Eulogies were brought to us by white men. For once it wasn't a bad gift – certainly better than disease, missionaries and residences anyway.
I tried to tell myself a eulogy celebrates the life gone from this world and maybe also reminds those left to achieve their best because our time here is short. Still, that seemed like a lot of empty words.
I thought of what my father had always said, how he always introduced that first story of the spirit warriors: "The Quileutes have been a small people from the beginning. And we are a small people still but we have never disappeared."
I thought about what this meant personally, for my family, and now in terms of my father's death. Trying to write something that summarised everything he'd been to our tribe, generation and family felt nearly impossible. All I could scratch out was:
Billy Black was a large man among a small people. He guided and served his friends, family and tribe with wisdom, kindness, authority and justice. I feel blessed not just for the pleasure of having known him but also for the honour of being his son. I would like to think that all of us here today feel the same, for we are all sons and daughters of the long line of tradition that Billy believed so strongly in. We are all a small part of the mighty Great Spirit.
Now that Billy is not with us anymore, with our small people, we must not think he has disappeared, just as we will never disappear. We must remember Billy lives on through his blood in his grandchildren, his memories in our minds, and his love and belief in who and what we are: the Quileute people.
And so that's what I said on the chilly October evening when we scattered his ashes out to sea. There might have been more words, better words, I could have used to explain things but I couldn't find them. In the end, I don't think it mattered.
What mattered was that we stood in this circle on the beach silently thinking about the never ending cycle of life and death. The elders, like Sue, held hands with teenagers, like Sam and Emily's children, who held hands with protectors, like Embry and Colin, who grasped the toddlers' tiny fists.
In this moment we were indeed a small people but the strength we found in the purpose and peace of the ceremony was immeasurable and eternal.
The silence and magic of the moment broke as a loud wail came from my wife's direction. Bella blushed and whispered "I think Will's hungry," indicating to our youngest child who she carried in a sling across her chest. The bonfire in our midst suddenly flared and crackled loudly, driftwood blazing.
"With a sense of timing and an appetite like Will's, Billy is most definitely still with us," Sue commented as the whole tribe burst out laughing at its newest member.
A/N - This was written as a result of the July 2011 drabble prompt over at TATS.
Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Emily Dickinson
Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.
We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.
Or rather, he passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.
We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.
Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.