Remembering Cousin Eva

We buried Cousin Eva on Monday. Under ordinary circumstances, we would not write much detail about a passing. We leave such tasks to the obituary writers. In the case of Eva Kellis Smith though, we are going out on that proverbial limb because her grace and quiet influence was so powerfully felt throughout the tribe and beyond. Cousin Eva was a teacher to us all: How to live. How, even, to die.

If we are at peace with her absence today, it is because she prepared us months ago for what took place on Monday.

Eva Kellis Smith, age 90, was a soft-spoken woman with a mighty voice. She didn’t do this often, but when she felt compelled to address the tribe, we listened. She lived simply, rejected “display,” and never wore buckskins or feathers because she believed they didn’t tell a single, solitary thing about who she was. In fact, you learned more about who she was by visiting her home. You learned what she really stood for just by being with her children — three daughters, all proud protectors of the Shinnecock way — a lawyer, a doctor and a die-hard Traditionalist, who up until a few years ago insisted on cutting her own firewood. Around the reservation and out of earshot, we speak of the daughters most affectionately as doctor, lawyer and Indian chief. They are also wives, mothers and grandmothers following the path Cousin Eva laid out for them, the same path that was passed down to her from her mother and grandmothers.

It is impossible to know who or how many tribal members Cousin Eva corralled in the final months of her life for that one last lesson, that one last word of encouragement, but we did witness a few, and it was clear she was saying, “goodbye.” She also took my hand on at least two occasions and drew me closer to her as she sat in her wheelchair.

“I just want you to know …” she began on both occasions. She didn’t speak long, but when she finished saying what she had to say to me, I felt accomplished, worthy and vindicated, and that maybe I could plow through another day of tribal tribulations and complications, after all. Simple words carry big voltage for good or ill. In her case, it was all good.

So this past week we celebrated Cousin Eva’s life, as we do, with ceremony: Traditional and Christian, drum and holy cross, smoke, sacred song and prayer. Drum alerted the heavens that she was on her way. Smoke curled up to the sky carrying prayers for her safe arrival.  Her body was commended to the Earth, and we return to our lives enriched because she lived among us.

On Oct. 1, 2010, we became a federally recognized tribe. Cousin Eva was here to see it. We never asked her how she felt about it, but we’ll hazard a guess: She probably felt if tribes were “recognized,” for whatever reason the government came up with — and the government is good for coming up with reasons when it comes to Indians — then should be “recognized” as well.

Thank you, Cousin Eva. We love you, too.