I am a Cherokee inmate in Ohio. My father and grandparents (now deceased) were members of the Eastern Band of the Cherokee Nation from The Qualla Boundary in North Carolina.
I read a borrowed copy of Indian Life from my fellow inmate, a Nakota Sioux from the Yankton Reservation, and I am glad I read it! I would like you to know that I read the section entitled “Have You Been Abandoned?” I asked Unelanvhi into my life, and proclaimed the included prayer aloud, for all of my fellow inmates to witness! I would like to tell you a little about myself, asking the Lord to assist me to find the strength and the words to give you a small glimpse into my past…
My mother is a white Irish woman. My father is a Cherokee. They divorced when I was two years old, and I didn’t get to know my father or his family until I was 13. Between the ages of 13-26, I had only seen or heard from my father six times. From age 26-29, my father and I became close. Then he killed himself.
He didn’t leave a note to explain why. I know why, though. My father suffered from flashbacks and PTSD [post-traumatic stress disorder]. My father served in the 5th Special Forces Group as a tunnel rat in Vietnam. He had begun to use alcohol to fight his demons, and he lost the battle and hung himself. His suicide was a complete shock, and the person I was died with him on that fateful day.
I had been beaten, sexually abused, and completely terrorized by my stepfather between the ages of 9 and 13. Both my older sister and I were his victims. My sister had finally gained the courage to tell someone about what was happening to us. Although the authorities told my father and his family what happened to us, he never brought it up.
I lived my own life, eventually following in my father’s shoes becoming a soldier in the U.S. Army.
After my tour I moved to South Carolina. I had given up on God, believing He had abandoned me, and I followed a very “pagan” lifestyle.
I had grown up in Cleveland, Ohio. There were only a few Native people there in the 70s and 80s, none of whom I knew anything about. I was just the “colored” kid in our West Side—Caucasian neighborhood.
While living in the South, I ventured to the reservation in Cherokee, N.C., and at once I felt “at home.” Three years before my father killed himself, he would go to Cherokee with me, and we would have the one and only picture of us taken together at his favorite “lookout spot”. Dad knew I also had PTSD, and I know that he blamed himself for not protecting my sister and me. I wondered how such a loving God could allow me to feel so much pain and shame, and then allow me to lose the one person who I loved more than anything else in the world.
I don’t want to wonder “why me?” anymore. I want to “let go and let God” do as He sees fit with me.
I want to be the voice of all my Native brothers and sisters, to be the one to say “You are not alone…God hears your cries and He will heal you.” Thank you for any prayers you may offer up to the Lord!
Two Feathers, Ohio
The Indian Life newspaper not only inspires me but others around me that I share this paper with. At this time I’m at a hospital unit due to a heart condition. I hate to say it but I may have a physical heart condition but many here are worse off for they have a spiritual heart condition.
With the help and love of Christ, God is going to fix up some others sad heart condition.
C.C., Texas
Letters published in Indian Life are edited to fit. We do not publish names of those in prison to protect them.
