Good evening, thank you for gathering on such short notice. I have gathered you all here today to honor my mother’s transcendence into her Spirit World.
The next thing is to handle all this: the hard part, or maybe it’s the part that my mom hoped would be the hardest part, is to convey how she wished to be remembered, what needed to happen, ideas and incorporation. Where would she prefer I be simple, and what needed to be said. It’s not like I was low browed into saying certain things; in fact, my candor and way of saying things is a thing she knew I could reign in and speak eloquently enough, although her trying to neuter or water down or even gaslight someone was never a thing. To my mind, if you walk and talk in life as your true, authentic self, and you carry yourself in the same manner, then no apologies have to be made for who you are. And that is another way my mom and I are a lot alike. She was of one body and one mind and one spirit, and that is who I will continue to walk with the rest of my life.
Tonight, If I tell you I’m like my mom in a lot ways, I can report that we’ve both discovered a time for crushing bluntness and a sweet spot for artful finesse. She is a poet in the truest sense of the word, and I convinced her into believing I could poke a hole through two thoughts and two words and string them together. To that end I could be trusted, although she would also want others to know that she gave as good as she got, she didn’t shy away from criticism or dissension, and as confrontation is more of an emotional affair that eventually, love and fairness will judge us all. She’d be the first to tell you I’m not here to apologize for her, if she wasn’t already a hair trigger faster than me in saying the same. Like when we’d play Jeopardy together sometimes. My mom was a spelling bee champion, don’t you know. She can get competitive, she taught me.
She left me with the legacy of her life story. And what does that mean to a 66 year old, mostly singled mom who’s lived one of the most fullest lives any one would wish they could hope for. Did she do everything she wanted to? I can honestly report no, but some irons are still in the fire. She was absolutely a creative genius. We had talked about her writing and illustrating children’s books about real Native American women heroes. Wilma Mankiller.
Anna May Aquash.
Sacajewa.
(And this is as far as I got before it was time to send her on her way. I couldn’t complete all my thoughts in a rush to handle service plans, but I’m happy to report that my ace family pulled in clutch around me, or I guess I should say around us. Allow me to complete those thoughts:)
She was carving her own sense of legacy among the women of our tribe and all our people. But she saw the obligation of native people to come together and especially Native women who are empowered to become faithful and loyal protectors alongside their warriors. She was most atuned towards what it means to pass on her knowledge and love to the next generations. I’ve asked her nieces to close out these services tonight with a prayer to a Holy Mother that Pat made several years ago when she was their age; but in the hopes that the circle remain unbroken. Pat had always wanted a little girl but the best her maker could do for her was four rowdy ass boys who got bored easy. But she came to know a specific affection for the native girls, our future, and how they need to be protected and guided. To stay inspired, but more on that later.
But when I gathered here in Denver two Saturdays ago, it was in the face of some serious health setbacks for my mom. And I didn’t know the chaos of everything she was going through and pushing through just to eke out another day. We’re all crawling to our next sunrise, which we may not always realize, but my mom did it quietly, with some painful discomfort and incessant irritability, still with hope on her mind and with her deep love of life. Reaching out to me without giving away her hand.
Which describes our relationship in different layers, which is rooted in Denver as much as our hometown. First of all, my brothers and I summered here in Denver for several summers growing up, so I’ve been conditioned to look forward to coming here. I’ve been conditioned to see and spend time with my mom every time I have come here. And there were seasons where Thanksgiving and Christmas and Easter were spent here in Denver, if for some reason my mom couldn’t make it to Gillette.
Quick sidebar about Gillette and Easter: how about the one weekend when my mom and all four of us sons were at a wrestling tournament on Easter weekend and we all caught chicken pox at the same time? Christopher I believe was the patient zero in our little huddle, as he was the first to start exhibiting symptoms. By the time we all lost out or placed, Christopher went deep and almost won out his bracket. And how did he do that? He was feeling worse and worse as the tournament dragged on and kept winning his matches by escape. He’d be damned if he was just gonna lay there and let someone pin him, too. I think dude placed in the top three. Anyway, we finally went back to Gillette. Epsom salt baths and Easter baskets. I remember it was the first time I ever watched The Breakfast Club. We tried feeding our dog Bear bubble gum. Pat seemed to feel a little lucked out that we got the pox out of our system in one swoop but I think when our shingles come back in, we’ll all have different feelings about it.
But for the most part, with the exception of military travel passing through DIA, I’ve never gone through Denver without spending time with my mom. And as we’ve humbly convened here, a chance to say goodbye and hear her voice one last time in her favorite city was the best way I could hope to send her on her way.
I feel like I might’ve been lost in Denver more than once but as I got older and I could piece together landmarks, I could do well by my own, and indeed it is in our summers here that I’ve also been conditioned to navigate big cities. But of the two times that stand out the most when I was lost in Denver was most recently when I returned for my Grandma’s passing and service. On that day, I was planted at what used to be the 16th Street Mall. That morning seemed a little hopeless under the massive shadow left by my Grandma, but I knew I still had my mom and together we’d get through it. And we did. The time before that would’ve been was one instance when my brothers and I missed our stop on our way to meet up with our mom back at her apartment. She got home and we weren’t there and that was another terrifying moment. Lasted as long as us telling the bus driver that we missed our stop and needed to be swung back around, and that’s what we did. Another little butt chewing but she was more relieved than anything.
It mattered to her that her children were on the streets sometimes exploring but she also wanted us to be careful AND not afraid in equal measure. It’s an exercise in trust but also to be confident and a little fearless.
This past Monday, the shock and sudden collapse of my mom and my world in my arms made me re-feel those glimpses of total fright and helplessness, at least for a moment. It was literally my entire world collapsing around me, and the whole time I was thinking about my Uncle Joy's last several hours with our grandma. My brother Sean and my Grandpa. The brightness of the morning when we left her apartment, as I carried her down the steps into the car, to the dim ER crash room when I got to whisper how much I loved her and will miss her. To my Aunt Melody and my Uncle Dave sitting with me in her apartment that afternoon to me walking back to the hospital later in the dark January winter night. It certainly felt as though a lot of light and life left my world on this day.
But she would not expect me to be lost.
If I were to propose yet another project we could work on, I’d suggest a walking tour of the city. The House on Galapago Street, with the Little Store and The Park on the Corner. Another summer here in Denver when one afternoon there were 5-6 funnel clouds forming around the metro area, threatening tornadoes. All four of us were outside looking at the sky, with all the other local neighbors so nobody was inside to hear the phone ringing off the hook. My mom and my uncle Joy (who we stayed with on Galapago) were both calling from their own places of work, respectively, and my Grandma (who was watching Denver weather on the news back in Gillette) were all calling us to make sure we were being safe and okay. And we were, of course, but they didn’t know that. They just assumed the worst out of safety and necessity for their babies. Needless to say, I think we all got chewed out three times by three different people by the end of the day. But man, you should've seen the sky that day. My brothers and I were not afraid.
St. Joseph's Church off 6th Avenue that we went to for free meals. The King Soopers off Speer that had insane deals, when Joy would buy bagfuls of ramen and Kool-Aid because they were 10 for $1, and so were hot dogs and chocolate chip cookies on certain days.The infamous story of the night my Uncle Reynold being sent out one night to get a quart of oil and he came back with tamales.The handful of radio stations we sometimes would meet her at. Wax Trax. Going swimming at these old YMCA's. And finally, the King Soopers where she had to go with me to rent the movie The Godfather, because I wasn’t old enough, is still here, two blocks away from where she wound up spending the last years of her life. A few dozen places in between. I know I will make a final lap of the place before I head back to my life. Denver will not be the same for me anymore, in the way that Cheyenne was a loving nest when I needed to heal the most - and it is also with love and laughs and now loneliness. In the way that Gillette has my roots, too, and my memories of my family and the past.
One thing that I know that my brothers and my uncles and aunt and grandparents realized about me is how much separation anxiety I used to get before I had to say goodbye to my mom in all of our visits, because I hated the thought that she was alone and little and I didn't want anything bad to happen to her. So before we left Denver to go back to our lives far away, I would have to have a crying jag of some kind, which I suppose was always sad and a little pathetic, but she always held me long enough to calm me down so I could let her go.
And I have to tell you, it is still a lot like that. How could I possibly leave without one last hug. Perhaps this time I won't let you go until I know you'll be safe.
"On Children" by Khalil Gibran, from her favorite book "The Prophet"
The future for her and I had many such great ambitions and dreams and projects, as far as the day was long and as wide as her imagination allowed it. Here in these later years, she wanted to make a documentary about our great-great-great grandfather, whom we refer to as the “Original Owe Sica,” or the “Original Bad Wound.” He is an original attendee and “signer” of the 1868 Fort Laramie Treaty, an incredible full circle moment for me, for my time when I lived and worked around the Fort Laramie area during my time in service. And when I approached her with the idea of starting to record hers and her remaining siblings accounts of growing up in the family, all of the moves across states, I was also hoping to link this generation’s Badwound experience with those of our extended family on the reservation. My grandparents had some very strong feelings about growing up there, and while they maintained their relations, they sought to raise their own children on their own terms. What happened to their stories, and how will those get passed down for each generation? This is also something my mom would want our family to know, how we must preserve our own past for your children's children to honor.
She came to me with ideas, I came to her with ideas, and we started talking about the possibilities. There was depth and dimension to our vision; we just needed collaboration and some time and effort. And I was looking forward to many such projects with my mom, but I just ran out of time. Inasmuch as I wanted to have this eulogy completed by the time of her service.
We just ran out of time.
Your walking orders are clear tonight.
She would want us all to take our lives seriously, and live with motivation and purpose. It’s not too late to preserve your life or your health and start making better health choices. In an effort to preserve our legacy, becoming closer to our roles as members of the seventh generations, we must continue to build strong children of values and character. They must be instilled with our heritage and our history, and in turn they must teach and prepare the next generations. But our health and mental health and our medicine must be good in our parents, in our leaders. Please focus on your own personal health to grow our children and give them proper time honored passage of the generations.
The next thing she wants everyone here to do is basically care about what is happening today with our children, our family, our tribe, our country, our world. Try to give a damn about something and try make a difference where you can.
And how do you do that? Educate yourselves. Honor her best by not accepting defeat because college is expensive, or there’s subjects that are too hard. She lived by no excuses; she had two babies by the time she got her diploma, she went back to college a few times picking up courses here and there. Learned grant writing and coding when her kidney and her vision started to fade. Up until the day she passed, she was beginning to turn her poetry into music, literally. Turning lines into lyrics, charting notes and figuring progressions. Nothing stopped her from learning new things. And she honored that in other people. That we can then learn and teach each other completes the cycle of understanding.
And then, in the course of these human events, it would be expected that should the occasion rise, you will all be prepared to step forward in her spirit. Her bravery becomes our bravery. Her leadership is in our marrow. Her fearlessness is the fiber of our coat of arms. And her love for her parents, her siblings, her children, her grandchildren, her friends until the end, her tribe, her communities, her city, her America, her world, is our shield. And from one writer to another, our word can be our weapons, but for everything else, there’s nothing off the table for the provision of securing and rearing our own families and our own people. The future is worth it, and there are no visions without a future. You must be willing to stand up and defend what is still ours and our future generations. Be prepared.
Other than that, it would have been ideal to have a wake with fuller ceremonies and more time to gather friends and loved ones, I had this killer 1970's ultra marathon timed out just right for a 14-hour all-nighter, but I suppose that's the same time it takes to get from St Louis to Denver counting all the pee breaks - but I want to thank everyone for coming tonight. And for my mom, I want to thank her, too, for everything.
“And I’ll whisper back to you,
I hope I’ve honored you tonight.”
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