We were afraid of her when first we heard of my Mothers cancer.  We repulsed by the thought of her intrusion into our lives.  We had no room for her.  She was not wanted, she was come too soon, she was a monster a demon an entity that every member of our family intended to fight off with ever ounce of strength we could muster.

We wept, we prayed, we vowed faithfulness to be rightous people.  We gave to the poor, we helped the elderly in our neighborhoods, we started attending our various churches and that included three religions.  Those of us who followed the Native American religion chanted and consulted a Medicine Man, we had special prayers said by the Trappist Monks at the local Monastery said. We had Mormon family members call our Mothers name into the Salt Lake Temple prayer roll.  We had Jewish family member praying in the Synagogue in New York. Surely with all the prayers all the cancer specialists, the Angel of Death would not find her hidden in the remote mountains of central Utah.

The cancer specialists pronounced her cancer free in  March of 08.  See, it worked. The dreaded monster, who was given such an awful name, Angel, who would ever call such an entity an Angel? Anyway the monster called Angel of Death would not take our beloved Mother away. Her half sister in New York claimed it was the Jewish prayers, her half sister and three daughters in northern Utah claimed it was the Mormon prayers, her son and two other daughters claimed it was the Catholic prayers and Trappist Monks, I and my brother knew it was the Mohawk Medicine man, she knew it was because it wasn't her time to go.  We were positive the C word would not enter our Mothers life again, her life would be like her Grandfathers' life 110 years of story telling and living life for her Grandchildrens children.

May came with blossoms and blue birds as blue as turquoise necklaces at the Sundances. Mothers day was wonderful our Mothers hair was growing back and it was a beautiful snowy white with a shine that caught the sun like the blue in her black hair used to catch the sun.  Monday after was a doctor visit and all was well. That Friday Momma started to cough. She called the doctor and he had her come in. Nothing showed on the x-ray. She continued to cough.

June she coughed, worse and worse. Daddy called the cancer doctor. They went to see him and he did a "work up" her lungs were cloudy. By August Momma had lung cancer.

The prayers started again. Everyone everywhere, her halfsisters, her children, the Trappist Monks, The Synagogue in New York, The Mormon Temple in Salt Lake City, The Medicine Man, everyone prayed.  Momma coughed.  She took chemo again.  She got weaker and weaker.  She was sicker this time. She couldn't hold her head up.  She got so she could'nt talk. She could only whisper. I took care of her up in the mountains she loved so much. Soon she could'nt live in the mountains anymore, she had to be near her doctor.

 It was November 9th. I started to feel different about the Angel of Death. I even thought I felt her walking the streets of our little village in the mountains as I packed Momma's clothes to go up north.  I looked out the bedroom window into the street and thought I could really feel the Angel of Death walking the streets of our village.  "Who do you come for this night? Angel of Death? Is it my little Mohawk Mother? I hated you and swore I'd do everything in my power to keep you away.  But now, now I welcome you with open arms.  You are a welcome guest. My Momma hurts so bad and her life is not a life any more.  There are ants walking on my side walk with a better quality of life than my Momma's life.  I beg of you, forgive me for my lack of hospitality before, please, come and I will welcome you with open arms. I will make you a most beloved guest in the home of my Father and Mother.  Please Angel of Death, do stop here." 

My Father came into the bedroom and asked me who I was talking to. I told him I was tired, (which was true, I was emotionally exhausted) and talking to myself. He said, "well don't do that it scared me I thought I heard Angels and we don't need Angels hanging around with your Mother having one foot beyond the veil and the other on a banana peel."

That night it just so happens that a two year old in the next small town over died in her sleep from pneumonia. So the Angel of Death was not there for my Momma but for someones little one.

We drove up north and Momma and Daddy stayed with my two sisters who live close to the Cancer Center and Momma's doctor. Momma got her last chemo treatment around the 11th of November.  She went back to the mountains to die the day after Thanksgiving. She asked her half sisters and all her friends and children to pray that she would be able to die soon, and that she would die a good and peaceful death.

I wasn't in the mountains when Momma died. I just remember praying that God would have compassion and send the Angel of Death to embrace my dear little Mohawk Momma in her arms and end her suffering. My sister who was there said that when Momma went she went in peace and in her sleep.

I no longer look upon the Angel of Death as a monster. I see her as a loving and beautiful Angel who brings peace and love to those who suffer.  It is we who are left without the presence of the one we love who suffers not the one who is taken into the arms of the Angel of Death.  She is an entity of Light and Peace, she ends the deepest pain, both emotional, spiritual and physical, she embraces and holds to her bosom those who have suffered the suffering of death its self and brings their spirit comfort.

I find comfort in knowing that when she came for my little Mohawk Mother, my Momma's suffering and gasping for air was over, her pain ended, her sorrow at leaving loved ones was eased and she was comforted in the arms of an Angel.  The Sweet Comforting Angel of Death.

I picked up the phone and did what I had promised myself I would not do for another six months.  I dialed my sisters number.  She answered on the second ring and I knew she was watching for me to call.  She has caller I.d. "I'm glad you called she answered," not hello. 

I started to cry. "Mom told me you were having surgery tomorrow, and that it was really serious." I choaked the words out.  "They are going to break your sternum and..."  I was crying to hard to say anything else.  How could I say anything to her she had hurt me so bad.  I remembered the night I had spent on my knees praying for death to take me so I wouldn't have to hurt anymore because of her betrayal.  The sister I had loved for fifty years, the sister I had pulled my mother off of when she was getting the shit beat out of her and told my mother to beat me but to leave my little sister alone, and I took her beatings after that.  She had hurt me so bad I didn't want to face life after she had betrayed me.  I wanted to die instead of live my life out knowing how she had turned her back on me and hurt me so bad.

"I'm so sorry...I didn't know things would get so out of control.  How could I know things would turn out so horrible.....I was out of line....can you forgive me....?"She cried and I couldn't understand or hear most of what she said I could only hear her ask me to forgive her for hurting me.

She had hurt me bad, my oldest daughter and I have not spoken for three months and the damage done will take a long time to heal if ever.  Our relationship has never been good now it is damaged beyond repair.  I cried yesterday and forgave my sister, I also forgave my daughter in my prayers and heart.  But all the tears cant heal the wounds that will stay on my heart for eternities to come. 

Tears only wash wounds they don't heal them, they only wash them so they don't get infected.  The scars are still there, but if you cry enough you can stop the emotional wounds from infection spreading.

Whispered on the wind long ago as I knelt in hot red dirt a prayer for strength to not cry as I returned home to another beating.  Whispered on the winds of a Hawaiian breeze an ocean away from the rezervation I grew up on I prayed for a husband that didn't love me, to not be sent to Viet Nam from the Army Base he was stationed at.  The first whispered prayer wasn't heard, the second was.  Why?

Whispered Prayers are heard and answered yes or no.  It has taken me half a decade of living to learn that a no answer is still an answer.  Whispered prayers are the only kind I can vocalize.  It is the Mohawk in me to chant or sing my prayers.  The conversations between me and The Great Father Of Us All or Shenov are always whispered in the breezes or wind.  As the song goes "on the wings of a dove".  It is a Native American belief that if you whisper a prayer on the wind it will be caught in the feathers of a bird if you are worthy.  The bird will carry your prayers to the heavens and you will kinow that your prayers have been heard and answered by finding a feather from a bird.

I am rambling but I am also reafirming to myself and to anyone who is interested in the way we of Native blood do things, its whispered on the wind.  And also to remind myself that prayers that are answered with a no are still answered.  My mother still beat me, and I still cried, but I learned to love my mother and she learned to stop beating me because I looked too Indian to her and my sisters lookied white enough to pass.  She learned that she was beating the Indian in her and she couldn't make me look whiter by beating me.  I learned that my prayers were answered, just over many years.

I also learned that whispering on the wind is healing.  I am now a grandmother and still whisper on the wind.