An era of separation divided the second son from his father:
Fourteen years of silence, solitude.
Sudden need propelled me to visit the center for correction,
The place where:
He re-established his self as the man he was in his youth,
The evil of narcotics and alcohol were banished from his soul,
Memories were lost with every blow of the guard’s booted foot;
A place of sorrow and remorse where
Many are corrected and many enslaved for life.
My father had given up all hope and was ready to die.
My impulse could not have been better timed.
Like a psychic nightmare I awoke from my sloth to
Transverse the miles,
Break down the walls of trepidation and anger and reluctance,
To arrive at the encampment that held so many.
Evils and innocents.
My father is both, was both.
The old grey man in the wheelchair with a beard:
I recognized him immediately.
That face, those eyes, the hair (streaked with white)
So familiar from my youth of the man I had hugged so often
Way back then.
Way back when:
My 14-Slims were held by a hand-me-down belt about my waist,
Innocence and tree-climbing was a way of life,
Big brother beat up the bully who beat on me,
My father was the evil that he used to be.
His eyes glimmered in their tiresome medicated state,
A sparkle of hope for a dying man who had let it all go.
I was the one who
Changed his future,
Opened the door to his strength and hope for life,
Brought the family back together after
Years of hate and fear and sorrow.
Without my visit, my father would be
Lying with the worms and roots.
Instead his spark of hope ignited a flame that
Brought him back from the edge.
This little fragile boy had
Grown into a man,
Brought his father hope,
Brought his father home.
Memories forgotten through beatings and
Strokes of the mind
Washed away the most extreme of Father’s evil,
Leaving behind a half-empty shell of a man who had
Almost let go.
The temper is there, but we are
Lakota Sioux,
Honorable,
Proud.
The tenderness is there, with the zeal for
Creativity,
Love,
Life,
Perfection.
But this man is not empty.
Father is strong and passionate,
Proud of what his family has become.
His body may be as random in health as the stock market,
But my father lives the legacy of our people.
You can not beat down the Lakota Sioux.
Grandfather Crazy Horse survived
Countless battles and bullets;
My father overcame the
Addictions and losses to live on.
Grandfather Crazy Horse defeated
His enemies with strength and honor;
My father’s foes are
Unable to hold their ground against his power.
Grandfather Crazy Horse was betrayed
By his own people and slain by a relative;
My father’s prosecutors were misled
Into accusing and hating and fearing him.
Grandfather Crazy Horse had many
Small deaths that he revived from;
My father has had
Countless strokes and several heart attacks, died and lived;
I have had momentary deaths
Several times thus far in my life, but live on.
Like my Grandfather Crazy Horse, like my Father, I am
Proud to be
Lakota Sioux.
We triumph in
Our surmounting of life
And death
As we live on;
We believe in
The family,
Honor,
Truth,
Freedom.
Our beliefs can not be put down, as they are
The life-blood of the family.
My blood rages at times with the sorrow and anger
At what has become of our people,
At what has become of our family.
Hate and fear and loathing and interference from greedy people
Has torn our family apart with lies and jealousies;
But still those of us who stick together are strong and proud.
Time with Father has been spent doing what he loves.
The tantrums and rages are cooled by
Passion for perfection,
Dedication to the tasks at hand.
The need for completion drives us on to surpass all barriers;
We become the strongest as our bonds with one another grow firm.
We comfort in the fact that we have overcome the past.
Many challenges greet us on the horizon of future and
We will win.
We will live on.
We will not give up.
We are strong in our passions.
In the future time my father will spend with me,
I cherish the opportunities that have been and will be provided
To reclaim the love and strength of Family.
Life is what we make of our time with our loved ones.
Forgiveness and honor will maintain our lives and our family.
Flag of the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation ~ Image via Wikipedia
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Insight:
This poem was written as a follow-up to Visiting My Father. It includes the aftermath of my visit, which inspired the recovery and release of my father. As described in that previous poem’s insight:
Dad got more from my visit than I would have ever imagined. He had given up all hope of finding a connection to the outside world. When I left Statesville, and over the next couple of years, my father recuperated, received experimental tests and treatments which restored the majority of his mobility and reversed the effects of his stroke. Dad was energized and encouraged by my visit and my words and my hugs to bring himself back to the world of the living from the precipice of death.
In 2001, my father exited Statesville Prison and astonished every member of our family by remarrying my mother! For a few years he lived a life which many inmates might have admired. However, in December 2005 he succumbed to Small Cell Cancer of the Bladder from his many years of excess…
Note: in regards to my use of “Grandfather” in reference to Crazy Horse… I have no evidence to support any connection to the man who is popularly known as Crazy Horse nor do I claim any direct relationship to any of his family or descendents or tribal members. I use the term “Grandfather” in the sense that he is one of the grandfathers of the Lakota Sioux Nation. For those of my distant disconnected relations who reside on the reservations of South Dakota, North Dakota, and environs; I use it to honor the memory of a great legendary figure in the history of all Native peoples. In no way do I claim any relationship, direct or otherwise, to the descendants or families who identify Crazy Horse as their direct ancestor.
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