“My children tell stories of the ancient world, the old world. They search for Little People on the tundra, little beings not taller than a human hand. They tell stories of strong men who stayed underwater for days. The strong men cupped their hands against the ocean floor, breathing with pockets of air made by their cupped hands. My children try to forget death by telling these old stories. They’ve carried dead bodies to the graveyard with their own youthful hands.” DeathHealingIndigenousArcticIndigenous PeoplesInupiaqLittle Peoples Book:Sivulliq: Ancestor Source: Sivulliq: Ancestor
“This is how our people face death. We walk to the tundra, underneath the sky, and we face death by ourselves. Even the Elders, old, feeble, and minds like children, somehow, they know when the time is near. I suppose I’ll know when it is time.” DeathHistorical FictionDeath And DyingIndigenousAlaskaArcticNative American LiteratureInupiaqAlaska Native Literature Book:Sivulliq: Ancestor Source: Sivulliq: Ancestor
“My husband trudged up the ridge, stumbling, but determined. My children and I watched him until he disappeared over the ridge, out of view, vanishing into the abyss. It wasn’t an extraordinary day, not foggy, not stormy, or a bright day. It was grey and cloudy when a good man and a good father walked up to face death like our people have done for a millennia.” DeathHistorical FictionDeath And DyingIndigenousAlaskaArcticNative American LiteratureInupiaqAlaska Native Literature Book:Sivulliq: Ancestor Source: Sivulliq: Ancestor