What do those numbers mean?
They represent the:
3 Funerals for girls within
10 months who were only
14 years
13 years
18 years
3.10.14.13.18
My daughter and I have lived here 12 months exactly and I've attended 3 funerals for 3 incredibly beautiful, bright and lovely souls, 2 were suicides and 1 car accident (no seat belt).
What did these girls have in common?
Beauty
Laughter
Powerful Smile
Family
Siblings
Friends
Prayer
Future
Life
Love
We can't bring these beautiful living beings back to us, but we will eternally be surrounded by their soulful spirits.
Death is such a huge part of my community here in Pine Ridge. As I watched the final viewing of today's funeral that took place in our high school gymnasium because today's funeral is for a girl who just graduated high school three months ago in May '10, I wonder, if death were to overcome a community elsewhere in America, as it has here in Pine Ridge, would the community response be different?
Here, there is such an acceptance of death. As a community, why aren't we enraged that our youth are dying prematurely?
The two suicides were of girls 14 + 13.
People, at 14 + 13, these girls decided they would end their lives. End their lives. That is the most outrageous and scary option thinkable, yet to them, it was the only option.
...my heart is heavy with grief and sadness, but my mind is racing with questions about what can be done, by every single one of us living here, to protect and save our youth.
What can be done? Where do we begin?
Friday, August 27, 2010
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Guest Blog by Dennis Banks
In the early morning hours of Dec 7, 2009...
Deep in the woodlands of the Anishinabe Territories in northern Minnesota, off a rural road headed to Sugar Point on Leech Lake.
As I turned onto Hwy 73, the Sugar Point Rd, I started to get sleepy. Usually I just pull over and sleep a few minutes, then refreshed, I continue driving. But because I only had 8 miles to go I decided I could make it all the way home. A few miles later I knew sleep was overtaking me so I rolled the window down and felt the chilly 11 degree air hitting my face, I could make it now I thought.
As I struggled to keep myself awake, I thought of the drum presentation I had to do for Kevin Catch the Hawk at the tribal college, what routines should I teach them. Then I thought of my home and the preparations that needed to be made for Chika's welcoming; daughter Tosh coming home; and Minoh, my youngest, coming in from Kentucky for the holidays. These were the thoughts on my mind. I closed my eyes for 2-3 seconds, but quickly opened them wide, then closed them again.
On the third time closing my eyes, it felt so good to close them, I let them stay closed, then BAM! I woke up as the van hit an approach. Instantly, my back was hurting, then the van landed straight down on its nose. Another crash then I saw the tree sapplings moving down in front of the van, then everything stopped. I was hurting. Badly. I opened the door and stepped out of the van - "AAAHHHH!!!" I screamed, more pain. I collapsed as soon as my feet hit the ground. Desperately I stood up, took a few steps, stooping over every few feet to breathe, then finally falling to the ground where I crawled, dragging myself to the road. Once on the roadside, exhausted from pain and cold, I fell on top of a snow bank. I was suffering from a deep pain.
I lay for a couple of minutes then realized my cell phone was in my jacket pocket. First I dialed my daughter Darla, I left her a message where I was yelling that I was in an accident and described where I crashed. Then I went down the line calling 3 of my other children: Tiopa, Red Elk and Tosh - nobody answered their cell phones.
Finally I thought, "ohhhhh.... HELLO? I could call 9.1.1." so I did. I detailed my location to the Cass County Sheriff dispatch officer. At this point, I had been lying in the snow bank for about 40 minutes. I saw a car approaching, so I began to wave, wondering if they would see me, I was wearing black and would be not be so visible in the dark night.
As the car passed by me, I saw the brake lights come on, then the car turned around. It was my daughter Darla and her boyfriend George. Darla was yelling through her tears,"DAD! DAD! CAN YOU HEAR ME?!" All I could mutter was, "I'm cold Dar." She searched her car and my now-wrecked van to find all she could to cover me, then she lay next to me to transfer her body heat to my frozen bones. The ambulance showed up another 20 minutes later and took me to the Bemidji Hospital.
I was reminded through this experience that my children who live here and live far away, drop everything to be by my side in the hospital. Their responses and reactions are a reflection of that special love between a father and his children.
There is going to be a Chi Miigwetch/Wopila ceremony at my house on Sunday, December 27. It is appropriate to have a ceremony giving thanks to Creator for taking care of me through these last several months through my heart attack, diabetes and now car accident. I know the value of life and I know how precious it is. I owe my children the opportunity to visit and see me until I am called by the Creator from the oldest age possible. I accept the changing tide of time. I am a senior. I am an elder. And I respect the time I have left.
When Creator calls me to the Spirit World, I will be ready and I hope to crossover with grace, not by an act of foolishness, such as a car accident.
I wish to thank the 911 dispatcher at Cass County Sheriff's office, the First Responder, the Ambulance crew, Verizon Wireless (for having cellular service in a rural area). I thank my daughter Darla and her boyfriend George, who happened to be driving by, without whom I might have developed hypothermia.
For me, there are still more miles to walk, more ways to seek justice, and to continue our path for the 7th generations. That is our past. That is our future.
Deep in the woodlands of the Anishinabe Territories in northern Minnesota, off a rural road headed to Sugar Point on Leech Lake.
As I turned onto Hwy 73, the Sugar Point Rd, I started to get sleepy. Usually I just pull over and sleep a few minutes, then refreshed, I continue driving. But because I only had 8 miles to go I decided I could make it all the way home. A few miles later I knew sleep was overtaking me so I rolled the window down and felt the chilly 11 degree air hitting my face, I could make it now I thought.
As I struggled to keep myself awake, I thought of the drum presentation I had to do for Kevin Catch the Hawk at the tribal college, what routines should I teach them. Then I thought of my home and the preparations that needed to be made for Chika's welcoming; daughter Tosh coming home; and Minoh, my youngest, coming in from Kentucky for the holidays. These were the thoughts on my mind. I closed my eyes for 2-3 seconds, but quickly opened them wide, then closed them again.
On the third time closing my eyes, it felt so good to close them, I let them stay closed, then BAM! I woke up as the van hit an approach. Instantly, my back was hurting, then the van landed straight down on its nose. Another crash then I saw the tree sapplings moving down in front of the van, then everything stopped. I was hurting. Badly. I opened the door and stepped out of the van - "AAAHHHH!!!" I screamed, more pain. I collapsed as soon as my feet hit the ground. Desperately I stood up, took a few steps, stooping over every few feet to breathe, then finally falling to the ground where I crawled, dragging myself to the road. Once on the roadside, exhausted from pain and cold, I fell on top of a snow bank. I was suffering from a deep pain.
I lay for a couple of minutes then realized my cell phone was in my jacket pocket. First I dialed my daughter Darla, I left her a message where I was yelling that I was in an accident and described where I crashed. Then I went down the line calling 3 of my other children: Tiopa, Red Elk and Tosh - nobody answered their cell phones.
Finally I thought, "ohhhhh.... HELLO? I could call 9.1.1." so I did. I detailed my location to the Cass County Sheriff dispatch officer. At this point, I had been lying in the snow bank for about 40 minutes. I saw a car approaching, so I began to wave, wondering if they would see me, I was wearing black and would be not be so visible in the dark night.
As the car passed by me, I saw the brake lights come on, then the car turned around. It was my daughter Darla and her boyfriend George. Darla was yelling through her tears,"DAD! DAD! CAN YOU HEAR ME?!" All I could mutter was, "I'm cold Dar." She searched her car and my now-wrecked van to find all she could to cover me, then she lay next to me to transfer her body heat to my frozen bones. The ambulance showed up another 20 minutes later and took me to the Bemidji Hospital.
I was reminded through this experience that my children who live here and live far away, drop everything to be by my side in the hospital. Their responses and reactions are a reflection of that special love between a father and his children.
There is going to be a Chi Miigwetch/Wopila ceremony at my house on Sunday, December 27. It is appropriate to have a ceremony giving thanks to Creator for taking care of me through these last several months through my heart attack, diabetes and now car accident. I know the value of life and I know how precious it is. I owe my children the opportunity to visit and see me until I am called by the Creator from the oldest age possible. I accept the changing tide of time. I am a senior. I am an elder. And I respect the time I have left.
When Creator calls me to the Spirit World, I will be ready and I hope to crossover with grace, not by an act of foolishness, such as a car accident.
I wish to thank the 911 dispatcher at Cass County Sheriff's office, the First Responder, the Ambulance crew, Verizon Wireless (for having cellular service in a rural area). I thank my daughter Darla and her boyfriend George, who happened to be driving by, without whom I might have developed hypothermia.
For me, there are still more miles to walk, more ways to seek justice, and to continue our path for the 7th generations. That is our past. That is our future.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
To the Dearly Departed, May Peace Be With You
It is December 3, 2009 and another teen killed themselves today. I am so sad. He was a 14 year old boy who was a freshman at Pine Ridge High School. This is the 5th suicide of a student this school year. Not even a full two weeks ago, a 14 year old girl attending the high school where I work and who was also a freshman killed herself.
As I sat with this news, I pondered why I moved home, I was not sure I could remember. I kept thinking, “Have I made a mistake in bringing my child to this community where there is so much pain and suffering?” For very personal reasons to me and to Sierra, we made a choice to move home, to be closer to our culture, to be able to participate in our ceremonies, to be closer to relatives. We moved home for what seems like all the right reasons people move home. I know in my heart we made the right choice for us, but on days like today I cannot help but wonder and doubt myself.
And I was reminded by a loved one of what I told him just a few weeks ago even. I want to be a part of the solution, I want to be a person of action. No let me say this out loud. I AM PART OF THE SOLUTION. I AM A PERSON OF ACTION.
My daughter is safe. I have a very strong support network here that is full of love, laughter and spirituality. We pray together. We eat together. We work together. We play together. But still, who’s to say these last two teens didn’t come from the same environment? I don’t know. I do know that I will continue to live my life in a way that is spiritually based. I pray daily. I forgive myself and others daily. I ask for guidance daily. I love daily. These are the things I will keep doing, one day at a time. I will build on what I have and these things are in my heart.
I felt helpless today when our high school counselors banned together and went to the K-8 school Loneman to support the students there, today’s victim had just graduated 8th grade in May so many of those young students knew him. As I said goodbye to my colleagues, I realized I needed to get trained in how to handle suicides so I can be part of the support system that locks into place when one of our kids takes their own lives.
There is an organization here in Pine Ridge called the Sweet Grass Project. I don’t know much about them, except that they showed up at Red Cloud High School two weeks ago when our freshman girl took her life. According to the Lakota Times, “the project’s name 'Sweet Grass' came from Jess Taken Alive, Hunkpapa Lakota who said, “the answers for our youth are amongst us within our culture. Understanding the use of sweet grass with prayer alone could save a youth, by teaching them to acknowledge oneself and the world we are in through prayer." I am going to learn how to become a part of the team of dedicated individuals who are the first to show up in a community where suicide has impacted lives.
So with that, while we talk of our big dreams of my daughter attending Dartmouth and me obtaining a Master’s degree in Urban and Community Planning, another young life has been taken from our community. A young Lakota man is dead. This is the cold truth of our community tonight.
As a snow storm settles into our valley, sure to dump on us, I sit and ponder did I make the right choice? When I see my daughter and my mother laughing together, I know I did. When I hear my two nieces laughing hysterically at the dog, I know I did. When I see my daughter studying Lakota words for her Lakota language class, I know I did. When I see my stepdad walk up and hug my mom for no reason, I know I did. When I look into my own mother’s eyes and see unconditional love, I know I did. When I look into the mirror and see that woman who smiles back, I know I did.
To the Dearly Departed, Peace Be With You.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
A Parent's Lesson in Letting Her Child Grieve
My daughter lost a friend to suicide recently. We learned of her passing while we were still at school. Immediately upon hearing the news I went to my daughter and young cousin, (I am guardian to my cousin during the week so she can attend the same high school as my daughter) they are both freshmen, same as the student. At that point, I did not know if they knew the student or not.
As soon as I walked into library and saw the look on my daughter's face, I knew she knew. I gestured for her to come over. We walked across the school hallway to my office, I closed the door and she said, "Annie's dead" then buried her face into my shoulder and sobbed. Standing, I held her tight while her whole body cried. (name changed)
After some time, we went to find my young cousin who was friend's with Annie as well. I walked into the room where most of the freshmen were sitting. A young man asked, "Tashina, can we smudge?" He was referring to the sage and abalone shell that happened to be sitting on the table in the front of the class (I believe in my heart Great Spirit ensured it would be there). I quickly checked with our Dean of Students, who I know to be a Sundancer, he said, "Yes, they can smudge." The young man, who has been raised traditionally lit the sage and took it around the class. As he did so, students began sobbing into their arms as they sat in the desk. I sat at the front of the class and prayed for these students. My prayer was asking for strength, asking Tunkasila to give these students strength to get through the next several days.
My instincts told me to get my girls to the tree, our Sundance tree. I called our medicine man, told him of the news and said I'm bringing the girls to the tree. He said, "There is a sweat tonight. Come to sweat."
I let the girls stay in the classroom with their friends to cry together. A few elders came in to offer words of comfort to the girls and to sit with them.
My role quickly became apparent to me. I was their support. I was to provide a safe space for my girls to grieve, to be with each other, to be with their friends. My role was to support them but be acutely aware of their every move and emotion. I stood close by, I sat nearby, I was present in every way to her and my young cousin.
As my step-father and I drove them to the Tree, my step-father had the girls make 4 red tobacco ties each. He told them to pray into each one, then tie them. He said, "Pray for your friend who passed, pray for her family, pray she makes her journey to the Spirit World."
We went straight to our medicine man's home where he spoke to the girls about their friend's spirit, to pray for her spirit because she is here with us for four days, that is our belief. After four days, her spirit will crossover to the Spirit World.
In the dark night and under a new moon sky full of stars, we walked into the circle towards the Tree. This place is home for my spirit, I've prayed here for years. We are safe here. With the light from the vehicle lighting our path, we walked to the center of the sacred circle to gather around the beautiful source of strength for so many, our Sundance tree. We leaned into the tree and prayed. My heart was open as I asked for the strength to be strong for my girls. I asked for guidance and for the knowledge to know when to listen and when to speak. I prayed for Annie's spirit to find peace, to find her ancestors and to find eternal happiness with Tunkasila.
The next few days were incredibly difficult for the girls, lots of internal guilt, lots of questions why, what could have been done differently? The girls were going through the most difficult time of their lives up to this point. I made sure they had food, treats, space. I wanted to be comfort and a source of stability. Sometimes they didn't know what to do, so they did as I did and I kept moving forward with our daily routines.
As a parent, I reflect on this tragedy:
I needed to find a way to be present for my child but to allow her the space to grieve, to cry, to find it in herself to reach out to her friends when she needed a hug, to find it in herself to offer hugs when one is needed. I watched her find strength in herself when there seemed to be none. I saw her hold her friends as they cried, I saw her friends hold her as she cried.
My daughter experienced a loss too unbearable for even the strongest person, but she found solace and comfort in the circle of friends and family that formed a locked-arm hug around her and the youth of this community. Within the arms of that locked-arm hug, she could grieve, cry, forgive, laugh, remember and say goodbye.
Grief. How we grieve is a very personal experience, we are all different. No matter the process, we do move forward and life does go on for each of us. What we learn and take with us on our journey is unique. Will we cry everytime we remember the dearly departed? Will we smile when we think of the dearly departed? And will we forever be more aware of the signs of suicide?
Today, my daughter's light-hearted laughter is back and life is beginning to move forward with this tragic experience behind her. And as a parent, the sound of her laughter and the twinkle in her eyes are what gives me faith, that through her darkest hour, she made it through. This tragedy was a time that I needed to let her discover the strong young woman who knows how to pray, how to cry, how to grieve, how to keep putting one foot in front of the other in difficult times, how to be strength to others so she can find strength in herself and most importantly how to laugh again.
As soon as I walked into library and saw the look on my daughter's face, I knew she knew. I gestured for her to come over. We walked across the school hallway to my office, I closed the door and she said, "Annie's dead" then buried her face into my shoulder and sobbed. Standing, I held her tight while her whole body cried. (name changed)
After some time, we went to find my young cousin who was friend's with Annie as well. I walked into the room where most of the freshmen were sitting. A young man asked, "Tashina, can we smudge?" He was referring to the sage and abalone shell that happened to be sitting on the table in the front of the class (I believe in my heart Great Spirit ensured it would be there). I quickly checked with our Dean of Students, who I know to be a Sundancer, he said, "Yes, they can smudge." The young man, who has been raised traditionally lit the sage and took it around the class. As he did so, students began sobbing into their arms as they sat in the desk. I sat at the front of the class and prayed for these students. My prayer was asking for strength, asking Tunkasila to give these students strength to get through the next several days.
My instincts told me to get my girls to the tree, our Sundance tree. I called our medicine man, told him of the news and said I'm bringing the girls to the tree. He said, "There is a sweat tonight. Come to sweat."
I let the girls stay in the classroom with their friends to cry together. A few elders came in to offer words of comfort to the girls and to sit with them.
My role quickly became apparent to me. I was their support. I was to provide a safe space for my girls to grieve, to be with each other, to be with their friends. My role was to support them but be acutely aware of their every move and emotion. I stood close by, I sat nearby, I was present in every way to her and my young cousin.
As my step-father and I drove them to the Tree, my step-father had the girls make 4 red tobacco ties each. He told them to pray into each one, then tie them. He said, "Pray for your friend who passed, pray for her family, pray she makes her journey to the Spirit World."
We went straight to our medicine man's home where he spoke to the girls about their friend's spirit, to pray for her spirit because she is here with us for four days, that is our belief. After four days, her spirit will crossover to the Spirit World.
In the dark night and under a new moon sky full of stars, we walked into the circle towards the Tree. This place is home for my spirit, I've prayed here for years. We are safe here. With the light from the vehicle lighting our path, we walked to the center of the sacred circle to gather around the beautiful source of strength for so many, our Sundance tree. We leaned into the tree and prayed. My heart was open as I asked for the strength to be strong for my girls. I asked for guidance and for the knowledge to know when to listen and when to speak. I prayed for Annie's spirit to find peace, to find her ancestors and to find eternal happiness with Tunkasila.
The next few days were incredibly difficult for the girls, lots of internal guilt, lots of questions why, what could have been done differently? The girls were going through the most difficult time of their lives up to this point. I made sure they had food, treats, space. I wanted to be comfort and a source of stability. Sometimes they didn't know what to do, so they did as I did and I kept moving forward with our daily routines.
As a parent, I reflect on this tragedy:
I needed to find a way to be present for my child but to allow her the space to grieve, to cry, to find it in herself to reach out to her friends when she needed a hug, to find it in herself to offer hugs when one is needed. I watched her find strength in herself when there seemed to be none. I saw her hold her friends as they cried, I saw her friends hold her as she cried.
My daughter experienced a loss too unbearable for even the strongest person, but she found solace and comfort in the circle of friends and family that formed a locked-arm hug around her and the youth of this community. Within the arms of that locked-arm hug, she could grieve, cry, forgive, laugh, remember and say goodbye.
Grief. How we grieve is a very personal experience, we are all different. No matter the process, we do move forward and life does go on for each of us. What we learn and take with us on our journey is unique. Will we cry everytime we remember the dearly departed? Will we smile when we think of the dearly departed? And will we forever be more aware of the signs of suicide?
Today, my daughter's light-hearted laughter is back and life is beginning to move forward with this tragic experience behind her. And as a parent, the sound of her laughter and the twinkle in her eyes are what gives me faith, that through her darkest hour, she made it through. This tragedy was a time that I needed to let her discover the strong young woman who knows how to pray, how to cry, how to grieve, how to keep putting one foot in front of the other in difficult times, how to be strength to others so she can find strength in herself and most importantly how to laugh again.
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