cancer

The year Gramma Rovina got sick, we went to longhouse. We were sitting on the bench together, my Onondaga Beaver grandmother keeping me right under her wings, and it came time to dance. I didn’t know she was sick. And for some reason when the women got up to dance she didn’t join in. I timidly stayed by her side, unsure of what to do. The women danced right past me and Gramma scolded me…”go on, get out there!”