Guided by sacred fire, Dad travelled far and wide in final journey home By: Niigaan Sinclair Posted: 6:14 PM CST Friday, Nov. 8, 2024

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 08/11/2024 (651 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

It’s 2 a.m. and my turn with Dad.

My siblings are asleep in the next room, having spent the day moving our father, Murray Sinclair, to palliative care and visiting with him and so many others.

It’s dark, quiet. Solemn.

I feel dad’s chest. His breaths are growing shorter. He shifts his body slightly to the left — a side of his body he feels less pain from.

I tell him it’s me. He nods.

He eases; his eyes are closed but he is there.

Then, I do what he has been asking me to do since he got sick.

What he did for his dad.

I tell him the story of what happens to Anishinaabe people when they die — a part of our Creation story. If you ever get a chance to hear it, please do: it’s one of the most remarkable, joyful and brilliant stories about the miracle of love.

I recite it to him again. I fight off tears, even though those are a part of the story, too.

Dad’s breaths shrink. His face drains of pain. He is relaxed. Listening.

It’s that time.

I wake my sisters just before 2:30 a.m., who join me and surround him.

“Come to the fire, Dad. Look for it.”

I finish the story. I tell him: “I’ll make the fire, Dad.”

He nods, faintly, slightly, truly. For the last time in this life.

“Come to the fire, Dad. Look for it.”

The first, and arguably most important part of an Anishinaabe funeral, (or, as we call it, an end of life ceremony) is the making of an ishkode, or sacred fire.

It’s a fire that must be struck, fostered, and cared for near where the family cares for their relative over four days.

Like every sacred fire, nothing but good things must happen around it. Medicines and healthy wood must be the primary fuel. No garbage may be used in or around this warm, kind and giving place.

A sacred fire is, in fact, a grand relation who cares for everyone who visits it.

A fire at an Anishinaabe end of life ceremony does more work than this, though.

It is taught among Anishinaabe people that when a spirit leaves a body (also known as a life vessel), this transition is very new, disorientating and hard.

This makes sense; for a spirit and life vessel are one for a long time — especially for those who lived very rich lives, like a knowledge keeper, leader and elder.

Just as a body gets used to being connected to a spirit, a spirit gets used to being connected to a body.

The end of life for a body represents a great transition.

For the first while, especially during the initial stages a spirit leaves their life vessel, they may not know what has happened, what to do, and where to go.

In the spirit world, everything is different — some say opposite.

It’s a place where time, food, water, and life exist in a different way. Life is full of joy, meaning and love but in ways we have yet to know.

For instance: the daytime of the spiritual world — when spirits most often travel and move throughout Creation — is our nighttime.

A relative’s spiritual journey home after getting used to so much time in our world is not easy and requires a little bit of help.

This is where the fire comes in.

When a sacred fire is lit for an end of life ceremony, a transitioning relative’s traditional name — the name the spiritual world uses to refer to a person’s spirit — is spoken.

All of Creation is informed that this fire is for that person’s spirit. It is marked; a beacon representing where home is.

This means a spirit always has a place to come back to see where their family members, loved ones, and vessel are.

Without the burden of uncertainty, a spirit is then free to travel throughout Creation, experiencing everything they loved in their life; the places, moments and people.

And travel they do — over three nights.

For some, like my father, this meant he travelled very far, widely, and visited many, many people.

If you are reading this, you’re probably one of them. I hope you said hello.

No matter how distant and deep a spirit travels, this fire marks a place for a spirit to rest, prepare and hear instructions for the next step of its journey.

On the fourth day, the fire’s work is done.

There is new work for the spirit to do.

It’s time to travel to their other home.

This is a place where the spirits of all those passed on exist and where a great feast awaits their arrival.

For my dad, this is the place where his grandparents, his parents and brothers, and the woman he loved so deeply, our mother, await him.

Where other fires await.

niigaan.sinclair@freepress.mb.ca

Niigaan Sinclair
Columnist

Niigaan Sinclair is Anishinaabe from Peguis First Nation and a professor in the Department of Indigenous Studies at the University of Manitoba. He’s been a columnist for the Free Press since 2018. Read more about Niigaan.

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