Article  Velma's Resting Place September 18, 2008     Wah-Kahn-Dah, Ki-He-Kah, my Osage grandmother must have stood beside me this day of Mother’s funeral.  For the four preceding days, diabetes, high blood pressure and stomach problems kept me within the quiet surroundings of my home.  The day of the funeral was beautiful.  No wind, warm temperatures but not overly so, along with my feeling a bit better made me need to call my brother in the hospital for advice.  My beloved brother and I are only two years apart. He and I were raised by my Father’s insistence to stay true to our Christian teachings.  My brother understood.     “Go to the grave side,” he told me in his raspy whisper of a voice. “Go, you are needed there.”  This is what I did.     The Ponca Cemetery is one of the most beautiful sites around, in spite of what has been done to pollute the area.  The view from that hill overlooking the Arkansas River is different on every occasion.  Today it was a place where soft fluffy clouds floated across blue, quiet skies. The summer foliage did block the view of the river but in my mind I could see the sandbar and waters running through the trees. Even the weeds that were growing up in the adjoining field were of sunflowers and they were all in bloom.     In spite of the customary efforts of the various religions made to bring tears, I was able to maintain my stoic position just as my grandmother taught me,  when I was only a girl.  It is a bit of a secret trick and I must share it with you one day. This is why I refer to my Osage, grandmother whose name meant, Woman Chief and which is exactly what my Ponca grandmother taught me.     “The women must mourn vocally.  It is our way.  However, one of us must remain quiet with no weeping or crying out loud,” Gramma said to me in no uncertain terms.       “Don’t be screaming around like everyone else.  She then taught me how not to give in to tears.  The only time I almost gave in to weeping was when the “lu-lu” or war cry was given.  That alone is enough to shatter one’s concentration and tears did jump to my eyes just for a second, but I was able to maintain loyalty to my control.  What an honor to my Mother to have that cry of victory sounded. Without a doubt, she was a warrior women who fought so valiantly for the people she loved so dearly.     My understanding of the reason for this was presented to me,  as weeping nieces, granddaughters, children, all passed by me.  My mind was not muddled from emotions and I was able to encourage each one of them according to their individual needs. Their face to lift away from the dullness of grief  was outstanding and I was rewarded to see them brighten with a new look of being able to endure their pain.     Protocol was broken for a few sentences when I spoke after asking to be excused for speaking while my brothers were present.     “Thank you for coming. Thank you so much.  You know my Mother loved each  one of you.  She loved you dearly and now it is her spirit that lives on within each one of you.” While trying to speak clearly and to enunciate, my reward was the look of understanding and acceptance on the faces of those to whom I spoke.       My brother was right.  I was needed. These people had lost a leader and they were sad and bereaved.  With just those few words I saw their countenances sparkle with hope and I’m thankful.  It was what Mother would have approved.     Sometimes later, I will go to a quiet place as my Grandmother taught me to do, and  weep there.  Maybe  to the old stone wall Dad built deep in the heart of the Osage hills. http://stonescry.tripod.com/ranch09StoneWall.html Added By DonnaFlood Email rlfflood@cableone.net Category News Author Donna Flood Add To Favorites Print This Article Email Article To A Friend Post Comments   Rate This Article (1) 1 - Poor2345 - Good678910 - Excellent Added On Fri Sep 19th,2008     Relevant Images  No images have been Uploaded