In February we focus on women’s hearts. But this month isn’t just for me, it’s for my Daddy too.
15 years ago I was in college in Ladysmith WI, I called home to talk to my Dad. My sister answered, she said “he’s sleeping.” I pleaded with her to wake him up so I could talk to him. She was persistent and uttered “Dad isn’t here, he’s in the hospital.” My heart sank and I hung up.
When I finally go through to my mom she told me it didn’t look good. His heart was sick. I took to my knees and prayed with every fiber I had. I asked God to spare my father’s life. At 19 I couldn’t imagine a world without my father. I needed him at my side to tell me that this to shall pass. My rock was fading and all we could do was fucking pray and wait.
When my dad arrived at Mayo he had a survival score of “zero.” His heart was beating so fast it just fluttered in his chest. Congestive Heart Failure and aortic fibrillation was to blame. The doctors prepared my Mama for the worst. She lied like all mothers do and told us he was going to be alright. I was a mess and couldn’t think straight in class. My body was in Wisconsin but my heart was in Minnesota.
Two weeks later that zero walked out of the front doors of Saint Mary’s and he never looked back. Today February marks his 15th survuvior anniversary. With every beat of his heart he steals time from the sandman and keeps death at bay. We know each day isn’t spoken for and that only the good lord knows if we will see the next sunrise. He lives with faith in his heart and appreciates every second of his borrowed time.
Borrowed years are a gift. My father has lived to see his daughter graduate from college, he was the proudest father in the arena. He walked his daughters down the isle and held me as I cried into his should on the day I found out my son had died. He’s picked up the pieces after our divorces and was the glue that our hearts needed. He stood by my side as I fought for my life and put his arm around me when we found out that I inherited his heart. I’ve watched him hold his second and third born grandchild for the very first time while morning his first. He is the ultimate road trip companion and dinner buddy. As long as a ride is involved he’s game.
Borrowed time is all but rosy. My father looked on as doctors fought to save my life. Blood clots are no joke and strokes they are even worse. He taught me how to inject myself with blood thinners, “make sure you clean the area real good” he said. Little by Little I got stronger and I never looked back. My dad’s face lit up when he saw me on a billboard and in a TV commercial promoting heart health. He tearfully watched the video of my speech in DC, his surviving heart was so very proud. Those teary eyes looked on as I strutted down the runway and shared my story at the fashion show. All because his heart, it saved mine.
My father’s heart saved mine. If it weren’t for his broken heart I never would have gotten involved with the American Heart Association. If I hadn’t gotten involved I would never have learned that women have different symptoms than men and that cardiac events can happen at any age. In one moment I became the very surivivor I advocated for and I’ve never looked back.
Because of my father I am alive today. Because he lived, his heart saved mine. Because of his heart and the research they are conducting my future looks fucking bright. I’ve followed in my father’s footsteps, he was 50 when his heart gave out, I am 34 and I am not afraid to tread down his path. For I know having high levels of C-reactive protein is no longer a death sentence, it allows us to go boldly into the night and wakeup to a beautiful painted sunrise.
Shopping with a four year old is to much fun. I taught Sophia that her size is 5T and if she likes something she needs to find a 5T. It took her only a few minutes to find two dresses and then Auntie helped her find a coordinating pair of leggings for each dress.
Like all big girls do we tried them on. Seeing her little face light up was magical. What was even more magical is that she twirled and looked in the mirror at herself and said “I am so pretty! This is so pretty on me.” I then realized that from the moment we are born we love our bodies, we have no idea that our body is different than the next one, we love who we are until someone tells us that our body is not perfect or pretty. When that moment happens our self confidence is snatched away from us and we rarely find it again.
In watching my niece twirl I realized that all of us were once that little girl dancing in the mirror and that we loved ourselves. We loved ourselves until someone told us we were to thin, to tall, to fat, to dark, or to light. We had no idea that we were not beautiful until someone said “you are ugly.” Once you lose your zest it’s hard to get it back. My ex husband once told me “you are ugly, you are to fat for me.” With those words my zest left and I had to start over and relearn how to love myself. After I left my exhusband I remember the first time someone told me I was beautiful. It was in the grocery store, I said thank you and started crying as I walked away from him. That was the day my zest came back, it felt good to look at the girl in the mirror and she smiled back.
I never want Sophia to lose herself, I want her to always love every fiber of her being. As she twirled in each dress I said “Sophia you are more than pretty, you are beautiful, you are unique. The dress doesn’t make you pretty, you are what makes that dress beautiful and never forget that.” I want my niece to grow up loving her body and feeling confident in her own skin. Those lessons start now, she is only 4, but my words will one day remind her that she is beautiful and she is unique.”
Sophia has no idea that she taught her Auntie tonight. Her love and self confidence reminded me that I need to twirl in the mirror and say “I am so pretty.”
I watched the days tick closer and closer to June 27, to most it’s a regular day, but for me it signifies the beginning. Six years ago today I walked out of my lovely home nestled on a quiet street in Woodbury with my best friend at my side and I never looked back.
The last words Scott spoke to me were “you’ll never make it on your own. No one will want you.” Those words sunk in deep like a knife cutting through my flesh, those words became a challenge. A challenge to become the woman he never deserved to call his wife. I was broken, yet I dug deep and put one foot in front of the other and walked out with my clothes and kitchen things. Cause ya know a girl has to be able to cook and needs clothes, nothing else in that house mattered to me.
I will say this, the hardest part of leaving was walking away from Nylan. I helped raise that little boy for 5 years and he was my heart and soul. Nylan will always be apart of me, he will always be my step son. No matter where life takes me, Nylan will always be in my heart. Step parents have no rights, when you divorce you are expected to walk away from a child that you saw as your own flesh and blood. Nylan is a bright funny kid that I miss with all of my heart. I have to believe that one day he will stumble upon this here blog and he will see that I never stopped loving him.
Not many 27 year old women find themselves sitting across form a divorce lawyer talking about property and bank accounts. Or talking about “um our baby died and he doesn’t want to be financially responsible for any of the bills…….” She asked me like all lawyers do “why are you getting a divorce? Have you tried counseling?” I looked at her and said ” I do not want to be married to a man who rather lie comfortably in the bed of a whore than with his wife. I do not want to be married to a man who chose to stay in Vegas after his wife uttered the words “our baby died.” He never put me first, I was always third best. So no counseling is not an option, divorce is my only way out.” An I did just that, I freed myself from someone who never wanted me.
In ways I felt ashamed, it was hard for me to admit that I walked out of a mentally/emotionally abusive controlling relationship. I didn’t want people to think I was stupid, all women even the smarties can fall into controlling relationships. I had to work through a lot of shit, his voice on quiet nights seeped in reminding me that I wasn’t pretty and that I was to fat for someone to love. Little by little I was able to push his voice to the side. In the quiet moments I reminded myself that he no longer had power over me, I was free and I owed it to myself to do better.
The best decision I have ever made is to trade my exhusband in for a muppet like dog. My IKEA filled apartment was lonely, I missed having someone to come home to and mostly a little four legged beast to cuddle. I called in sick to work (cough cough) and drove to Whipstaff Ranch to pick up what I hoped would be my trusty sidekick. Cullen, cullen rescued me that day. A mighty little muppet like dog rescued me, he was exactly what I needed.
Slowly I began to move and grow in my new normal. Cullen was my constant, he was with me every step of the way and with one sniff he judged all of my dates. Dating was strange, my the game had changed since I last played. I adapted, signed up for dating sites and had fun going out for drinks and then coming home and watching lifetime movies with the dog. Don’t judge you know you get sucked into lifetime movies too!
Life, it hasn’t been easy. I’ve hit more road blocks than smooth passages. Each one has taught me a lesson, a lesson that has made me stronger than I could ever imagine. Mostly it has taught me to be patient and to trust the journey. That as long as I keep the wind at my back I will sail into safe harbor. I’ve stopped caring about other people’s opinions and stare down their judgy eyes, divorce means knowing when to get the fuck out and having the strength to leave. The decision to leave is the easy part, physically leaving is the hard part.
“You will never make it on your own,” still cuts through me like a knife. Thou his opinion no longer matters I still feel like I need to prove him wrong. Six years, I have survived on my own for six fucking years! Like that is a feat in itself, knowing that my bills are paid and I get on the bus to a job that I love in my mind is wining. At the end of the month I have money left over to do things, fun things and I have become very thrifty. In my eyes I’ve made it and that’s all that matters.
“No one will want you.” He saw me as damaged goods. Sure a blood clot and stroke mess a girl up, but it doesn’t mean I am down and out for the count. Sure losing a child can scare men away, but it can bring me to someone who wants a family too. This girl isn’t damaged, he was wrong about that, I’m filled with awesome sauce! Whether I was ready or not, love crept in when I wasn’t looking, fate brought me two men that I adored. Charlie left in the middle of our story. I can die knowing he loved me until his last breath. His leaving gave fate the chance to bring me Jay and his bitchy cat Dexter.
An that is when the love came in. Jay just looks into my eyes and knows that my soul has seen to much and that I for some reason love him without question. He has my heart for his whole life and I have his. Together we have a baby in heaven. If you are counting, yes I have been pregnant twice and have two babies in heaven, I guess I am special. Anyways back to the mushy love story stuff. In Jay’s eyes I see the soul of a weary marine, he paid the price for my freedom and for that I am thankful, his eye tell a story of things I could never imagine, yet he is determined and never gives up, because he knows I will never give up on him. For now our children have four legs and fuzzy tails, he and I have faith that our rainbow will come and we will add another chapter to our love story.
The exhusband was wrong, I made it and I found someone who loves me without question. Maybe he uttered those words because he knew deep deep down that without me, he would never make it. As far as I know he is still alive and has remarried, so I think that’s a sign that it’s time for me to stop living in the shadow of his words and to step into the sun where they will never again touch me.
Today Friday May 13th marks your 6th Angel Birthday. It’s hard for mommy to believe that I have spent 6 years without you. There isn’t a day that goes by where mommy doesn’t think of you. Long ago I stopped asking God “why Lucia? Why did God need you more than I did and what did I do to deserve this?”I realized Lucia that God knew that I was stronger than I realized. For it takes a strong woman to be the mother of an Angel. God knew I was up for the task, so he picked you love to join his heavenly skies.
In the quiet moments I wonder what you would look like. If you would have mommy’s curly hair and blue eyes or the Jewish features of your father. Would you be a fearless little chatter box or a silent observer. I wonder if you would share my love of dinosaurs and gazing at the star filled skies. Maybe you’d be like your father, spending your moments playing video games and counting down the days till football starts. Who you were meant to be will always be a mystery to me.
Your death remains a mystery. With all of the science in this world doctors were not able to put a why behind your leaving. One moment you were inside my protective womb in the next you were gracing God’s arms. Mama wasn’t ready to lose a child at 27, yet somehow I put one foot in front of the other and learned to live this life without you. It hasn’t been easy, there are good days and then there are not so good days. But for you Lucia Mommy continues on, I want you to be proud of the life I’ve made. Lucia you are in every step I take, every decision I make, and every beat of my heart, you are with me always.
I have faith that mommy will see you again. Until that day comes a piece of me will always be in heaven.
A few weeks back I was sitting in a park sipping on a berry white mocha with a dear friend when she brought up the fact that I no longer write about Charlie. She asked me “Do you not love him anymore AJ? Do you not miss him anymore?” The thing about loss is we never stop loving or missing someone. There are moments where I wish he would just pop up and start spewing advice that I don’t think I need. Charlie will always be apart of me and there is no removing him from my story. Charlie showed me and taught me what love was. He allowed me to put faith into another human being, he allowed me to move in a space that I didn’t even understand. The greatest lessons, those lessons came after his death. Ruin is a gift, it allows us to travel the road of transformation.
Earlier in the summer I sat at my sister’s kitchen table playing connect four with Sophia. As I dropped my black checker in the slot, I studied her face, how excited she was, how she knew she was about to win (I let her win), and about how Charlie would give anything to be here. I quickly wiped my tears away so she wouldn’t see and plopped the checker in the slot. It had been three years since I played a game of connect four and I could have sworn Charlie was in the room with us. I thought about Charlie as I held my nephew in my arms, about how he got cheated out of holding his brother Coleman’s babies and of how those babies got cheated out of an uncle.
Life it is unfair, there is no way around that fact, life is not kind to the soul. Some of us have to travel roads littered with loss, while others travel road littered with promise and certainty. I will take the harder road, because on that road I am living, as in truly living. Uncertainty reminds me to live in each moment, to breath in each moment, and to appreciate each day I am allowed to face the sun. No ones tomorrow is promised, all of us are ticking clocks and only fate knows when the last hand will strike. Almost dying taught me to live this way, to live in the here and now and to travel on the road less taken. Losing Lucia taught me that it was ok to be angry with God and it also reminded me that God knows what he is doing.
God does not desert us in the muck of our lives, he stays the course and sees that we come out of the muck changed. Losing Lucia prepare me for losing my second pregnancy. This time I was not angry, in it I found hope. The doctors were wrong. I have hope. Hope, that my body can and will support a growing pregnancy. It was a genetic accident, two sperm fertilized one egg and it just wasn’t meant to be. I walked away from this with faith that my 3rd time and Jay’s 2nd time will be the charm.
Charming, that is one word to describe Charlie, he had his quirks and his skills, but in the end he was charming. He took a broken woman and loved her back to health. In away I think Charlie knew that fate was not on his side and that he was preparing me to be another man’s wife. He died loving me and for that I am forever grateful. Charlie taught me to believe in love again and he reminded me of how to love someone. I had to learn how to love myself before I could love another person. I had to heal myself before I could even think about helping someone else heal. I had to just be, to just be in the moment and love being alone with the person in the mirror.
Love, I never lost her she was always there waiting in he shadows and when I was ready I opened my heart. Fate had a hand, an opportunity to love fell into my inbox on Veteran’s Day. That one email lead me to Jay, a man that I love and understand with all of my heart. His ability to be raw and open is what captured my heart. He is not perfect, then again no buddy is, yet he was exactly what I needed. Jay slipped a silver band on my finger in a motel swimming pool, in that moment his eyes were brimming with love and fear. We all fear what we cannot see, or touch or know, yet in those moments of fear we let the light and love shine through. In those moments we become our best selves and open our hearts to those around us.
Charlie is always with me and a part of my heart will always belong to him. Even thou he is dead, Charlie is still teaching me from the grave. Every now and then I look up at the stars and whisper the constellations to a man I cannot see. That man will be honored when I marry Jay, when we give our future child the middle name Rae, when I take Sophia to Paris and each day that I live the best life possible. Charlie would want me to be happy. Charlie would want me to live a life outside of the shadow of grief and to have the love that he never got to have. An I am doing just that, I am fine with the fact that change is constant and that I cannot control fate. I am deeply in love, I am hopeful, and I am present in this life.
On a hot August evening I turned right on a gravel road, drove past the church my parents were married in and took a left at the fork to head down a road I’ve traveled many times. At the bottom of the hill sits an old gray farm house with a weathered barn, a plot of land that has seen many storms. On the ramp stood my uncle George, the years have aged him, yet his eyes were still the same. He puffed on his cigar as my mama and I walked up the drive, he couldn’t take his eyes off of me.
When I approached George he smiles and said “Mandy the last time I saw you, you were this big…” The last time I was on the farm I was girl and I returned 20 some years later as a woman. A woman trying to dig for memories of a farm she barely knew. I have few memories of the farm, I remember my grandpa sitting on the swing in only his shorts and boots, a dog with one blue eye and one brown named smokey, and the unwelcoming face of my grandmother.
My fondest memory of my grandpa is from when I was about 6 George told me if I helped him plant corn, I could play with the baby chickens. I obliged because I wanted to play with the baby chickens. I planted the corn for what seemed like forever when I heard my grandpa’s voice “handy Mandy what the fuck are you doing?!” I excitedly exclaimed “I’m helping George plant so I can play with the chickens!” My grandpa said to me “you don’t need to plant no fucking corn! Come on now.” With that we were off to the grainery to play with the chicks. Grandpa sat down on a bucket and scooped one up and put the chick in my hands, he reminded me “not to tight handy Mandy you will squish the chick.” I remember how my Grandpa would sing “this little piggy” while playing with my toes and he always called me “handy Mandy.”
Being on the farm that night felt odd. I was going through the remains of lives that I never knew. As I walked through the house I so desperately wanted to remember something about my grandma. I wanted to feel connected to a woman that never took the time to know me. I touched her things, ran my fingers across the dusty shelves, and stood in her kitchen, nothing came to mind. George puffed on his cigar as I opened and closed kitchen drawers. I looked at him and said “its incredibly strange to be going through the things of a woman I never knew.” He squeezed my shoulder, in that moment he understood that I was looking for a connection to the past that just wasn’t there.
In the bedroom my Mama was going through the drawers of an old dresser, the drawers were full of photos. In one we found every single photo, card, letter, and drawing that my sister and I had sent to our grandparents. My grandma held on to my high school graduation, college graduation, and wedding invitations. Every single Christmas card that I sent to her was right there in the drawer. I held back tears as I held the photos in my hands. I couldn’t believe that grandma had kept them all, in those drawers I found truth, she secretly considered us hers. Even thou she never had a kind word to say or the time of day to give to us, she secretly loved us.
Each room was overly dusty and filled with knickknacks that they had lovingly collected. The house by the time I got there was well picked over and hardly anything was left of the couple who had 13 children. Grandpa’s music boxes lined the shelves, Indian statutes were abundant, old photos of grand kids were plenty, and somehow in what was left I got to touch the past. George kept showing me things he thought I would like and told me “take whatever you want Mandy.” I didn’t want to seem greedy so I carefully chose the items that went into my box.
My box of things has been riding around in my trunk for almost a month, I am not ready to bring her things into my home. Bringing them in means I accept that she was mine and that I was hers. Mentally I am not ready to forgive her and I am not ready to let her things which are her memories into my life. So in a box inside the trunk they will sit until the day comes that I have made peace with the woman I never knew.
While grocery shopping I received a Facebook Message from my cousin telling me that Grandma had passed away. I know I should be sad, that I should be having all sots of feels about losing my Grandma. Truth is: “I have no feels, cause the woman that died today was never my Grandma.”
She is and will always be nothing more than Irene to me. She is the Mother of my father and that is where our connection ends. A few weeks before I was born my parents totaled their truck in a rollover accident and they were waiting for the new one to be delivered. I came before the new truck did. On the day I was discharged from the hospital my Dad called Irene and asked for a ride home. Irene told him to call a cab. What kind of Grandma tells her son to call a cab? I grew up less than 15 miles from the farm yet I only saw Irene and my Grandfather a handful of times. She never came to town to visit us and on the few times my Dad brought us out to the farm she was never happy to see us. I never got a hug let alone a hello. Irene drew the line long ago that she was not going to be apart of my life.
Where Irene failed others stepped in. Dorothy Simonson stepped up and was the Grandma we never asked her to be. Ms. Dorothy lived in the yellow house next door and from the moment my sister and I were born, we were her grand daughters.. This woman loved my sister and I more than life its self. We were Dorothy’s world and she was ours. Dorothy taught me how to bake, to can, and garden. Dorothy stepped up where Irene failed, as a child I was sick and Dorothy often looked after my sister while my parents were at the hospital. To this day I remember coming home after my surgery Dorothy, my sister and my Dad were standing on the curb waiving as hard as they could to welcome me home. Dorothy was so very glad to see me and to have me back in her kitchen eating raspberries and discussing little girl fantasies.
Dorothy was not the only little lady that looked after me. When I was about six years old Cora came to live with Dorothy and I had a new best friend. Cora was in her early 90’s and we bridged the age gap with games of dominos and lemonade. I thought I was the coolest little girl on the planet, I had my Grandma and Cora living next door to me. Cora taught me so much in our short time together, I learned how to be frugal, to be a lady, plus she gave me coffee (shhhh don’t tell my mom), and because of her I can play a pretty mean game of dominos. Cora and Dorothy always came to my school programs, looked on at field days, and kept me entertained during summer breaks.
My heart broke on the day Cora died, I was 11 and she was 97, I cried for days. I was so mad at God, Cora’s goal was to live to be 100, she died just 3 years shy of her goal. Every year I write Cora a letter and bring it to her grave. I make sure that her stone is cleared of debris and that the flowers are watered. One day I will name a daughter after her and tell her about this amazing woman that changed her mama’s life forever.
With each year Dorothy was growing older and it was getting harder and harder for her to care for her home. A for sale sign went up and She moved away. I didn’t get to see her every day but Dorothy always had a way of popping up around town. She sent me a graduation card and wished me all of the best in life. On July 10, 2004 my heart it broke again. The little lady that never had to be my Grandma had died. I cried so hard at her funeral, I honestly thought she would live forever. I placed a dozen roses in her casket, she is holding them and a penny in her hand. Her family was so glad that we came to see her off. In her eulogy the pastor mentioned just how much two little girls meant to her and that she would always tell everyone around town about her grand daughters.
Irene could never hold a candle to Dorothy and Cora. Where Irene failed they stepped up and gave me a childhood that dreams are made of. My Dad he ended the cycle of abuse, my sister and I grew up in a loving home. My Dad saw my sister and I as children and not labor. I have 12 aunts and uncles, because of Irene and the distance she forged I don’t know any of them. Only one has an excuse for not knowing me and that’s because cancer took her from us. All I have of Cherie is the blanket that she hand stitched for me and the knowledge that Irene denied her, her last request on earth. Cherie wanted to die on the farm, Instead she died in a cold hospital room. Irene didn’t even have the courtesy to look after her daughter in death.
Irene is nothing more than a tormented soul that had children, in which she abused and then sent them out into the world. My father describes his childhood as “I survived.” She was never a mother to my father so it was only natural for her to never be a grandmother to her son’s children. I can only pray that in death Irene’s mind found the peace she so desperately longed for on earth. Irene was never there for me in life, so I will not be there for her in death. One curly haired girl who looks like her Auntie Cherie Leigh will not be present at the funeral.
In the end the only person Irene cheated was herself, she cheated herself out of getting to know two little girls who grew up into amazing women.
When I walk onto a Reservation I do not have to drop my pedigree, some how they just know that I belong. I am a biracial girl growing up in a one color world. History has taught us that the “n word” isn’t cool yet its still ok to shout out “RED SKINS” on game day. No one bats an eye when Native American imagery is used in a harmful light, they scoff when we ask them to stop, and they they just don’t change. The American Indian is the personal punching bag of the American people and it will remain socially acceptable until we say NO MORE!
NO MORE! The time is now to rise up and fight for ourselves. Tomorrow thousands of full bloods, half breeds, friends, and supporters will unite as one. As one in a never ending battle to protect our heritage. I am and will always be more than the color of my skin. I am more than my blood quantum. I have three hundred years of history running through my veins, the blood of warriors, chiefs, and adventures. The past it carries me and it drives me to make a difference. I owe it to my 4X great grandparents to continue their fight and to carry out their dream of a better day.
Chief Sky Woman and Bazile rest on Madeline Island. I am lucky, I can visit the graves of my 4X great grandparents. I lay tobacco down and thank them for engraving the unwavering desire for change into our family tree. For daring those that came before me to follow their hearts and to make it in this world. My heart it always leads me to the Reservation where fry bread, coffee and stories are at the ready. I love hearing the stories of my elders, watching the ladies bead, and the sound of the drums bring me to tears.
Red Skin is a term tied to assimilation, elimination and re-organization of the American Indian. My family was doing all right until the assimilation period. Geneva Grace refused to sell her land in the name of progress. She wanted to raise her children where she was raised and to remain on her lake front property. The church they had a different idea and while she was away the scooped up my Grandfather and his siblings. The officials told Geneva that they would give her $10 and a ticket to Minneapolis if she signed over the deed. She took it and when she arrived in the city she was told ‘your children died in transport.”
Geneva never gave up hope, she didn’t believe the lies they told her. Out of survival she remarried a soldier and made do. Her daughter June was sent to Arizona, Walter to California, and Clifford to Lake City. Clifford is where my story starts, he is the reason I am on this earth. He was “adopted” by a German couple, they gave him everything and raised him as their child instead of a servant. When he was 18 his “adopted” father confessed and told him that he was bought, that he was an Indian and told him his real last name. That name was his ticket to the past, his tan skin lead him to Prairie Island. Bit by bit his story came together. He took solitude in the bottle, comfort in the bar, and became a broken Indian with a past to hard to bare.
When my Grandfather was an old man a letter came from one Geneva Cox. The letter simply said “I am your mother.” Geneva never gave up hope that her children were alive, Clifford was the only one she ever got to see again. Shortly after the reunion she died. Assimilation tore my family apart, but we refused to be beat down and the postal service brought us back together again with one letter. Geneva is and will always be apart of my families story. My Great Grandmother has been apart of me since the day I was born, Geneva is my middle name. This was my Dad’s way of honoring the past and bringing our family full circle.
Full Circle is when fate brought me to college in the north land. My last name gave me away and the director of the First Nations Studies program took me under his wing. He told me stories of the past, taught me my culture, and mostly he helped me figure out who I am. With professor Johnson’s help I claimed my heritage and came into my own as a biracial woman. I am not one color, but many colors and for that I will always be grateful. College is where I took up the fight to propel Indian Education and Cultural issues forward. I have been fighting to end the use of Native American Mascots and to end Columbus Day for a very long time. The issues at hand are near and dear to my heart.
An Eagle feather is the highest honor an Indian can receive, Professor Johnson gave me my first and since then I have been given one more. Charlie’s family gave me the second one on the day of his funeral. Charlie was honored with the Eagle Feather because he fought tooth and nail to better the lives of his people. In the eyes of his tribe he was a warrior and they honored his death by celebrating his life. Charlie was Mohican and Ojibway, he loved his heritage and the “Red Skin” name made his blood boil. He believed in a day where he would no longer be judged by the color of his skin, but by his legal wit. Tomorrow I will march in honor of my ancestors, Geneva, Clifford and for Charlie’s dream. I will carry out his dream of living in a better day where the color of ones skin no longer matters. Because I am more than White, I am more than a Red Skin, I am more than an Indian, I am more than a half breed, I am AmandaJean and I am not your mascot!
My past is lined with burned bridges and collateral damage. I am not an easy person to get to know or to even love. Damaged, yea you could say that. My life its a beautiful disaster and those closest to me end up being the ones I hurt the most.
Never in a million years did I think Gopher Guy would become my collateral damage. I have no idea what made Gopher Guy fall for me, I am far from perfect and the complete opposite of him. It became clear that he wasn’t going to see the light and that his new found love is faker than imitation perfume. Old habits die hard, he still acted like there was a chance and he made me feel like he was still interested. Our friendship was built on witty banter and flirting. Deep down I knew I couldn’t be stuck in some weird emotional love triangle and for him to be fully with her I had to let go.
I only know how to let go one way and that is by burning a bridge. He met me by the now dry government center fountains. Part of me was hoping that he wouldn’t show, but he did. In that moment I wanted him to hurt as much as he hurt me. As my words flowed into his mind, his kind eyes faded, his expression went from nice to nothing, and he was shaking. I did exactly what I set out to do and in that moment he let me go.
I’ve burned more bridges than I can count, this time it was different and instead of feeling nothing, I feel a tiny bit of regret. Yet, on the same coin I know that his feelings for me were not real. Gopher Guy never got into the deep with me and he only knows a piece of me. He met me when I was broken and saw me at my worst, but he never got to enjoy my best. He spent the past 3 years chasing me and I ran like hell. I told him I loved him, it was on April Fools day and 19 days later I said I can’t deal. His friends, they hate me because they had to deal with the aftermath of that burning.
But did they really deal? No they didn’t they just kept on checking his pulse to make sure he was alive as he drowned his sorrows in a bottle of liquor. Real friends, take the bottle out of your hand and make you face your shit. Your friends just let you hang on to that bottle and stood by and watched you fall. You cannot blame me for that night because I didn’t put the bottle in your hand, I didn’t tell you to drink your pain away. I’ve heard your recollection of April 20, 2012 more times than I can count. Did it ever cross your mind that someone did exactly that, except they got into a car, and took charlie away from me. It wasn’t you that did it, but someone just like you did. Life is hard liquor does nothing to cure the pain it only numbs it until the morning comes.
Your friends they still hate me. You had three years to clear my name and never made that attempt. You never told them that my fiance had died the day before your birthday party. That I only came because I made a promise. I am a woman of my word, even thou I was dying inside I put on a smile and tried to deal. Being in a bar that night was not the place for me and meeting your slightly intoxicated friends was a bad idea. I knew the moment they met me that they didn’t like me, I nursed a glass of water the whole night instead of throwing back beer and shots. I was physically there at your table, yet my mind was trying to remember if I grabbed everything I wanted for Charlie’s casket. Dinner was over, you went to the strippers and I went my separate way. That was the one and only time I have seen your friends. I got one shot and if I had known that they would be petty bastards, I never would have come to your party. Tell your friends to grow the fuck up and not to be so judgmental.
You failed me. As my friend it was your job to vouch for me and to defend me. You never did that. For three years you let your friends hate the ground I walk on. Hell, even today they probably still hate me. My Daddy tells me that “hate” is a disease and that only a tormented soul has room for hate. So your friends must be broken. Yup, they are broken. They hide behind their mental health, sex therapy, and who knows what else degrees they have to make themselves feel all right. I am human, I am not perfect and I cannot be fake. What you see is what you get. My opinion is never quiet. I may be small but I will use the voice God gave me and I will defend myself.
They say it takes a broken soul to know one. When I look into your eyes I see someone who has been discounted and passed up their entire life. Someone who was judged by the size of his waist line and not his wit. Girls, they never gave you a thought and you were always the friend never the leading man. When I first met you I shook your hand, you looked me up and down with a smile. I knew right then and there that you had fallen. I don’t know why but you did and I was ok with that. When I looked at you I didn’t see a large man, I saw your heart.
Gopher Guy I never paid attention to your outside, your kindness, dedication, unwavering work ethic and wit is what attracted me to you. Your heart is what won me over. You are someone I could trust, you dared to put me in my place, only to apologize minutes later for doing so. You constantly challenged me, made me laugh until I cried, kept me from face planting into mud puddles and you believed in me. For some unknown reason you believed in me with all of your heart and I didn’t know how to deal.
I thought you would always be there. It’s partly my fault I encouraged you to date and to put yourself out there. Orchestra hall, that night I felt the pull and I knew at that moment I had to go for it. Yet I didn’t. I was going to but over dinner you told me about Goodwill and preacher girl. (2 girls at once?! Whoa I created a monster!) Always know that Orchestra hall is the night I fell in love with you all over again. That was the night that sealed the deal. That was the night I realized that I still loved you.
Fate kept the manhuman in Minnesota. He was suppose to leave in July. The job it fell through and he moved in. (Bad idea I know) Someone was looking out for me as it didn’t work and I asked him to leave. I didn’t want to be that girl who leaped into another mans arms right after she left the arms of another. I had to let the socially acceptable time period expire. You, you put on the full court press the moment you found out the Manhuman was gone. You invited me to dinner more times than I can count, told me that I meant the world to you, and that I was the one you wanted. I eluded you and gave you half answers. I was afraid of letting you down and mostly I was afraid that I wouldn’t live up to the woman you saw in me. In my mind you deserved more than a broken surviving heart and I, I sold myself short. While I was waiting for the expiration date Goodwill girl stepped up her game. She grabbed you the day I was going to lay my cards down.
My steal, went down in flames. I fought hard for you and you didn’t want anything to do with me. 3.5 years of history meant nothing to you. I wasn’t shiny and new. I didn’t desperately chase you like she did. Goodwill girl loves beer, going to games and music. That is what you are building a relationship on. Take it from someone whose been divorced, that’s not enough. The shiny will fade, the beer you can only drink so much before you bank account dips, and when that runs out she will be moving on. Fairy tales tell us that you go for the one who fights for you and not the one who loses her shoe.
I fought hard for you and you didn’t care. You said things, did things, and crossed lines that should never have been crossed. You never once apologized for your actions and words. In your mind what you were doing was all right and you said a prayer to make it all better. Yet, you hurt the one girl you never thought you would hurt. I needed you to feel what I was feeling. I needed you to feel deceived, mislead, and used. Then and only then would you understand what you put me through. The difference between you and I is that I own my shit. Only apart of what I told you was true. Play you I did. The bridge I burned it and the answers are on my side of the river. You can fester and pray all you want for the answers, they won’t come to you because only I know what the two lies and one truth are.
Hurt? Yes I am and you, you are hurt too. Neither of us are clean in this. I did what I had to do to protect myself. I don’t do well with weird love triangles and attachments. The pin I pulled it and the bridge that lead me to you went down in flames. I didn’t completely close you out. It takes a beautifully broken heart to understand a fellow broken soul. I have been through more than you could ever imagine and I know that life hasn’t always been kind to you. Just know that you are worth more than you will ever begin to understand and that you, you made a difference in one small town girl’s life.
Have Bear Will Travel 