I remember being in bed and waking up during the night. I heard the “es:ka dot-ee” and was so scared I ran downstairs and jumped in bed between my mother and father. It was a scary sound like someone blowing over the top of a glass milk jug but even worse I knew that it meant that someone I knew was going to die. That night my Uncle Jimmy was gone. I never wanted to hear that sound ever again.

In 1977 I lost my Grandpa Titus “Ty.” Another funeral, it is so hard to remember anything about that day. I don’t remember a thing, almost like I was never there, he was buried on my 17th birthday. It hurt too much, I think I kept my head down the entire time, trying to keep my tears mopped up with hands full of Kleenex. I know there was food after the funeral but again I can’t remember any of it. I know I sat with my sisters with arms around each other we leaned on each other and were there for our own mother at the loss of her father.

All of these deaths and all the ceremony and ritual experiences were positive healing memorials. I don’t recall any nasty words being thrown around or fights breaking out regarding who was or wasn’t in the will, who did or didn’t get what they wanted from the decedent. Everyone shared their best remembrances, the strength and love they received from their loved one who was now gone on to a better place. Some funerals I’ve attended since then have been so difficult and uncomfortable affairs. Not because of the pain and loss the families were suffering but because of the bitterness, sniping, and infighting that was so apparent even without words being heard.