Ode to Wiyaka’ska

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Accepting life and death is often most troublesome in our short lives. Nevertheless essential. The Living are left with the “Grief.” Submerged deep is the melancholy and sorrow oft times may overpowers our senses.

This is where humans and animals have choices; either to live through the bereavement and despair or collapse in despondency. Either way we all have choices every moment, every day, ever week that follows a lamenting loss. This was my way, I hope a glance through my eyes and heart help those who have lost “Loves” in their lives.

From July 2006 – June 2013 – He graced us with his life.

Yes, the winds of change are gently blowing – they tell me it is time to lay to rest that which is past and walk through some open doors yet to be seen.  It is time to say goodbye to Wiyaka’ska.

Sadë and I took a short walk and finally I could set Wiyaka’ska free. I had to listen deep inside, for blaming aspects in life depletes our energy and we become lost for not accepting our own authentic lives.

I have come to a place of contentment and peace with that marauding hungry coyote of June 15th,   Late that evening, a coyote had good meal that evening, replete was his stomach. They have their purpose,  controlling the mice, rodents and feral cats of the area; this does ensure a balance in our natures’ habitat.

As I walked the tears finally came. “Wiyaka’ska you are missed” I said and continued. “We miss you in our family, Sammie Kewl Kat (last cat left standing) truly misses you, but he has come to accept our family is smaller. Wiya, your sweet presences, your constant playfulness, running around bouncing on furniture and in high mounted windows, and the fact that Sammie who is 14 years old played with you all the time, was wondrous. Your soft gentle spirit and snow white fur with the most magnificent Turquoise eyes that bled off to pearl – those eyes I never will gaze into again; all these moments are missed.

ImageI miss kissing your soft cheeks and when you immediately began to play and scamper under the bed, I would pull your tail to grab you from under the furniture and place the harness with long lead on you to keep you from jumping the fence. You bound eight ten feet in a millisecond; that was your magnificent body. It all is missed.

We miss seeing you curled up under the bed on the green wool hand woven rug and on the back portal wicker chair, where you blended into the white foam cushion. You are missed; the very presence of you is missed.

In the morning you would jump on the dresser to athletically jump to the high awning window, while crouching watching the birds. There were no screens in this rental, it was a Santa Fe Funk! I miss this moment barely opening my eyes as you woke me each morning performing this act – then dozing off to sleep, knowing in a hour it was time to rise. Then you would come to rest, curled into my body somewhere on the bed. You knew when I was ready to wake for the day, for you came up on my little tummy and kneaded the sheets so softly.

You purred and moved closer onto my shoulder or cheek, to softly kiss me awake, I could hear you purr. Sometimes a drop of drooled formed. But your sweet face with the most wondrous eyes all filled with life, I would forget that tiny drop of moisture.  You would curl up beside me, never imposing on my computer while I wrote. Your only wish was to share the warmth and intimacy of our love and respect for each other; sweet sweet little snow white ball of pleasant gentleness.

ImageWiyaka’ska, you could leap up eight feet without a second of hesitancy. Your body was graced as an athlete. And when you sat facing friends, everyone smiled with a remark of how beautiful and elegant you were, with a whisper of flirtation; you carried these qualities of deportment well throughout the years.

We had seven years with you, saved from certain death as a three week old kitten; you had seven years of life. When I picked you up off that barn dirt floor, I could see your organs through your malnourished skin; you had rickets and could barely move. Yet, you hissed like a tiny little Tiger. I gave you goats’ milk and you survived. I thought you were to be all white, but you changed into the beauty unique feather; named Wiyaka’ska. Lakota for White Feather.

You sat quietly as we traveled in the car to the vet for the first time when you were about two months old. You sat quietly when we drove from Colorado to New Mexico to live. You sat quietly when we had to move multiple times from place to place here in NM never finding a restful home and knowing, here in the future we would move to another state, but without you (sadly). When we stayed at the Community farm, you knew the farm well and it’s dangers lurking on the other side of the hill. You came inside avoiding the coyotes in those few months.Image

I saw something change in your face in the last month of so, a furrowed brow. Often picking up your face to take a closer glance, only to be beguiled and have my concerns dashed away when seeing those exquisite eyes. Yes, you knew life was coming to an end and yet you needed to live life as you saw it, jumping the fence – chasing the mice and rats just the other side of the line. We found a temporary stop to live where the wilderness lives abundantly – this triggered the mammalian nature within your feral beginnings. That furrowed brow told my instincts what I did not wish to hear. It was not pronounced in your sweet face. Nonetheless I saw the lines in your silent slumber. I knew and I tried to protect you from the fate that was to come.

I knew in these last week there was imminent danger; that last Saturday night, I knew you were in danger. I held you in my arms about 8:00PM and gazed for the last time into your beautiful iridescent turquoise eyes and said, “I don’t want you to be the coyotes’ meal. I want you to stay and be our family. I have to protect you this is why I put this harness on you with a long yellow tie. Now please stay in this evening. The coyotes are hungry, it is their breeding season.”

This was the last time I saw you, the last time I held you, the last time I touched you. I heard you get beyond the barrier I built to allow air to flow in from the wiya in sink 003portal and cool this little casita off because there were no screens. I heard you, but did not see you. There were no signs of you leaving, only a moments noise.

Then you became a quick coyotes’ meal. That coyote was well fed; you offered your life, not intentionally. Nonetheless, you gave your life back to nature. I have no regrets. Instead some tears and a huge feeling that “I miss you and accept you are now gone.” The tears finally blur my eyes and run down my cheeks with acceptance of life.

And once again learning, it is not to blame –  life will continue its’ course whether we appreciate that moment or not, life is going to always happen in ways we do not expect, the river flows its’ course of life; when we lose something – another part of life gains. And that coyote did just that this night. This does not mean our hearts are not to feel loss or pain, we do. But acceptance of life as it is, and continuing on – creating – living – loving and understanding with joy would be much easier than not to remember the joy, you Wiyaka’ska, brought to our little family.  I love you and miss you – goodbye!

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At times in life, it may be decades before I see *The Wrong Thing Gone Right* and so it might be with this loss. I saw it with my Father ~ it took a moment 15 years later, that by leaving him to his happiness of his last (third) and final marriage, was his joy. I was his reminder of how he might had failed and his cruel wife of those years. There is nothing to forgive sometimes. More in *what we have to accept in life, that is out of our control* We are indeed fallible as a race with some thinking, with such hubris intent, that we are superior.

I see we are striving and maybe someday we will reach, *Being Human and humane*

MicheleElys

4 Comments Add yours

  1. Raphael says:

    I am sure this article has touched all the internet viewers, its really really pleasant piece of writing on building up new website.

    Like

    1. MicheleElys says:

      Thank you! It represents the acceptance of life. Thank you for sharing your comment from the heart.

      Like

  2. Barbara says:

    MicheleElys,

    Very moving and beautiful tribute. I’m so very sorry for your loss. And I’m glad that I had a chance to know her — tho she preferred the closet shelf when you were next door.

    Thank you for sharing this with me. The thought is so tender and precious. And, I see a new depth and insight in your writing.

    Like

    1. MicheleElys says:

      Thank you. Knowing how much your read and your past profession, this is indeed a compliment. Cheers M

      Like

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