A few weeks ago, some close friends planned a Blessingway in my honor. When they told me about it and asked permission, I immediately said “sure,” because I trust them. I had no idea what a Blessingway was, but I looked it up. One friend asked if I had something planned that no one knew about. So, I presume there are different forms of a Blessingway, and this one was not the Navajo rite of passage for a new mother. I had some of it explained to me by the hosting friends and I thought it would be just fine. so I got a list of names and emails together. As the time drew near, I began to get worried about my reaction to what was to take place there. After all, it was to bless me on my way, and I was not ready to die just yet. But fear crept back in as the realization that this was to be the last things my friends and family were to say directly to me in a formal setting, before I die. I think all would agree, that is some heaviness.
People had wonderful things to say about me, and I cried hard and often. My wife read the vows she had written to me for our wedding; my sister made me a list of things I had to do when I see my ancestors, most people stated what I had done to change or impact their lives. I had feared what my head would do with all this kindness that was put into words, but I need not have done that. I was surrounded by love, and even though I cried hard and often, I left there feeling better than when I had come. A friend also said to me that when you grieve, it makes room for something else to fit in your heart, and I think it is love. I believe that to be true, and I wished that I had learned that as a child.