The Unspoken Goodbye

Rene M. Diehlman
10.12.15
Mr. John Abbott English11

DELETED INTRO(It has been told to me and told through many generations that when our elders get ready to
leave us to make that long journey and walk out the western doorway, they lose all languages but their own true language.
That the strongest memories arent of recent days but are the blood memories entwined in their very being as Anishnaabek.
I found this to be true only four years ago. )

Squirming around, fiddling with the ground blanket I sat on, making sure all the reed
mats were covered, I wondered when the next break would be. I couldnt wait! The
grandmothers would herd us all up, theyd have maple sugar candies to sneak us, and we would
finally be able to play. This break my cousins and I were going to play the moccasin game. I had
saved all my quarters so I had zhoonya to bet.
My uncle tapped me on my shoulder, Gawiin, stop that he whispered.
Thats when it was told to me, as it was told to Mishomis George our Midewin chief, and
told through the generations before him. The elders were giving teachings for the Wiiziabiinaug,
and their role in our mourning rituals.
Death was never something to be feared. We do not see it as the end. Our elders
understood this and many would even prepare their own death bundle. When our elders are to
leave us, to make their journey, and walk out the western doorway, they lose all words but those
of our ancestors. Their strongest memories arent of recent days but of the old days, and the
blood memories, entwined with their very beings as Anishanbek.
Following those fall ceremonies, I entered my seventh winter. That year my Moms
family had Christmas at my Grandmother and adopted Grandfathers house. He was not native,
his family didnt like little savages hanging around and we werent welcomed into his mothers
presence. My mother, being the oldest, remembered her teachings, and her American Indian
family and refused to deny them. I wouldnt deny them either. I also didnt deny who my real
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Mishomis was. The man I called gramps wasnt, he was an abuser, and racist. He often asked
me why I wouldnt just let myself pass as white. That year I was passing out all the Christmas
presents wishing there was one for me, but there never was just a card with my name misspelled.
This time something worse happened my Aunt Katie, put her foot out, and tripped me in
front of the whole family. Everyone laughed and pointed at me but, my Mom had taught me not
to let anyone see me cry. If you have to, cry on the inside so they dont know how deep they hurt
you. This wasnt just a onetime thing. I wasnt allowed to play with my cousins. I wasnt allowed
to go to birthday parties or sleepovers because I refused to pretend I wasnt Indian. I was the
families black sheep.
Years later, grown with my own child, caged in my cubical, chained to my desk, my eyes
were focused on the computer screen reading radiation therapy notes. Thats when I heard the
phone ring. The caller I.D. read my mothers cell phone number, she seldom called during the
work day. I picked up the phone. Mom?
Renee, I have to tell you some difficult news. Its your grandfather, Sonnyboy, hes had
a fall, he broke his hip. The doctor took him right into surgery, but there was a clot, it went to his
brain and caused a stroke. We both knew what that meant. The nurse called she said we
should come right away, to be with him.
Ok Mom, Ill book the plane tickets, hotel room and rental car. Ill leave work right
away. Ill call you as soon as I have the travel arrangement made. It wasnt always easy, but I
knew my role, I will always have to the strong one. I had packed a bundle for my grandpa;
cedar, tobacco, a handful of wild rice, a wooden bowl with a wooden spoon, a copper cup and
copper pitcher. You see I knew it was the end.
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I barely remember driving to the car pool lot, where I met my mother, Aunt Katie and my
sister, Rachel I loaded all their MANY bags into my van, and drove through the afternoon to
OHare. My aunt and sister rarely traveled and neither had been on a plane before. Aunt Katie
had already started drinking, I was afraid I wouldnt be able to get her through security without
her making a scene. I rushed them passed the shops, and restaurants, reminded them of our next
departure time, and carried bags that were too heavy for them until I resembled a pack mule..
There was a kind TSA officer who noticed and helped me with their bags. It was all I could do
to keep them on task as we made it from layover to layover. Finally, we had made it to Seattle.
Lugging our suitcases, we traversed the final airport to Avis, and left with a compact four
door sedan. I drove straight to the hospital, over an arcing eight lane bridged highway, and
crystal clear water. I drove the whole way, praying for calm and trying to keep my focus off the
monumental task that lay ahead of me. I wasnt ready to say goodbye.
Turning into the parking garage, we couldnt find a parking spot until the eighth floor.
We unloaded our purses and Grandpas bundle and checked in. Directed to the Palliative Care
Unit, a nurse met us at my grandfathers room to explain what we would see and what to expect.
A cart with trays of cookies, snacks, and coffee service waited for us. Nothing she could have
said would really prepare me to see my grandfather that day.
His golden olive skin had turned ashen and gray. He looked as if he was on a science
fiction show, with the feeding tube, IV, and oxygen tubes hanging from his body. The IV blinked
the information on his morphine drip, but he still writhed in pain. He still had a lot of fight left
in him. When the nurses would try to take his dentures out he would clench his jaw to keep his
teeth in.

He was in such pain even after the morphine pump beeped and delivered some relief. He
couldnt even talk, nothing could sooth him. I recalled those teachings I had received so long
ago, what my uncles, and the elders had told me of this time of passing. I knew what had to be
done.
Aanii, Gii wauk Ji bimosyane que, indizinakaz, Mishomis, Grandfather do you
remember when
I began to tell him the stories all told to me by his friends and family over the years. I
reminded him of those loved ones waiting for him on the other side of that western doorway. I
sang, and sang in our language. Tears began rolling down both of our faces as I sang. I told him
how we all loved him in the full meaning of zagaadiwin, loving unconditionally for who he was
that we didnt blamed him for anything. I knew, we all just did what we could to survive. I
reminded him of his teachings and told him how grateful I was my mother picked him to be her
father, and in turn my Grandpa. I told him I knew without seeing him since my childhood he still
loved me and thought of all of us, always. That I knew he had always watched over me. I had
always felt his love and presence. I told him that his work was done here. That we were all there
with him out of love and respect. I told him I would do my duty to help him in his journey, Id
prepare his body and bundle to travel on. Finally told him it was time, time to let go, time to stop
fighting the good fight. The tension drained from his body and his breathing evened. He seemed
to sleep peacefully for a while.
He looked relieved and rested for a time. I just kept singing every song I knew. I sang
pipe loading songs, snagging songs, water drum songs, and peyote songs. I m not sure how

long he slept, but when he woke up he was speaking our language, asking for his brother, telling
me he was going to meet his sisters.
It was only then I recalled we werent alone. I looked up at my family to see mixed
emotions. My mother, looked relieved and proud, she thanked me for saying all she couldnt
bring herself to say. My sister looked crestfallen and confused, she didnt understand the words I
spoke, and she told me later how left out she felt. When I met my aunts eyes I truly felt hated.
She hated that I had those stories and memories with her fathers friends and family even
though she had never acknowledged her native roots. She hated that the family she refused to
claim for almost all of her life, was the only real family I had ever known. She asked me to
leave, I cried and begged my mom to let me stay, she was the eldest daughter, and she had the
right. My mother is so non-confrontational she asked me to comply.
I told my Grandfather Baamaa pii Gigawabamin Menawah meaning until later when I
see you again. There is no word for goodbye in our language. In the end, I left until after he
passed away as my aunt requested.
When he had walked on, I returned. My mother cleared the room of everyone but herself
and I to give me the time I needed. Together we prepared his cedar water for his final bath. I
prayed and sang our water song as I bathed him, knowing my uncles would have already started
the sacred fire to light his way. I prepared his body, dressing him in a ribbon shirt, jeans and
moccasins. I just stood there after wishing, for just one more day, one more moment, one more
smile, and one last memory.