Death

Death is palpable here on the reservation.

Some of the reasons are, I think, unique to the Rosebud. Rates of teenage suicide are astronomical, with another one occurring recently. Alcohol-related traffic accidents are marked by diamond-shaped signs on the highways. They read 'Think!" on one side, "Why die?" on the other. No matter which direction I drive leaving Mission, I see them everywhere. Sometimes, there's only a single sign; however, seeing clusters of two, three, or four is not uncommon.

Another reason is just the fact I live in a very small town. Families have lived on the reservation for generations. The same surnames come up in conversation, are heard in the daily birthday announcements on KINI, and appear in the weekly paper. A woman passed away from cancer earlier this week after being given three to five days to live after only receiving her original diagnosis a month ago. Her name has come up in numerous conversations this week, in situations ranging from a Super Bowl party to a legislative social gathering.

I attended a powwow last Friday night as part of Sinte Gleska University's Founders' Week activities. Before the wacipi, there was a Wiping of Tears ceremony, a way to remember those who passed away in the last year. Family members who had lost loved ones sat at the front of the gymnasium. Prayers in Lakota and English were said as sage was lit. The loved ones let the smoke envelop them, using their hands to guide it over themselves.

After the prayers, all in attendance were welcomed to the floor to offer condolences. Those who knew the departed and their family lingered, providing hugs and words of support. Others, like me, offered a simple handshake. All in all, it was an intense, emotional experience for everyone involved.

There was a horrible traffic accident just south of town Saturday afternoon. I knew something bad must had happened because the fire alarms here in town would not quit. The alarm mostly sounds for the daily noontime test. But even when the call is for an actual emergency, it's usually one and done. Not this time though. The ambulances headed south down 83 toward the state line.

Rumors starting flying almost immediately. I was at the grocery store a bit after the accident. The woman behind me at the checkout asked the cashier if she had heard about what had happened. She said, "There were bodies all over the road." Over the coming days, I would hear similar versions of the story (a car pulled out in front of a tractor trailer), but the details remained fuzzy.

And in what reflects, in my opinion, the frequency of and the numbness toward these types of wrecks, it will remain that way. The same four-paragraph Associated Press blurb that was reported in the state's largest newspapers on Monday, two days after the accident, is all that appeared in yesterday's Todd County Tribune. Short and spare, it provided the location, the names of the deceased (two locals and two from Minneapolis), and a statement that the truck driver had been admitted and released from the hospital. That's it.

For me, death's presence on the Rosebud is striking considering my overall happiness here and the genuinely good people I've met. Moving from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other is tough enough; the rapidity with which it occurs here is downright jarring.