Another funeral
04/12/12 05:28
The high yesterday was around 65 degrees. There is little snow other than the machine-made snow at the ski resorts in the hills. It is hard to believe that it is December. The main clue to the season is that our shadows are still long at noontime. The sun has shifted farther to the south and it doesn’t rise quite as high in the sky as is the case in the summertime. But our weather remains mild.
There are some advantages to the gentle winter. Yesterday we were able to attend a funeral that was nearly 300 miles away. There have been plenty of winter days in the past when we would have talked ourselves out of that much driving. As we stood on the windy hill for the committal, I know that there were others who were thinking what I was thinking: “It sure is a good thing it isn’t snowing.”
There were other thoughts as well. We were in a tiny cemetery on a hill above Ponca Creek. Right on the Nebraska line between St. Charles, SD and Napier, NE, Ponca Creek drains the small section of land between the Missouri River to the North and the Niobrara to the south. Keya Paha creek flows into the Niobrara, but little Ponca Creek keeps its own course until emptying into the Missouri a bit before the Niobrara flows into the reservoir behind Gaviins Point Dam.
It is empty country. There are no homes at the old Ponca Creek townsite. The only buildings remaining are the Episocpal Church and the old Congregational Church and fellowship hall. The Episcopal Church still has occasional services. The Congregational Church has moved to a newer building alongside the highway between St. Charles and Bonesteel.
For an isolated rural cemetery, there are far too many fresh graves. This community has seen too many deaths. The family with whom we mourned yesterday has gathered for three funerals in the past year. Or friend Rev. Norman Blue Coat, one of the officiants at yesterday’s funeral, will lead three funerals this week. Last week he presided over the funeral of a 12-year-old boy who died by suicide. The pall of grief hangs heavily over Indian country.
While the population of natives in our region is gradually increasing, there are plenty of deaths that can be labeled premature due to the prevalence of a variety of chronic diseases, many of which are not treated as effectively as they might be. For most of enrolled tribal members, health care is a treaty right, promised by representatives of the United States Government in the treaties that resulted in the tribes having far less land and, for the most part being relegated to reservations. The elders who negotiated the treaties were concerned that their people might be plagued by lack of food and illness if they were crammed into the reservations. They were guaranteed that these would not be problems – that the government would provide food and medicine. The promise has been imperfectly kept over the years.
For most of our neighbors who live on reservations health care involves a lot of travel. There are some medical services available from reservation clinics. Other medical services are provided in hospitals in Rapid City, Sioux Falls and other urban locations. It is not at all uncommon for me to visit people in the hospital who are 200 or more miles from home. Family members who provide transportation and who come to visit their loved ones face the expense of travel and obtaining food and lodging in distant cities. What is often labeled as “free” by outsiders doesn’t seem free at all to those who live with the inefficiencies and expenses of the Indian Health Services System. The price paid in historic reduction of lands as well as the price paid in contemporary inconvenience is high.
Judith, whose funeral we attended yesterday, had been ill for a long time. She spent part of the last months in Milwaukee awaiting a liver transplant that didn’t occur. Her general health could not be stabilized enough for her to undergo the surgery. She struggled to be able to leaver Milwaukee to come home to South Dakota. When she finally got back to South Dakota, she lived out the end of her life in a hospital in Sioux Falls, 150 miles from home. That meant a 300-mile round trip drive for every relative who came to visit her in the hospital, including her aging parents who were already weighed down by grief and hard work and long lives. It was a 300 –mile round trip for her twin sister who was struggling to keep up with work.
It is a typical story in our country.
There was a steady stream of people who visited during the wake and the hall was filled for the funeral. The tributes were heartfelt. The expressions of support for the family were genuine. Life goes on. The children who were playing on the floor during the dinner after the committal brought smiles to faces that had so recently been filled with tears. The good food and good fellowship warmed bodies and nourished souls.
It was a hard day, but it was a good day.
I attend a lot of funerals. I see a lot of families in their times of grief. I believe that one of the strengths of our faith is that we were founded in the events surrounding the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus. The story of our people is forged in grief and loss. And we are born of the conviction that death is not the end. “We are certain that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Furthermore, we practice the cycles of grief and loss and recovery each year with our six-week journey into the depths of Lent in preparation for the celebration of Easter.
We know that death is not the end. It is a truth that fits naturally with the experiences of Indigenous Americans. In battle after battle, through government programs and policies, there were serious attempts to destroy American Indians. Yet they survived. And they continue to survive.
The story is not over. There is more work yet to be done. There are more losses yet to be endured. There is more hope yet to be born. The deepest joy comes when we share the journey with each other.