Memorial Dinner

Friends, Family and Happy Talk

Who would have guessed how healing a day for a memorial of my Brother Mike would have turned out just to be that. A time for healing, sharing, laughter and a will to throw off the sorrow and pick up the pieces so that we can continue with our duties and obligations just as he would have wanted us to do.

I’m recording some of the happy talk because, when all is said and done, these were the most precious moments for me.

My brother drove in from California with his son, who immediately went to the phone to tell his grandmother they had arrived. I didn’t hear her ask how they traveled, but I heard him answer.

"Yeah, Gramma we flew all right, but without wings." I knew that was true because it was just shortly before when they had called from Clinton, Oklahoma, which is approximately 200 miles from here.

Ten o’clock on that morning for the memorial was upon me and I was beginning to have some real anxiety, because I wasn't ready and the hour was soon to be upon me. I think I even said a quiet prayer, "Lord let me be able to carry this off!"

No sooner than a thought can whip across a quantum leap there appeared in my drive way,  my nephew.

"Sure Auntie, I’ll help you. You know that." His words like the fragrance of the flowers on the front lawn and they cleared away my nervousness.

At approximately eleven o’clock my brother’s dearest friend and her sister walked through the door.

"How can we help." And those were the happiest words I had heard other than my nephews."

While they busily went to making the salad, putting on tableclothes, setting the table another niece walked into my kitchen.

"Tell me what to do?" She said, but already was at the sink cleaning up some of the dishes there.

My sister walked in next and went directly to the cakes she had made earlier. She took the frosting setting there and was generously spreading it on them.

Another of Mike’s friends came in with his arms full of ice, and various dishes. His western look with sharp, ironed jeans and shirt along with a summer western hat brought me such pleasure, since my own brothers,  who would have dressed the same,,  are no longer with us.

The blood descendant of a Kaw chief lent such an elegance to our group and spoke with such soothing words we all were given a sweet relief from the earlier tears shed. He was a Chiloccoan and we have that connection anyway, too.

Of course, Garland Kent, Mike’s best friend was on hand with large café sized pots of food along with baskets of fry bread. The words he spoke touched our hearts as he told how he went to sit alone at the cemetery with Mike. Only the closest loved ones do this.

To look out across my lawn and see so many lounging in the chairs they brought, quietly eating in small groups on rented tables placed under shade trees somehow or another gave me peace.

Four baskets of gifts were carried by Betty Buffalo Head and her Sister Joyce, my sister, Esther and by Connie Cole, my niece. The receivers were those, who are not of our family.

The next day I had numbers of calls from folks to tell me they had such a good day, and that was special, too.