Terra Trevor is the author of We Who Walk the Seven Ways: A Memoir (University of Nebraska Press, 2023). Her essays are widely published in anthologies, including Unpapered: Writers Consider Native American Identity and Cultural Belonging (University of Nebraska Press, 2023). Terra’s stories are steeped in themes of home, place and belonging, her identity as a mixed-blood, and her connection to the landscape. Please visit terratrevor.com to learn more.

My dad died last year. Walked on, is our word for death in my Native culture. Auntie, dad’s younger sister is our elder now, eighty-six. I’m seventy-three, second elder. We are American Indians, mixed-blood Cherokee, Lenape, Seneca. I’m California born and raised, and I grew up in a large extended mixed-blood family rich with fiddle music, banjo playing, and storytelling.

But I don’t have any pictures of my dad’s side of the family. The film was overexposed the day we all lined up according to our generation. In the first photograph the great aunties and uncles are grouped together. These are my grandpa’s siblings, born in Indian Territory Oklahoma, and the line doesn’t hold a white face.

The next group is my dad, Auntie, and all of their cousins—the first half-blood generation in our family.

For the photos I stand with my younger brother and sister, and all of our cousins. We are not full bloods or even half, and yet we’re not white and never will be. In our youth, we stand blinking in the sunlight, and I remember thinking that someday we will become the elders.

We were raised to do our best to make better for the next seven generations. For me this has meant a lifetime of volunteering, writing, sharing our stories, reading books to children by Native American authors, and working to ensure Native lives and histories are portrayed with honesty and integrity. I provide stepping-stones for kids of all ethnicities so they can see and understand that Native American people have respect for our traditional ways, and that we are also real people, working as doctors, teachers, storytellers, writers, and authors. Native American mothers and fathers are regular moms and dads who cook dinner, help their kids with homework, play baseball, and are not relics from the past. American Indian people are still here, with our celebration of life past, present, and future.

And just when I was beginning to find my way in this lifetime without my dad around anymore, Auntie suddenly died last week and walked on into the spirit world. From flesh and blood to souls and songs with the ancestors.

Each morning I walk my usual two-mile loop, and sometimes three miles. But my body no longer moves as easily as it did in the past. My face has grown fragile and my skin more wrinkled. It’s a time of assessing aims, of coming to an understanding, an acceptance. A time of peace, of power, a time of forgiveness and compassion, of giving up old patterns, surrendering to changes, embracing changes in preparation for the major change that will come. I’m still learning the lessons of the giveaway.

I’m aware my reserves are no longer limitless and where I put my time matters. Time is slipping fast, softy. Lightness of touch and living in the moment are intertwined. I hear the spirit world singing humility, gratitude, respect, caring, compassion, honesty, and generosity, reminding me.

What I know for sure is that I’m moving along faster now. I’m walking The Seven Ways and the pathway is growing deeper. I hear the ancestors talking to me. “Look inside yourself, trust your own thinking, and believe in your own power. What you are searching for to guide you is asleep within you, and if you continue walking your intuition will wake up.” I feel Auntie standing beside me, her hand on my shoulder.