Barbara WilkesDespite the fact we had just met, I relayed Elena’s story. When I fin-
ished speaking, Gloria shared her own story, giving the details about
how she had lost her eldest son in a motor vehicle accident on Easter
Sunday. I commented on the coincidence that we had had similar ex-
periences on Easter Sunday. Gloria emphatically replied, “There are
no coincidences. Everything happens for a reason.” By way of proof,
she cited the fact that we had both been “tuned in to each other” be-
fore we had known we shared similar experiences, and that each of us
had been so accurate in our perceptions of the other. Gloria explained
that, “In the Blackfoot way,” (she is a member of the Blood Tribe) our
meeting had been “intended.” We had both been “brought” or “led”
to the same place, and at the same time, so that we would meet. Glo-
ria believed we were intended to share our mutual grief and build a
strong friendship.
As we made our way up the mountain, Gloria spoke at some length
about the Sundance, a ceremony I knew relatively little about. She in-
dicated she was engaged in “preparations” to dance at the Eagle Soci-
ety Sundance in mid-June. This intertribal Sundance society was not
affiliated with a particular band or tribe and was not drawn from a
single cultural tradition. Several times, she stressed that she was go-
ing to dance for her son. I noted she did not mention him by name
but consistently referred to him as “my boy.” When I inquired, she
indicated it was not proper, in “her way,” to speak the name of a de-
ceased until the first anniversary of the death. At that time, she would
sponsor a “give-away” and distribute all his belongings to his fam-
ily and friends. Anything left over, she would burn, and the smoke
would release him back to the Creator. In so doing, she explained,
she would let him go. Only then would it be acceptable to speak his
name. Eventually, we reached the promontory where the group had
stopped to rest and eat lunch. We located a nice spot quite close to the
edge where we sat by ourselves. Suggesting that we were, perhaps, too
close to the edge, Gloria reassured me: “It’s ok. This is a holy place.
Nothing will happen here.”
As we sat, a golden eagle swooped up the side of the ridge, startling
us both. Neither of us had seen or heard him coming. We watched
intently as he circled over our heads several times and, then, just as