I went through my mothers funeral in a numbness, lost. She was wearing the cross I had bought for her to be buried with.
We were given a chance to give my mother a private euolgy. My dad, brother and me. I don't know if I even still have what
I said but it had been of the medicine wheel. My brothers was from the Goddess Gaia.
I started having dreams about my mother. At first she was coming to me as healthy and content with others around her. She
had told me of how things are transitional. But things started to get worse as time drew on. She started coming my dreams
and my fathers dreams insisting that she wasn't dead. In other dreams I had she would be trying to talk to me and her body
My guides in my dreams were still coming to me, but this time I couldn't try to hide from them in the times I would. My
mother was there now and knew just how to find me or get me out from under places. She couldn't understand what my problem
was. I didn't know how to deal with this. I didn't know this could happen. I stopped meditating to sleep.
Not soon after a friend I was close to even long after high school passed away. He had died from aids. I went to his funeral
and it was an open casket. He looked like paper mache. He looked like a Jew in a concentration camp. He had a Catholic funeral
and I broke down there. I visited his mom for a while. It was comforting. She had lost a son and I had lost a mother. I stopped
visiting her though because the others in the family kept expecting me to want something and I didn't want anything. Then
not long afterwards my Papaw died from blood poisoning even after they had cut off his leg due to gan-grene.
I was beginning to sink into a dark shroud of depression. I already had the darkest hour of depression when I was fifteen
or so and promised myself I would never go so down into that darkness. I knew where I was this time, and that I would have
to struggle in the void there. I learned about raven as a totem and the Red Tailed Hawk began to visit my back yard as a totem
to learn about.
In the time I learned something about myself, about walking between life and death. Some dreams had taught me that the
void and the withdrawal was like dying and how I am close to both worlds, between life and death. To live means to wake up
and in the dreaming with the void is like dying. It is something like the teaching in red birds medicine from the Cherokee.
You can go too far in either realm. It's like the way I have walked between two worlds with Mother Earth and the material
world. One foot is on the cement and one foot is in the grass.
I was doing rather well with the void. It especially helped to read and listen to the tapes of Caroline Myss and read of
Wallace Black Elk and all the things that had happened to him. Then my father invited me along to an inter-tribal in New Mexico
and I went with him, my grampa and my uncle. It would be the first time I ever joined the circle in a round dance at a very
huge gathering. He was going to allot of things and traveling with my grampa. He knew his time wasn't going to be long. He
was very displaced from himself, often he walked around like he wasn't even here already. He began to suffer problems that
was in the process of being diagnosed as Lou Gherigs disease. I knew it meant it was his calling. I knew my dad would not
In this time my husband and I got married at my gramma's church. My mother in law found her own inner strength and new
encouragement. She fell in love with this man and they got married and moved to a new home. Me and my hubby found us a new
home not long after our honeymoon.
I loved my new house. The very first night in it I had a dream I was awake but asleep. It didn't scare me anymore like
it used to. I was just kind of laying there waiting to just go back to sleep again with the rest of my body when I saw a heavenly
light from the living room and heard wonderful music. It was like my new home was filled with welcome and serenity. I don't
experience a thing like that often. I can bring order into chaos, I can be like a medium in a group of people and get them
talking and such ... but I've had little experience with my own sense of peace. Peace to me is getting to sleep or write or
stuff my face with something really good like a juicy steak.
I was always used to being the supporter and being able to help others with talking. I can't be the one to fall apart.
I didn't realize before, just how much I was trying to hold myself together.
Through my friends online I met the Cougar Band of the Lumbee Nation. I invited my father to come with me to a gathering
with them I was invited to. He came with me up there several times. It was almost like when we had gone to New Mexico together.
I was getting to know my father better than I had. Though, if I could take back having to share the same sleeping space with
him I would. Having to sleep in the same space as your dad not only feels gross but he was still wierd. In the New Mexico
journey I finally talked those guys into letting me have my own hotel room cause sometimes he would just jump up and
karate thin air for no reason. But we only had one tent between us for these trips. I'm sure that must have looked really
funny, which is a gross and terrible thought but ... I also had this little bird in the back of my head telling me these were
the last times with my dad. I wouldn't touch the man with a ten foot pole if he couldn't pull his own pants up by himself.
One night my dad had a severe asthma attack that induced a cardiac arrest. He fell into a coma and was put on life support.
The family waited for a while but he wasn't going to return. My brother and I signed the papers to take him off the life support.
We all stood and sat around his bed as the heart monitor slowed. We told him it was time to go see mom now and be with her.
He passed quietly.
My dreams got better though they could still be bad, and about both of them. In one of the last ones I dreamed my dad and
mom were on a drive off to a vacation. They were young again, looking like they did when they first met. I believed I was
dealing with everything well, that I was fine. I knew they had gone like they were supposed to. They had always prepared me
and my brother that someday they would die. They had always taught me about being a good warrior and to take care of things.
Honor was important in my family. Just ... nobody teaches about what to do with yourself when it's all said and done and over.
I missed my parents and the mixed blessing tormented me. I loved them, and we had had issues I never got to talk to them about.
By the time I was old enough to try to, they were in too much pain. They were leaving me.
I take a long time to react emotionally to anything. If something upsetting has happened, I might not start to feel anything
about it until three days later. I think that is how my spiritual madness started. My father dying was the final straw and
sometime afterwards I cracked and had this "break down". The dams broke free and the tsunami came. My spiritual awakening.