Twelve Months (21 page)

She looked into my eyes and without hesitation said, “That your wish will come true.”

I almost chuckled until I saw she was serious. We sat there holding hands for a long time – or at least a long time for us.

Finally, she asked, “Do you doubt that God will smile at you?”

“I've done some things in my life I'm not proud of,” I admitted.

“But God forgives everything, right?”

“I guess that depends on which path you take in life.”

She shrugged. “But how can there be a wrong path…as long as you're trying to get home to Him?”

I looked at her, but had no answer.
Such wisdom for a little girl…

She yawned twice and I summoned the nurse to help her back to her room.

“Sweet dreams,” she told me, as I left for the night.

“Sweet dreams, beautiful. I'll see you tomorrow,” I said and kissed her tiny forehead. I'll never forget the miracle in her smile.

In all my fifty-seven years, Sophia's funeral was the cruelest experience I'd ever endured – and from the pain in Bella's eyes, she clearly felt the same.

For obvious reasons, Bella and I began attending church on a weekly basis again. Although the services were very grand, I had the real sense – an intuitive knowing, maybe – that God was not only present at the altar or within the pews. Like the air we breathe, God dwelled within me, outside of me, all around me. I found God's love in nature, my grandchildren's laughter, and the sound of crashing waves near Flo's Clam Shack.
God is the sum of ALL things and there is nowhere and in nothing that His love cannot be found,
I decided.

I sat wide-eyed in bed one night, as I had for a week, wrestling with a relentless affliction called insomnia. After staring at Bella for a long while and then losing another round with the toilet, I tried to work on the puzzle, but found it hard to concentrate. Though I considered the sleeplessness a curse, in many respects it was about to serve as a great blessing. While the rest of the world slumbered away, I was afforded the precious time to search my soul and question the more important things in life; issues that most daylight hours were too busy to consider. And when I prayed and asked God to come into my life to help me, I was starting to realize that God was closer than ever.

Looking back on my life and the brief future ahead of me, I also realized there could only be two roads to take: The first, for which I saw no end, was that of bitterness, sorrow and misery. The second, for which I was going to pursue with each remaining breath, was that of compassion, hope and the determination to make a positive impact upon others. Regardless of the circumstances or my withering body, I stood at the same crossroad as every other human being. This truth was humbling.

Compared to some, I knew I had nothing to complain about – like that story of an elderly man who lost his daughter, son-in-law and three grandchildren in a fatal car crash. When asked how he planned to go on, the old-timer simply replied, “God knows what He's doing. It's a matter of faith.”

Faith
–
somehow, the answers to life always come back to faith
. My mind flashed to my mother. “People speak of blind faith,” she'd say, “but the heart is not blind. Those people are misguided and rely on senses that can fail them at any time. Not me. I believe it is the heart that sees. It is the heart that knows. In my life, things have happened for which there were no logical explanations. In time, as events from the past were brought into the light, I understood and thought,
Now I see!
But again, it was not with my eyes. Everything happens for a reason. I did my best with the purest of intentions each and every day. The rest was up to God – for His will was always stronger than my own. Just like an innocent child believes in Santa Claus, I know my Lord is always with me. As the years have rolled past, it's been harder for me to believe in the things I can see with my eyes than the things that can only be seen with my heart. Every day I awake, I've been truly blessed. All I have to do is have faith.”

Those simple words moved me like no others and I remembered feeling sorry for others who did not have the benefit of a mother's gentle wisdom. On that very day, I adopted my mom's faith. I also hoped I'd be able to pass it on someday.

Faith
– I pondered my current place in the world and wondered where my faith stood. I'd found God after Vietnam and until I found Him, I couldn't find myself. Since then, I'd lived the American Dream. I'd been blessed with a wonderful wife, a beautiful daughter and two healthy grandkids…not to mention the two cars, the house and a comfortable salary.

I decided that through the years of difficult trials and harsh experiences, my mother's hopeful beliefs had evolved. Fortunately, our shared faith had not been lost but strengthened. With nothing left to lose, I decided to share all that had been revealed to me. I wanted to shed light on my deepest beliefs. A quiet, familiar voice in my heart was telling me that the chance was
Now!
I eased out of bed and grabbed a pen and pad of white lined paper. I absolutely needed to capture all that filled my heart and mind, and I needed to do it fast. Thanks to my cursed insomnia, I purged my soul and wrote:

I put down the pen and read over my work. A smile spread across my tired, jaundiced face. I picked up the pen and finished:

With a single yawn, I felt an enormous weight lift from me and fly away. I'd finally gotten it out. Within seconds, I was peacefully snoring alongside my wife.

For a few mind-numbing weeks, I contemplated my path to heaven when I saw a road sign, reading: “Honoring Elders – Pow Wow this weekend! Inter-tribal Indian Council hosted by the Massasoit and Wampanoag Tribes.” I wondered if there were any answers waiting for me there. “Wanna bring the kids?” I asked Bella.

She nodded. “Looks like fun.”

Since I'd never been, I called Russell, an old friend, and asked, “Is there anything the grandkids and I need to know before we go to this weekend's Pow Wow?”

“When at a Pow Wow, do as the natives do,” Russell said. For the next half-hour, he detailed the proper etiquette for visitors and newcomers. “Bring your lawn chairs. Don't sit on the benches around the arena; they're reserved for the dancers only. And be sure to donate some money to the drum when they lay a blanket on the ground. If you don't want to dance, ask one of the dancers to place the money on the drum for you.”

“Okay,” I said, baffled.

“The drum has probably traveled a long way,” he explained, “and donations help with expenses. Oh yeah, and always stand during special songs: Grand Entry, Flag Songs, Veteran Songs.”

“Wow,” I said, “there's a lot to it, huh?”

“Make sure you remove your hat, too. And listen to the emcee. He'll tell you everything you need to know,” he added.

“Great, Russell. Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No problem, Don. Just make sure the kids realize that this is a religious ceremony. They should extend the same respect that they would in church.”

“Like they have a choice,” I said.

That night, on bended knees, I prayed,
God, we both know I'm at the end, but I sense that this experience is one I should share with the kids before I go. Please give me the strength tomorrow
.

As we pulled up to the Pow Wow, I gazed at an open field encircled with tents and RVs. We'd made it.
God is good!
I thought. There were license plates from across the country, most vehicles flying a flag that represented either the Navajo, Massasoit, Wampanoag, Narragansett, Pequot, Cheyenne, Dakota, Comanche, or Sioux nations. I couldn't wait to meet the faces behind the flags.

At first, it appeared to be a flea market, but there was so much more concealed within the outer circle. “This place is awesome,” Pudge yelled.

“It sure is,” I told him, “but let's make sure we're on our best behavior, okay?”

“Okay, Poppa,” he and his sister both promised.

We strolled the fairway and spent time in each tent, browsing the wares: bear oil, deer legs, rabbit's feet, dancing sticks and war clubs had us chattering among ourselves. There were leather dresses and fringed handbags, each decorated in bright geometric patterns and designs. To Madison's delight, they sold handmade dolls. For Pudge, there were toy bow and arrow sets. Fancy headdresses, dripping with feathers, were more expensive than the jewelry made of topaz and quartz. Necklaces, bracelets and earrings forged from silver and copper caused Bella to stop and linger. For the little kids, they carried wooden flutes and rawhide drums. For the bigger folks, there were medicine bags, animal pelts and incense.

As we shopped, we spent time talking with the Native American vendors. For me, it was in their stories of history and tradition that the real value could be found. A middle-aged Narragansett Indian explained, “Pow Wows have always been used to drive away sickness, ensure success in battle, interpret dreams or help tribes in other ways. They have become social gatherings for our people to pray, sing, dance, trade and feast together. I hope you enjoy yourselves today.”

I promised we would, thinking,
Drive away sic
k
ness, huh?
The pain in my swollen abdomen throbbed worse than ever.
A little late for that.

He looked at the kids. “Just remember not to touch the dancers' clothing, or what we call regalia. Much of what is worn is sacred and cannot be replaced.”

The kids also promised.

By the end of our second pass through the outer circle, I'd learned that historically, the Native American people only took what they could use from the land. They warred for the purpose of survival, often times to protect hunting grounds. They were a tolerant, accepting people who believed the spirits of all things surrounded them. And they loved to come together and celebrate life.

“We'll come back and bargain for what we want later,” I told the kids. “Let's go find a good spot to watch. The Pow Wow's about to start.”

Inside the circle of traders' booths was another circle called the arena; the blessed circle where the emcee hosted the Pow Wow, the dancers danced and the drum made its magic. As a show of respect, the drum – the heartbeat of the people – was placed in the center of the arena under an arbor made of four upright posts with tree branches and leaves lashed on the top to form a roof, protecting it from the sun. The drum included the instrument – a wooden shell covered in rawhide – as well as its singers. There were eight men seated around the drum, wielding wooden sticks with padded leather handles. It was these men who sang all the songs.

The emcee's table was also at center point in the arena. Princesses from visiting tribes were seated by the emcee's table, while rows of benches circled the east opening of the arena. This was for the dancers only, folks who reserved their spots with personal Pendleton blankets; an expensive symbol of affluence. Each dancer's family sat behind them in lawn chairs.

I directed the kids to the west side of the circle, so that we could see everything head on. Once we set up our fold-out chairs, I was never so happy in all my life to take a seat.

Within minutes, the Grand Entry commenced and dancers entered the arena to pay their respects to our Creator. The center was a spiritual place blessed by a medicine man. It smoked with a sacred fire that burned brightly.

The eight men beneath the arbor began pounding the drum, while the head singer let out a wail in a haunting voice that prompted the Wolf Tail Singers to echo him. The color guard, made up of veterans, led the procession carrying the American flag, an eagle flag, the state flag, as well as the flags of every Native American nation represented. All who entered the circle did so from the east and traveled in the direction of the sun.