needless things

When I think of all the cousins that have died, just in the last decade and a half . . . I cannot believe how many we have lost--Bird, Nancy, Jimmy, Hap, Russ, Charlie and Shiloh.
Of all these, only Russ and Hap were older than I was, all the others were younger. They all had such promise, so much to give. They were the best and the brightest of my generation.
Bird died while a passenger in a car driven by a drunk driver in Albuquerque, New Mexico, partying with friends at Gathering of Nations Pow Wow. He was only seventeen-years-old.
His sister, Nancy, was a passenger in a vehicle that was struck by a drunk driver. The driver had his headlights off to evade police on the rez in northern Wisconsin. She was twenty-years old.
Jimmy was again a passenger, the driver was just reckless--perhaps had been drinking, when the vehicle slammed into a utility pole just south of Detroit. He had just turned sixteen.
Hap, who was a police officer, lost control of his car, careening down a steep embankment in Northern Ontario. He was in his late thirties and had two children.
Russ, a probation agent for the Dept. of Justice, jumped off a bridge in mid-Michigan, distraught over his wife’s supposed affair and the direction of his life. His three children went to live with his ex-wife. Russ was just shy of forty.
His son Charlie followed in his footsteps, hanging himself in the family garage a couple years later in suburban Detroit, while still a senior in high school. His grandmother saw the death of her husband (a police officer killed in the line of duty), her son, and her grandson.
Now Shiloh, felled by cancer, leaving two young children behind. Shiloh’s mom raised her alone after Shiloh’s dad died of a brain aneurysm at the age of thirty. Now Shiloh’s mom will raise her grandchildren.
Shiloh’s death is hitting me the hardest of all of them. The way she approached her life, the way she carried herself, even after the latest onset of cancer, was an inspiration to all of us. She never complained or was upset at the hand that life had dealt her. Shiloh smiled and went about living her life to the fullest. She was always smiling, always joking, always there to lift someone’s spirit with a kind word or a timely teasing.
Why her? Why not me or someone else?
Why always those that have so much to offer?
Bird was an exceptional singer, dancer, and a natural leader. He started the Pipestone drum when all of those guys were still in grade school.
Nancy was also a talented dancer and was a strong woman in a family and community dominated by men.
Hap was one of the first Native police officers to join the ranks of the Ontario Provincial Police (akin to a state trooper in the U.S.). He was also an excellent hockey player who played for the legendary (at least on reserves across Ontario) Wiky T-Birds.
Jimmy was one of the best fancy feather dancers any of us had ever seen. He was also the most modest, nicest young men any of us knew.
Russ was the first college graduate in our family. He worked for the Dept. of Justice in Detroit for several years before transferring upstate to give his children a better home.
Charlie had the lion’s share of looks and smarts from both his parent’s families, but was never able to shake the tragedy of his father’s suicide.
Shiloh—had gone back to school to earn her nursing degree. Scheduling radiation treatments around her classes, her children’s activities and helping to care for her eighty-six year-old grandfather. Her husband had abandoned her and the children about three years ago, so she was trying to raise her children on her own.
I never ever remember her saying anything bad about anybody. Ever. She had more than her fair share of crappy people in her life, but never wished anybody any ill will. She could go into any situation, any room and befriend someone. It did not matter to her if they were Native or non-Native, Canadian or American, whatever—and anyone who took the time to speak with her would soon realize that this person was “beautiful on the outside and inside,” as my daughter says.
So what is wrong with me? What of my minor complaints? What of my life? Why do I take it for granted? Why can’t I see the beauty right before my eyes and enjoy every moment? Why does it take the loss of someone like Shiloh to shake my foundations?
And why am I still moping around, doing nothing useful and helpful to anyone else?
I have a life, which I simply waste away. The little everyday things are all disorganized and in disarray. Bills go unpaid, creditors calling me, mailing me, etc . . . but all these things should have been, could have been dealt with previously. I am reaping what I have sown, which is chaos.
But I hate my life, hate the everyday. And I feel guilty for living when all these others have passed on. Why do I deserve to live? I am not suicidal or anything, but just having extreme survivor’s guilt.
And what of life after death? As a Buddhist, I view this a certain way, but my Native teachings point to something else. And the Christians and everyone else has their own explanation. What am I to believe? What do I believe?
I have hit bottom. I believe nothing. Am totally empty. I will never see Shiloh again. She is gone. Fair is not in this equation at all, in this thing called life. So why do I worry and obsess about stupid needless things? Why!?
I am sorry, sorry for all of this. Sorry to be letting everyone down right now. I want to believe, but just can't believe in anything right now.