Journeys

It's been a year since my brother died.  I think about him every day.  I miss him every day.  I wish I could tell him stuff, ask him questions.  I wish he could be here for so many experiences.  I think of him when I see his son, when I see trees; really, at all sorts of times.  Sometimes I expect it, sometimes it's out of the blue.

I do what I can to honor his memory.  Miss Mox gave me a garden tile that reminds me of him, and we put it in our garden.  I do what I can to preserve and respect the natural world, as he did.  We've planted some this year, and will more next year.  The school he taught at is planting a tree in his memory.  I help his son some; unfortunately I can't do much but send little gifts and visit when I can.  Someday I'll talk to him about his father, who has left a big hole in both of our lives.

Recently I took a trip to see friends and family, and commemorate the anniversary of his passing.  Saw my nephew, of course, who looks like my brother did when he was young; and my sister and her husband.  They're expecting soon so I'll have another nephew or niece, and they can play together.  Saw other people close to him- the line between friends and family blurs so often.  I scattered some of his ashes in a grove of trees near the school.  As I approached the school, a Pearl Jam song came on the radio: "come back, I miss you."  I'll take some of his ashes to our old house, and a park we went to as kids, before long.

He was into native American spirituality and culture, and had lots of native friends/family.  At his memorial service, some of them sang and drummed for him.  Then on this trip, we had a sweatlodge ceremony for him.  I had gone with him a couple of times, and I knew this was something he would want us to do.  If you're not familiar with a sweat, it is sort of like a sauna but longer.  Lasting 3-4 hours, with brief breaks, it is, well, hot.  Lava rocks are heated in a bonfire, then brought into a low hut and doused with water.  It is tough to get through, and you sweat a lot.  A LOT.  I am not particularly into native spirituality, but I respect their, and his, beliefs.  I wanted to do it again, for him.

At the start, after everyone enters the hut, the rocks are brought in.  Then the medicine man talks some, and sings, and then all sing and drum, calling the ancestors for guidance, and in my brother's case sending him on his way after the year of mourning.  Not that he's ever gone, of course, no matter how you look at it; he's just not as closely attached to this world.  In this case, the medicine man and his wife, who is called a wise woman (and they both truly are wise) were very close to my brother, and in fact called him their "other son" during the ceremony.

Some people have visions during a sweat; I didn't, though I did imagine I heard my brother singing briefly, and drumming.  It is pitch black in there, except for a few minutes of very soft light after the glowing rocks are brought in, so it is easy for your mind to wander in the dark, hot hut, with the drumming and singing going on.  I felt at some points that I knew the words; was it simply familiar-sounding syllables?  Ancient sense memory?  I'm not much into mysticism, but as a history buff I was very aware that I was taking part in something that had been going on in exactly the same way for hundreds, thousands, of years.  The same things said and done, 1000 years ago on the western plains.  10000 years ago on the steppes.

It was a good way to send him home.  For him this culture, and the wonders of nature, were his religion.  He was a good man, and though he will be sorely missed, I know he is here in a way.