"[Her] roof was the sky, and her walls were the whispering pines, and Mother Earth was her bed"

-Connie McAdams-Rodriquez

I heard the front door of our office open and a muffled voice asking for assistance.  I had been anxiously waiting all morning for this.  We had received word yesterday of a death in the community and I knew that someone in the family would be by today. My department assists with burial locations.  Yes, not a typical museum job.  Because we help to preserve these sacred sites, families come to us to make sure that there won't be any accidental disturbance to historic, unmarked plots. We were shorthanded today and I knew I would probably need to help out.

I got up from my desk and walked to the reception area.  I saw one of our security guards, with a younger man, looking confused and uncomfortable with the situation.  I hurriedly walked over and introduced myself.  The man, with tears in his eyes, asked if I could help make sure the spot he had chosen was ok for his grandmother, an elder who had lived on the reservation the past 70 some years.

I went and got the records I needed and met him down the road.  I didn't see him at first, but as I walked through the cemetery I saw him standing under a large shady oak tree.  I silently thought to myself what a lovely final place.  The air was hot but there was a breeze that rustled the leaves and the birds happily sang away, unaware of the solemn moment.

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I double checked the records and told him everything was fine.  I'm not very good with these types of situations.  I suppose no one really is.  

I told him I was very sorry and to let me know if I could be of any further assistance.  He smiled and told me his grandmother had lived a good, long life.  I said good-bye, leaving him to his own thoughts.  I felt sad.  Sad for him and his family. Sad remembering my own grandmothers' passings many years ago.

I looked up into the deep blue sky and gave thanks for the day.