Article

Studies in Religion / Sciences Religieuses

2016, Vol. 45(3) 292308
Coping with Death: The Author(s) / Le(s) auteur(s), 2016
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DOI: 10.1177/0008429816657739
Mourning Ceremonies sr.sagepub.com

and the Healing Process

Mark F. Ruml
Religion and Culture Department, University of Winnipeg, Winnipeg, Manitoba,
Canada

Abstract: The writing of this article reflects a personal journey through the authors
own healing process in coping with death. He articulates the important role that
Dakota and Ojibwe mourning and other ceremonies have played in his healing process.
The author legitimates inserting himself personally by appealing to accepted methodo-
logical approaches that not only allow but encourage such an approach. The authors
intention is not to engage in an analysis of various methodological approaches but,
rather, to employ an Indigenous methodological approach that focuses on writing from
the perspective of ones own experience.

Resume : Le recit livre dans cet article retrace le parcours personnel de lauteur a
travers son propre processus de guerison face a la mort. Lauteur souligne le role
important quont joue le deuil Dakota et Ojibwe, ainsi que dautres ceremonies dans
son processus de guerison. Il legitime linclusion de sa propre perspective personnelle
en faisant appel a differentes approches methodologiques reconnues qui non seulement
permettent, mais aussi encouragent une telle approche. Lintention de lauteur nest pas
de se livrer a une analyse de ces differentes approches methodologiques, mais plutot
dutiliser une approche methodologique autochtone qui privilegie ladoption du point
de vue de sa propre experience.

Corresponding author / Adresse de correspondance :

Mark F. Ruml, Associate Professor, Religion and Culture Department, University of Winnipeg, Winnipeg,
Manitoba, Canada.
Email: m.ruml@uwinnipeg.ca

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Ruml 293

Keywords
death, healing, grieving, Indigenous ceremonies, Indigenous spirituality, funeral

Mots cles
mort, guerison, deuil, ceremonies autochtones, spiritualite autochtone, funerailles

This article examines Dakota and Ojibwe mourning and other ceremonies and the role
that they play in the healing process. The method followed in this article represents a
scholarly approach that acknowledges the importance of the subjective experience in the
study of religion. In terms of grief study, it employs a narrative approach to qualitative
research.1 As Crazy Bull (1997) notes, a qualitative research approach is more compa-
tible with traditional ways of knowing, as it examines relationships and the whole (as
cited in Struthers, 2001: 126). The approach followed here can also be classified as a
form of autoethnography.2 Finally, this article is also informed by Indigenous methodo-
logical approaches such as that articulated in Kathleen Absolons book Kaandossiwin:
How We Come to Know (2011). I begin by locating my self because positionality,
storying and re-storing ourselves come first (Absolon, 2011: 13).
Furthermore, although this article is based on observation of and participation in
Dakota and Ojibwe ceremonies in southern Manitoba, the article does not contain
detailed descriptions of specific ceremonies nor is it intended to be a generalized rep-
resentation of Dakota and Ojibwe ceremonies. This is not field research. My friends are
not informants or subjects of study, I am the subject of my study. I walk this road of
life not to get source material for articles or to further my career. The Creator has
directed me to be where I am and to do what I do. When I share information, I do so
with respect as that information is part of my cumulative knowledge-bundle; an
expression that Kathleen Absolon (2011: 71) attributes to Winona Stevenson. As Abso-
lon explains:

Her expression cumulative knowledge-bundle, refers to the valuable knowledge she

accumulated over the course of a lifetime. It was transmitted from relatives and was shared
with her to use with respect and integrity. The origins of this type of knowledge, Winona
further states, do not lend themselves to footnoting according to academic convention.
(2011: 71)

Over the past 30 years I have served as a firekeeper and a helper at ceremonies,
participated in hundreds of sweatlodge ceremonies, danced at a Dakota Sundance for
a four year cycle and at an Anishinaabe Sundance for the past 18 years, and served as an
apprentice to my adopted Dad, Gwiime (Namesake), and a traditional healer, the late
Don Daniels from Long Plain First Nation in Manitoba. My name, Meegis, which means
shell, was given to me through a naming ceremony that Don conducted. He guided me
on my spiritual journey and I had the honour of being asked by him to help gather and
prepare his medicines. When he took me on as his student, after I had already completed
my PhD, he said, now you are going to learn the real thing. Recently, at a doctoring
ceremony performed by another traditional healer, I was adopted into the Buffalo Clan

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(Mushkode Bizhike ndodem). Furthermore, my wife is a Dakota woman from Wipazoka

Wakpa (Sioux Valley), Manitoba, and my children are Dakota. All of this personal
positionality makes it impossible for me to write objectively and to view myself as an
outsider.
The writing of this article reflects a personal journey through my own healing process
in coping with death. I have spent the majority of my life, since the age of 12, working
through the trauma that I experienced following the death of my Dad in 1974. Lacking
an effective, for me, grieving process, I found a substitute process in the form of drugs
and alcohol.3 While it is true that, over the years, my Catholic heritage sustained me, it
was only after participating in Dakota and Ojibwe ceremonies such as the sweatlodge,
sundance, naming, shaking tent, sacred pipe, wiping away the tears, and other ceremo-
nies, that I was able to make significant progress in my grieving process. In short,
Dakota and Ojibwe ceremonies helped me cope with my Dads death. More recently,
they have helped me cope with the suicide, in April 2004, of my friends young son who
was very close to me and the death of my own son in childbirth in August 2004. In this
article, I will introduce the reader to a few ceremonies in which I participated and note
the role that they played in my grieving and healing process.
Before proceeding, however, I must acknowledge my friend and colleague Professor
Chae Young Kim for forcing me to reflect upon death and the grieving process intellec-
tually and personally by inviting me to speak on the subject at Sogang University in
Seoul, South Korea. Intellectually, Professor Kim and I agree with Wilfred Cantwell
Smiths approach to the study of the religious history of humankind. Smiths approach
legitimates the subjective experience in the study of religion as a valid scholarly
approach. 4 I found further scholarly support and the courage to position my
multiply-situated self5 personally in this article through reading Susan F. Hirschs
article Writing Ethnography after Tragedy: Toward Therapeutic Transformations
(2007). Hirsch struggled, as I have, with finding her voice, with issues of objectivity,
and with finding scholarly precedents for writing personally, as she worked through her
own experience of tragedy. Regarding scholarly precedents, Hirsch explains:

Writing about events of personal significance, including personal tragedy, is not an unfa-
miliar project for anthropologists. Given my own circumstances, Renato Rosaldos essay
Grief and a Headhunters Rage bears mentioning, as it is not only a classic in first-person
anthropology but is also referred to in many popular discussions of grief (Rosaldo 1989).
(Hirsch, 2007: 153)

Rosaldo (1988) criticized the typical ethnographic representations of death, characterized

by formality the practice of describing human events as if they were normal, highly
codified, and always repeated in precisely the same manner; externality the distance
at which ethnographers write; and generality the way many accounts stress not
particular agonies of grief but general recipes for mourning rituals (425). Rosaldo
concluded that aside from being inhumane, the result is superficial social analysis
(425). Missing from ethnographic discourse, as Rosaldo notes, are the cultural practices
and lived experiences characterized by improvisation, subjectivity, and particularity
(425). Moreover, Rosaldo concludes by calling for ethnographic studies of death to

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include processes of bereavement (433). Hirsch also notes the influence that anthro-
pologist Cathy Winkler and philosopher Susan Brison had on her writing. According to
Hirsch (2007), Winkler and Brison influenced not only my view of the position(s)
occupied by a writer of personal tragedy but also my understanding of the methods
appropriate to such an undertaking and the parameters of the resulting text. Their work
delineates the possibilities for ethnographers and others writing about personal tragedy
and encourages the expansion of the genre (154).
The problems discussed by Hirsch that arise for anthropologists and others who
choose to write about a traumatic personal experience, include issues related to the
remembering of the trauma. I am not so much concerned with the accuracy, in my case,
of my remembrance of the traumatic event itself, my concern is mainly with how I have
remembered and contextualized the role of mourning ceremonies in my grieving process.
It is possible that I could construct a narrative in such a fashion that it would be
conducive to emotional, psychological, and even spiritual survival. In other words, it
makes good survival sense to think of the ceremonies as being effective. Otherwise, if I
believe that they are ineffective, then it is less likely that I will be able to move through
my grieving. Moreover, avoiding a narration of the intense pain associated with the
details related to the cause of my grief may be rooted in an unconscious survival strategy.
Becoming aware of these possibilities has forced me to reflect critically on my con-
struction. My uncritical construction, however, believes in the power and effectiveness
of the ceremonies, period.
Influenced by discourse related to a decolonizing approach to research and scholar-
ship (Smith, 1999) articulated by Indigenous scholars intent on Indigenizing the Acad-
emy (Mihesuah and Wilson, 2004), another motivating factor for me to position myself
personally in this article is that I have taken seriously the methodological position
articulated by Elders, traditional people, and Indigenous scholars (such as Absolon,
2011), that an Indigenous approach to writing involves writing from the perspective
of ones own experiences. Regarding characteristics of Indigenous knowledge, Castel-
lano writes, Among the small corps of people writing about aboriginal knowledge in
the Canadian context there is a measure of consensus on its characteristic content and
mode of transmission. Aboriginal knowledge is said to be personal, oral, experiential,
holistic, and conveyed in narrative or metaphorical language (2000: 25). It is under-
standable that factions in the academy will resist and reject scholarly approaches that
incorporate methods that involve Indigenous knowledge. As Leroy Little Bear notes,
One of the problems with colonialism is that it tries to maintain a singular social order
by means of force and law, suppressing the diversity of human views (2000: 77).
However, it is undeniable that scholarship has changed and continues to change with
the works of those scholars, some of whom I have quoted, who have recognized the
limitations of an extreme positivistic approach when researching and writing about the
spiritual and cultural life of human beings.
As is the case with cultures and religious traditions across the world, Indigenous
people have ceremonies and cultural traditions designed to help an individual deal with
death and the grieving process. I have attended many healing ceremonies over the years
and many funerals. I have served as a shkabewis (helper) to the Elders running the
funerals several times and have seen what takes place following the death of a loved

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296 Studies in Religion / Sciences Religieuses 45(3)

one on many occasions. Typically, after hearing news of the death, friends and family
respond immediately by going to the mourners home to be by the families side,6
offering them their support. In my case, immediately following the death of our baby,
my koda came to the hospital to be with us. A koda, in the Dakota language, is someone
who is a friend, but more than a friend. The relationship is more like that of a brother.
There is nothing that a koda would not do for his koda. I have known my koda for many
years. I attended his sweatlodge ceremonies regularly, served as his firekeeper, and
danced at the sundance that he, as a sundance chief, and his family sponsored. I was
glad that he was there at the hospital with me because I respect his advice and he helped
me to make decisions that I found difficult to make at such a trying time. He also started
singing sundance songs as my Mom washed our baby. I took the umbilical cord, the
afterbirth, and the body of our baby out of the hospital and to the funeral home where we
sang more songs over the body for our babys spirit.
After the funeral parlour I stopped in at home before returning to the hospital. When I
arrived at the house my good friends who are also sweatlodge brothers were waiting.
They were there to smoke their sacred pipe with me, spend time with me, and to joke
around a bit to help release some of the sorrow that I was carrying. The following day
some more good friends popped by the house to comfort me. The two men are both
sundance chiefs at another sundance lodge that I dance at, they and their partners are also
waterdrum carriers of the Mide lodge. The support from sweatlodge and sundance
brothers and sisters, along with other friends, family, and co-workers, continued through
the wake and funeral and the days, months, and years that followed. This type of support
is actually an expression of cultural ways and an exemplification of basic cultural values;
values grounded in gagige inakonige (eternal natural law) for the Anishinaabe (see
Ruml, 2011) and mitakuye owas (all my relatives) for the Dakota (see Ruml, 2010).
Briefly, the basic values of gagige inakonige are known as the seven sacred laws:
wisdom, love, respect, bravery, honesty, humility, and truth. These values are also
inherent in the Dakota concept mitakuye owas, with respect being the underlying value,
and responsibility to care for the well-being of ones relatives being the primary duty.
The Dakota concept articulates a worldview that sees all of creation as related.
Concerning the Dakota and Ojibwe traditions that I have witnessed, the burial typi-
cally takes place four days after the death, following an all day and all night wake.
Normally, the family has a meeting to decide who will be responsible for each task in the
planning of the wake and the funeral. Some of the tasks may include: making funeral
arrangements with the funeral home; writing an obituary for the newspaper; purchasing a
casket; getting a starblanket that will hang on the wall behind the casket and will be
buried with the body, covering the casket; dressing the body of the deceased in tradi-
tional clothes such as moccasins and a ribbon shirt and painting the face; obtaining a
miigis shell for the deceased to hold in their hand, along with tobacco and perhaps the
pipe stem from their sacred pipe and other items that will help the deceased on their
journey to the spirit world; someone has to take tobacco and honoraria to the Elder who
will talk to the jiibay (spirit of the deceased); tobacco and honoraria also have to be taken
to the drum group/singers, the gravediggers, and the Elder who will conduct the funeral
(if different than the Elder who will talk to the jiibay); tobacco should be given to the
pallbearers and the firekeeper(s); and a fire must be started as soon as possible after the

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death, generally at the deceaseds home. The fire will be transferred to the community
centre or building where the wake will take place (it will burn for four days, until the
funeral is over). The wake generally goes on all day and all night culminating with a
final feast and final viewing of the body at high noon on the day of the burial. Friends,
relatives, and community members come and go during the wake to view the body and
to show their love and support by sitting with the family of the deceased. People
reminisce about the deceased and cry at times but also laugh and joke throughout the
wake, relieving the stress and tension and providing healing and strength during the
grieving process. Food and coffee, tea, and other non-alcoholic beverages are served
throughout the wake. Also, a tobacco bowl containing loose tobacco and cigarettes is
passed around, providing an opportunity to have a smoke with the spirit of the deceased
and to pray. Some people, instead of praying with the tobacco by smoking it, will pray
with the tobacco as they place it in the sacred fire which is burning outside and being
tended to by the firekeepers. The firekeepers are trained to have an understanding of the
proper way to keep the sacred fire. Cigarette butts are not flicked into the fire and people
do not spit or throw garbage into the fire. Essentially, people are not allowed to put
anything other than tobacco, or other offerings, into the sacred fire. Through past
training and experience, the firekeepers understand that they must occasionally offer
tobacco to the fire and have good thoughts, kind thoughts, and respectful thoughts while
tending the fire. Furthermore, the shkabewisak (helpers) will smudge the casket, the
people, and the area periodically during the wake. A smudge consists of burning sage,
sweetgrass, cedar, or some other medicine (natural plants with healing properties) or a
combination of medicines. The smudge is used to purify or cleanse people and objects
and to sanctify profane space. It is used to expel negative thoughts and negative
energy and to bring in the positive energy creating good thoughts, good feelings, and
physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual balance. In addition, the drummers/singers sing
traditional Ojibwe memorial and funeral songs periodically during the wake, and
Christians, if they request to do so, will come forward and sing Christian hymns. The
songs are typically Christian hymns sung in the English language, quite different from the
singing documented by Michael McNally (2000) at White Earth, Minnesota. I have not
examined the Christian influence on mortuary practices among the Ojibwe and Dakota,
although I have witnessed tension among Christian and Traditional family members.
More often, however, I have observed co-operation between these two factions.7
At high noon on the day of the funeral, a feast is held. All of the food that will be
consumed is smudged by the shkabewisak and a portion of all of the food is put in a
spirit dish to feed the jiibay (spirit of the deceased). The funeral conductor will pray with
the spirit dish and offer it to the jiibay. The rest of the food is distributed by the
shkabewisak to all of the people in attendance. The people are taught that they are not
to waste the food but to consume everything. Whatever is not consumed at the funeral
will be taken home by the people and consumed later or given to family members or
people unable to leave their home. The Elder conducts the funeral ceremony, praying
with his pipe, singing songs with his hand drum, and talking to the jiibay, sending it on
its journey to the spirit world. After the feast, the body is viewed for the final time and
the people shake the hands of or hug the family members who are sitting by the casket.
The shkabewisak stand by the casket and assist the mourners who are overcome with

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298 Studies in Religion / Sciences Religieuses 45(3)

grief and are having a hard time standing or who are staying too long at the casket. The
people are taught not to linger too long at the casket and to not let any tears drop in the
casket. The reason given is that lingering too long or letting tears drop in the casket may
make it difficult for the deceased to leave on their journey to the spirit world. The Elders
also say that, out of pity, the deceased might take the loved one with them to the spirit
world, resulting in the premature death of the mourner. Furthermore, as Julian Rice notes
in his article related to Lakota ghost stories, To grieve too violently after an initially
permitted phase of intensely demonstrated grief is not to acknowledge that the ghost is
still alive (1984: 331). I have heard both Ojibwe and Dakota people in Manitoba
express this understanding. They say, why should we be sad when someone dies?
We should be happy for them, they are living a good life with their relatives in the
spirit world. It also seems to me that the teaching about not lingering too long is tied to
the teaching that, yes, one should mourn for the deceased, but people should not let their
grief consume them, that it is important to let go and move on with ones life. Bebah-
moytung (Dennis Morrison) from Nicicousemenicaning First Nation in Ontario related a
story that illustrates what might happen if one grieves too hard for a loved one. He talked
about a little boy whose grandmother died. The little boy was very close to his grand-
mother and he loved her so much that when she died he could not stop crying. One night
he dreamed of her. In his dream he saw that she was having a hard time in the spirit
world, exhausted from carrying buckets of water. He wondered why no one was there to
help his grandmother carry the water and why she needed so much water. Suddenly, his
grandmother spoke to him and told him that the buckets of water were actually his tears
and the more he cried, the more she had to carry. She told him that he should not cry for
her, that life is good in the spirit world, and that some day he would join her but that he
should not hurry. Stories such as these are intended as cultural teachings, beginning as a
dream that a young boy has but applicable to anyone experiencing grief. Shepardson also
notes that the Navajo Elders teach the people not to mourn excessively (1978: 386). It
would not surprise me to discover this to be a common teaching cross-culturally for all
Indigenous cultures of the Americas. Consistent with what I have heard and witnessed
regarding Dakota and Ojibwe teachings, according to Shepardson, Although intense
grief may be exhibited during the last illness and death, elders of the family give counsel
to forget the dead and turn toward life and the living (1978: 387388).
At the gravesite the mourners gather around the grave as the Elder says prayers and
the drummers sing funeral songs. After the casket is lowered, the mourners, beginning
with the immediate family, take a handful of dirt and drop it in the grave. Afterwards, the
men take turns shovelling the dirt into the grave. When all is finished and the people
depart from the cemetery, they are taught not to look back; this teaching is tied to a
cultural teaching that is applicable to other situations in ones life. People are taught to
always look forward and not to dwell on the past. They are taught not to forget the past
but to focus on moving forward as a strategy for spiritual, mental, emotional, and
physical health. This teaching is extended to other aspects of ones life, including healing
from the inter-generational impact of Residential School abuse. After the funeral all of
the deceaseds possessions are given away. Perhaps this is another cultural strategy for
moving on and not dwelling on the past. In his study of Kagwahiv culture, Waud Kracke
(1988) notes that one reason given by the Kagwahiv for avoiding these objects and

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places [the deceaseds possessions and home] is that they hold painful memories of the
dead person and are sad reminders of ones loss. One puts them away or gives them
away so as not to be reminded (214). Another reason, identified by Kracke, is to
prevent the ghost of the deceased from lingering around the home where all of their
familiar belongings are located, inviting dangerous contact which might result in a
living relative wandering off to live with the ghost in the house or village of the dead.
The fear that the ghost of the deceased may take a loved one with them to the spirit
world, as mentioned earlier, is a general concern among Ojibwe people that I have
spoken with in southern Manitoba. The distribution of the deceaseds belongings is also
carried out for reasons consistent with the latter one identified by Kracke for the Kag-
wahiv. In addition, for the Ojibwe people that I know at least, the distribution of the
deceaseds belongings is carried out so that the ghost does not linger, not simply out of
fear that the ghost may take a living relative with them to the spirit world, but out of a
general concern that the spirit of the deceased loved one makes a swift, successful
journey to the spirit world.
The wake and funeral are designed to help people in their healing journey. Regarding
the initial mourning ceremonies, Kracke (1988) notes, while referencing Pollock (1961:
7273, and 1972: 1415), In these ways, the acute stage of mourning the initial shock
and the subsequent reaction of intense pain and grief is given ritual recognition (213).
However, as we all know, it is not always easy to make ones way through the grieving
process. Some people appear to move easily through the grieving process, perhaps some
never even experience grief, while others never seem able to get over the death of a
loved one. At times the grief can become so overwhelming and the impact so debilitating
that the individual is led to suicide or, at the very least, to develop a serious psycholo-
gical disorder. Whether or not an individual is able to move quickly through the grieving
process, grieving can be a life-long process.
As is the case with other religious traditions, the Dakota and Ojibwe people in
Manitoba have ceremonies and other long-standing traditions, in addition to the wake
and funeral, designed to help in the grieving process. The ceremonies are not some type
of magical event that automatically guarantees that an individual will be happy, healthy,
and move successfully through the grieving process, they are tools used to help in the
process. The individual has to be ready to let the process work. For example, I know that
the sweatlodge works in healing, for it has helped me many times. However, because I
was caught up in my grief, I could not bother going to sweats. I also went through
moments when I became a serious skeptic and disillusioned with religion or spirituality
of any kind. Instead, I began taking an anti-depressant, busying myself in my work, and
engaging in a therapeutic process known as fishing. It may sound strange but getting out
in the boat, fishing, was some of the best therapy that my wife and I experienced as we
worked through the grieving process on our healing journey. I believe that being on the
water, away from the city and close to nature with all its sights, sounds, and smells was a
contributing factor. I cannot help but think of what Sigmund Freud (1961) wrote in
Civilization and its Discontents. He wrote about how civilization is designed to separate
us further and further from nature and that this unnatural process is unhealthy. This
separation is a contributing factor to our discontents or sicknesses that we experience.
He also notes that civilization has built-in compensations to counteract the discontent

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experienced through this separation; compensations in the form of various types of

entertainment, for example. If Freud is correct, then it makes sense that a return to
nature is a logical remedy for discontents created by this separation. On this point, Freud
would make a good Ojibwe; I have heard similar critiques of contemporary society from
Ojibwe traditional teachers. Although I am sure that the benefits of sport-fishing to my
health and well-being is a fascinating subject to explore, the purpose of this article is to
examine Dakota and Ojibwe mourning ceremonies and the role that they play in the
grieving process. But before leaving the fishing discussion, it is important to relate
another ceremony that my wife and I performed on the opening day of fishing at Lake
Audy in Riding Mountain National Park on 15 May 2005; a place that I have been going
to since I was a child. My maternal grandparents are from Onanole, a town two miles
south of Riding Mountain, so Riding Mountain holds a special place for me. Because of
my Nana and Papa, it has always been a centring place for me. During the most troubled
times in my life, my visits to see my Nana and Papa would keep me grounded. They
were always positive and good natured, full of kindness and love. I dont recall ever
seeing them angry. My grandparents loved fishing and camping and they instilled that
love of the outdoors in me. Lake Audy is one of the lakes that we liked to fish, I might
have even caught my first fish there, and in 1985 I caught the Manitoba record musk-
ellunge (30 pounds, 50.5 inches) while fishing with my Papa, Aunt, and Uncle. We
would have picnics there and go visit the bison at the bison enclosure. I have camped
and fished at Lake Audy extensively, either by myself or with family and friends. So, in
many ways, Lake Audy is a spiritual centre for me. In 2005, at Lake Audy, my wife and
I took our deceased sons umbilical cord, wrapped it in red cloth, and hung it in a tree.
We also buried the placenta, smoked the sacred pipe and sang sundance songs. This
simple ceremony was another step in the process of letting go.
But I was still deep in my grief, suffering from depression and guilt. Being familiar
with a spiritual concept known as onjine, an Ojibwe word that is loosely translated as
what goes around comes around, a type of cosmic retribution that some people liken to
karma, I found myself considering the possibility that the death of my son was cosmic
retribution for my inability to save my friends young son from suicide. I was tormented
with guilt for quite some time until finally, in 2007, I went to see an Ojibwe traditional
healer for a doctoring ceremony. He conducts his ceremonies in a room in his house, his
ceremony room. He begins the ceremony when he turns off the light in the room,
leaving us in total darkness. Using ceremonial items such as his drum, rattle, sacred pipe,
and smudge, he consults the spirits. When he is finished, he turns the lights on and tells
the patient what the spirits communicated to him. He told me that neither of the deaths
were the result of any onjine or the result of any punishment by the Creator. In hindsight
it seems like he was stating the obvious, but it is sometimes hard to think clearly when
grieving. After the ceremony, I felt as if a great weight was lifted off my shoulders. I left
his house in a much better emotional, mental, and spiritual state. I believe that the
effectiveness of the ceremony was greatly enhanced by the respect that I have for the
traditional healer and the confidence that I have in his abilities as a healer. He has helped
me and a countless number of other people many times before and since. It wasnt long
after this ceremony that my wife gave birth to a baby girl. On the opening day of the
fishing season in 2008 we were back at Lake Audy to perform a ceremony with our baby

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girls umbilical cord and the placenta, placing it close to where we placed our sons.
Something very special happened that year. I was standing on the shoreline with my
drum, singing sundance songs. By the fourth song I was completely absorbed in the
moment. Half-way through the fourth song I looked at my 6 month old daughter who
was sitting on her mothers lap in the boat. She gave me a big smile and I cannot put into
words the effect that her smile had on me; it was more powerful than any ceremony. It
was as if she communicated to me that despite my loss, I have her in my life now. She
continues to be a source of healing medicine, as does our other daughter, born in 2012.
Nevertheless, the trauma of losing our first child appears occasionally. The most fright-
ening moment was when our first daughter fell into a deep sleep in my arms. I started
yelling for my wife to come quick. The memory of holding my sons lifeless body in my
arms in the hospital room and then carrying him out of the hospital to the funeral home
overwhelmed me. I still get this way, although not as bad, with our youngest daughter. I
do not often sleep well either, because I am afraid that they are not going to awake from
their sleep. In terms of parenting style, we are very protective and not very permissive.
Other than their grandparents, we never leave them alone with anyone. I cannot express
the anxiety that I experienced having to let go of control on my daughters first day of
school.
Another ceremony that I participated in on several occasions is a memorial ceremony
known as Wiping Away the Tears. This ceremony takes place at the Dakota Eagle
Sundance two days before the sundancing begins. At the Wiping Away the Tears cere-
mony people place settings on a long sheet of broadcloth that has been laid on the
ground in the centre of the circle (those in attendance have arranged their lawn chairs in
a big circle in the open field beside the sundance arbour). A setting is a basket
containing a blanket, towel, face cloth, bowl, eating utensils, water, tobacco, various
foods, and whatever else one wishes to place in the basket. The setting is an offering to
the spirit of a deceased loved one. Often people put out several settings to honour, feed,
and take care of their relatives, continuing to fulfill culturally prescribed kinship respon-
sibilities which exist among the living. The spirit of the deceased relative takes the
spiritual parts of the items and uses them in the spirit world. Community members who
have recently suffered the loss of a loved one or who are still in mourning are asked to
come forward and sit in front of the setting, they will use the material part of the setting.
The bowl, face cloth, and water are placed on top of the setting. A woman comes
around8 and, one by one, dips the facecloth in the water and wipes the mourners tears
away as she gives them words of encouragement, telling them that they must let their
loved one go, that their period of mourning is over and that they must get on with their
life. I have taken part in this ceremony several times and invariably, no matter how
happy I am before the ceremony, the tears come and I feel genuine, overwhelming
sorrow. Also, without fail, once the ceremony is over I feel absolutely refreshed and
renewed and back to my normal cheery self!
Another memorial ceremony in which I participate, is referred to as Flower Day.
This ceremony is held annually on Fathers Day at Sioux Valley, Manitoba, and takes
place at one of the community graveyards. Community members bring their lawn chairs
and sit by their family plots. Settings, like those described above at the Wiping Away the
Tears ceremony, are placed at each of the graves and people are asked to come and

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accept the setting. They sit at the burial plot, say a prayer, eat a plate of food, drink the
tea or juice, which are part of the setting, shake the hands and/or hug the family
members, and take the rest of the setting home with them. As is the case with the
Wiping Away the Tears ceremony, it is believed that the spirits use the spiritual part
of the items while the person who accepts the setting uses the material part. The family
members eat the feast food that they have prepared and sit by the family plots, visiting
and perhaps reminiscing about the loved one who has passed on to the spirit world.
Flower Day provides an opportunity for people to grieve and take care of their loved
ones who are in the spirit world; fulfilling their responsibilities to their deceased kin in
the same way that one takes care of ones living relatives. These kinship responsibilities
are grounded in the Dakota worldview, encapsulated by the phrase Mitakuye owas
(All my relatives), with respect being the underlying value, and the responsibility to
care for the well-being of ones relatives being the primary duty; a responsibility that
continues after death.9 Similar memorial ceremonies take place at reserves throughout
Manitoba, although not called Flower Day and generally not taking place on Fathers
Day. For example, at Long Plain, an Ojibwe community located approximately 130
kilometers west of the city of Winnipeg, the ceremony takes place in the fall (and at
other times of the year). As at Sioux Valley, the families gather at the graveyard and put
settings out. However, the containers of feast food cooked for the occasion and all food
items (everyone brings something, whether sandwiches, soup, juice, tea, soda pop,
candy, etc.) are placed on a blanket at the centre of the gathering. As is the case at all
Ojibwe feasts, the male shkabewisak (helpers) smudge the food, generally with sweet-
grass, and take a portion of everything that was placed on the blanket to make a spirit
dish (as described above when discussing the feast at the funeral). The Elder or spiritual
leader who is conducting the ceremony prays with the food and offers the food along
with tobacco to the jiibay (spirits of the dead). All of the feast food is then distributed by
the shkabewisak to the people in attendance, who fill plastic bags and containers to take
the food home, for the same reasons food that is brought home from the Wiping Away
the Tears ceremony. People eat, visit, smoke a cigarette, reminisce about their loved
ones, perhaps shed a tear, and of course tell plenty of jokes or humorous stories. As is the
case at funerals, when people leave the gravesite, they are taught not to look back.
These memorial ceremonies held at graveyards were a new experience for me. I had
nothing to compare them to in my Catholic, Scottish, Irish, English, Czech heritage. It
seemed strange at first but I quickly learned to appreciate the value and importance that
this ceremony has in the grieving process. It keeps the memory of the loved one alive
and provides a regularly scheduled context to grieve; perhaps freeing one of the need to
dwell on the loss of loved ones during the rest of ones everyday life. As I have adopted
the custom of offering food to the spirit of the deceased, I am sure that the grounds-
keepers at the cemetery where my Dad is buried, are surprised when they find a sym-
bolic tomato or radish at the gravesite.
Another very powerful memorial ceremony that I had the honour of attending is the
jiibay (ghost or spirit of the dead) Midewiwin. The Midewiwin is an Ojibwe medicine
society whose ceremonies are held in a Midewigan or Mide lodge. The lodge is made of
cedar trees and covered with a tarpaulin. It is rectangular in shape, approximately 20 feet
wide by 60 feet long. People sit on the ground or on cushions on the ground. A fire burns

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Ruml 303

in the centre and the pleasing aroma of a cedar smudge permeates the air as the unique
sound of the Little Boy Water Drums emanates. The Little Boy Water Drum gets its
name from the little boy who brought the teaching of the Little Boy Water Drum to the
people following his visit to the realm of the Seven Grandfathers. The Seven Grand-
fathers are powerful spirits who were given the responsibility by the Creator to watch
over the Earths people (Benton-Banai, 1988: 60). It is called a water drum because
water is put in the drum before the hide is tied on to the top of the drum, before it is used.
As is the case with all of the ceremonies discussed in this article, I attended the ceremony
as a participant, not to provide an ethnographic description, so I am not concerned with
an extensive description of the ceremony itself. The relevance to this paper is to identify
the role that this ceremony plays in the grieving process. At this ceremony, I had the
opportunity, as did others, to come forward, stand beside the fire and freely express my
grief as I was fanned down with the wing of an eagle (fan) by one of the Mide Elders.
The wing is used to doctor people, to remove sorrow, and heal people of physical,
spiritual, mental, or emotional illness. As I stood by the fire, being fanned down, I
expressed the sorrow that I was feeling over the recent death, at the time, of an Elder
to whom I was close and whom I loved dearly. His diabetes was so bad that his foot was
getting gangrene and the physicians wanted to amputate his leg. At the time, I went to
see a traditional healer and he gave me traditional medicine to treat the Elders diabetes
and infected foot. The healer assured me that this medicine would remove the gangrene.
Before the traditional medicine could be given a chance the physicians made the deci-
sion to amputate my friends leg. The surgery was too stressful and he subsequently died.
At the jiibay ceremony I related a dream that I had shortly after his death. In the dream, I
saw the Elder in spirit form dancing across the heavens with his spirit legs. He was
happily journeying to the spirit world with his legs restored. As I was being fanned
down, the Mide Elder told me to remember that image of him. I will never forget the
feeling of relief, similar to that experienced at other ceremonies, as if a big weight had
been lifted off my shoulders. Waud Kracke (1988) concluded, in his study of Kwagwa-
hiv culture, that cultural acceptability of visions of the deceased make it easier to
experience and accept in oneself what some psychoanalysts are beginning to regard as
a normal part of the mourning process, or at least a frequently occurring part of it in our
own culture (220).
Another type of memorial ceremony are dance specials, which take place at pow-
wows. Specials are held to honour the loved one who has passed on to the spirit world
and to acknowledge those people who have helped the family in their time of mourning.
Specials may be held for a specific style of dance, for example, a grass dance special,
womens fancy shawl special, jingle-dress special, or any other dance style. If it is a
grass dance special, for example, all the men and boys (of any age) who are grass
dancers compete for prize money that the family of the deceased has provided. The
family may host a grass dance special because the loved one was a grass dancer or there
may be grass dancers in the familys history. Often several specials, sponsored by
different families, are held at the powwow over a weekend. They take quite some time
to complete as, prior to the dancing, the family of the deceased walk clockwise around
the dance area while a drum group, selected by the family, sings an honour song. One or
two family members at the front of the procession carry a photograph or two of the

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deceased. As the family proceeds around the dance area, community members come
forward and shake the hands of or hug the family members, offering their comfort and
support. After the procession, the dance special takes place and may consist of as many
as four songs. Following the dance competition, the family hold a giveaway in which
blankets, towels, and other items are distributed to people who are called forth to receive
special recognition from the family for helping them through their grief. The family
makes a commitment to hosting the special for four consecutive years, culminating in a
huge giveaway in the fourth year. Specials require a great deal of time and money to
sponsor and are emotionally exhausting for the sponsoring family. However, it is under-
stood by family members that by honouring their loved one and acknowledging the
people (community members), dance specials are memorials which are significant to the
healing process.
A final memorial ceremony that must be mentioned is the Ghost Keeping cere-
mony. Although the focus of this article is on grieving ceremonies that I have experi-
enced, I have never performed the Ghost Keeping ceremony, per se. Nevertheless, it is
important to include it here because it is one of the Seven Sacred Rites brought by White
Buffalo Calf Spirit Woman to the Dakota people and it provides yet another example of
the ongoing relationship between the living and the dead. Descriptions of this ceremony
can be found throughout the ethnographic literature, therefore I will not include a
detailed account in this article.10 Essentially, family members keep a lock of hair of the
deceased wrapped in a bundle (made of deerskin hide) for one year. The lock of hair
contains one of the deceaseds souls (the nagi or ghost soul). During that year the family
care for the soul by setting food out for the deceaseds nagi or perhaps placing the
bundle on a tripod, under a favourite tree that the person liked to sit under while they
were alive, or in a place to catch the morning sunrise. At the end of the year of mourning
the family host a feast and giveaway and the nagi is released. The ceremony is intended
to help family members through the grieving process by easing the separation and
preparing the nagi of the loved one for its journey to the spirit world. The United States
government outlawed this ceremony shortly after the Wounded Knee Massacre of
1890, and, shockingly, required all Lakota observing the rite at that time to release
the souls on a day specified by the government (Brown, 1953, footnote 1). Fortunately,
it is no longer against the law in Canada or the United States to perform the Ghost
Keeping Ceremony.11

Conclusion
Throughout my academic career I have been in a perpetual struggle attempting to
balance subjectivity and objectivity. Even in writing this article I have trepidation and
begin by legitimating my personal approach through appealing to scholarly sources. I
follow Indigenous ethical protocols such as a respectful process but also academic
ethical protocols in places where information was gathered as part of an academic
research project.12 I also focus on public events like funerals and omit material that is
not so public and that is not about my own experience. Names of people are not used,
other than the names of those who signed ethics forms or those who are on public record.
Omitting the names of friends stems from an academic influence. From an Indigenous

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Ruml 305

perspective, I should probably acknowledge them by naming them, as a way of honour-

ing them and reflecting the respect that I have for them. From an extremely objective
scholarly perspective I have likely gone too far and from a subjective, personal, Indi-
genous, methodological perspective, I have likely not gone far enough. I have left so
much out, neglecting to go into detail regarding the profound experience of grief that I
experienced and the negative implications that it had for my personal and professional
life. I did not narrate the whole ordeal at the hospital, such as the anxiety I felt fearing
that someone in the elevator might ask to see my cute baby as I carried his lifeless body
out of the hospital. I have not gone into detail about my sons funeral. I have not outlined
the specific ways that family and friends helped us mourn at the funeral or the details at
the graveside, including being led by a bagpiper, in full Scottish regalia, playing Amazing
Grace. These details and a sustained analysis of the methodological implications of an
Indigenous approach to research will have to wait for a book length manuscript that will
allow for the space required to deal with these matters.
Although I have focused on contemporary Dakota and Ojibwe ceremonies in south-
ern Manitoba, Indigenous people throughout the Americas have longstanding traditions
designed to help individuals through the grieving process. I have attempted to commu-
nicate the beauty and effectiveness of the Dakota and Ojibwe ceremonies in which I
have had the honour of participating and how they have helped me in my grieving
process. After experiencing these ceremonies, the damage caused by the violence of
colonization, Residential Schools, and cultural genocide becomes more pronounced. The
cultural tools for coping with grief were outlawed at a time in the history of a people
when loss and trauma were at their greatest.13 The Wiping Away the Tears ceremony and
the sundance that follows it are very powerful ceremonies. These and other ceremonies,
including the sweatlodge, darkroom, yuwipi, shaking tent, jiibay Midewiwin, ghost
keeping, and memorial, among others, are designed to engage the whole individual in
the healing process; spiritually, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Although the
experience may vary from person to person, in my experience no single individual
ceremony, of the many in which I have participated and continue to participate, was
able to completely move me through the grieving process. They all, however, helped me
work through my grief, giving me the strength that I needed to carry on. Certainly, the
effectiveness of the ceremonies is due in part to my belief in the power and efficacy of
the ceremonies themselves and my adherence to the worldview of which the ceremonies
are part. Furthermore, the solidarity and support provided by sweatlodge and sundance
lodge brothers and sisters, and of course my family, friends, and co-workers, cannot be
underestimated. Moreover, a recent facebook post from a friend who, sadly, lost her
child during pregnancy, reminded me of the teaching that the spirits of loved ones who
have gone on to the spirit world can help us in certain ways. It reminded me that
although our loved ones are in the spirit world, they can still communicate with us and
we can still ask for their help. Our relationship is not ended, it is ongoing. They have a
responsibility to us, just as we have a responsibility to feed them in the spirit world. Our
kinship responsibilities do not end with the death of a loved one. These teachings and the
ceremonies are all intended to provide comfort to those who are grieving and support
them in their healing journey. But despite everything, there is still a dark spot in my soul
where this deep sorrow and at times anger lives. I keep on working on this healing

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process and that dark spot gets smaller and smaller. I also try not to dwell on the past but
always look towards the future and do those things that bring me joy, like fishing. I have
come to realize that grieving is an important process but we cant let it consume our life.
We have to be content with realizing that our loved one has found peace in the afterlife.
Ultimately, however, for me the birth of my daughters has been the most significant
contribution to my healing journey. They continue to sustain me and now join me at
ceremonies (and fishing), taking my experience to a whole new level.
Hau Mitakuye owas (All my Relations).

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/
or publication of this article.

Funding
The author received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this
article. Some of the material was gathered with the help of a University of Winnipeg Research
Grant for the project Indigenous Knowledge Documentation Research Project.

Notes
1. See Gilbert (2002) for a discussion of the narrative approach to grief research.
2. However, this article is not intended as an attempt at autoethnography, nor is it intended to
engage in an analysis of the autoethnographic approach. For a formal application of the
autoethnographic approach, I refer the reader to Ashleigh Sanduliaks article in this journal
issue. She struggles with ethical issues not faced by me in my personal narrative. Her
struggles are related to her coming out as Metis and the implications that this has for family
members who, to avoid any negative impacts of that identity in a colonial context, have denied
and hidden their Metis identity.
3. Referencing Bateson (1968), Gorer (1965), and Krupp (1962), Kracke (1988) notes that
European and American values discouraging the open expression of grief inhibit the mourn-
ing process for us (211).
4. See Smith (1981: 5680), for his discussion of objectivity and the humane sciences.
5. See Diana L. Eck (2007: 744). I was immediately struck by this expression upon first reading
it in Diana Ecks article. It appropriately represents how I envision my position in academia:
scholar, humane scientist, spiritual believer, natural man, musky hunter, rock n roller, etc.
6. Of course, this seems to be a universal human response. My Scottish, Irish, and Czech
relatives, for example, were by our side immediately and helped us through the grieving
process. Many non-Indigenous friends and co-workers from various ethnic backgrounds were
also there to comfort us.
7. See Shepardson (1978) for her study of the change from traditional mortuary practices to
Christian funerals among the Navajo.
8. In the case of the Eagle sundance held at Birds Hill Park in Manitoba, the woman was the
head woman sundancer who had danced for many years. See Ruml (2009) for a discussion of
the Birds Hill Park sundance.
9. See Ruml (2011) for an elaboration of mitakuye owas.
10. For a detailed description see, for example, Fletcher (1884) and Brown (1953).

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11. In Canada, the Department of Indian Affairs created a series of amendments to the Indian Act,
beginning in 1885, in an attempt to exterminate all Indigenous religious ceremonies and
customs. These amendments were followed by forced attendance at Residential Schools in
an attempt to assimilate Aboriginal people by erasing their languages and cultural ways. In
1951 the amendments banning religious practices were removed from the Indian Act. See
Pettipas (1994) for a discussion related to the outlawing of Indigenous ceremonies.
12. In this regard, I acknowledge a University of Winnipeg research grant for material gathered
under the Indigenous Knowledge Documentation Research Project.
13. Hopefully the recommendations from the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada
(2015) will be implemented, leading to a reversal of the negative impacts of colonization
through facilitating the renewal of the Indigenous cultures and languages that the colonial
powers attempted to eradicate.

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