New scenes from an old life 

In August 1977, Elvis Presley made an appearance in the Navajo Nation. His blue suede shoes stepped into an IHS hospital room to visit shicheii, my grandfather David. At least, that’s what happened in my grandfather’s vision. 

I’ve been thinking about my grandfather lately. Though he died long before I was born, sometimes he’ll surface in my memory and maybe that means he’s also thinking of me. Before I continue, I must remind you that everything’s connected, so when I talk about my grandfather, I have to mention Elvis because he loved the King of Rock and Roll. In addition, I can’t talk about my grandfather without talking about the way radioactive colonization impacted his life. You see, everything’s connected, and in the Navajo Nation the mountains hold our hearts in protection, but I can’t talk about the open-ended beauty of Navajoland without talking about the settler-state terrors committed on the land. You see, everything’s connected because the ashes of empire haunt Indian Country, and to help raise his family, my grandfather lived and breathed that toxicity. 

What I’m trying to say is that on the Navajo Nation, the frenzy of uranium mining in the mid-20th century left behind an aftermath of abandoned mines and tailing piles. And Grandpa David was a uranium miner for the Kerr-McGee Corp. He worked at various sites throughout Navajoland, sometimes working too in Southwest Colorado. As a result of all that exposure to radiation, my grandfather developed a series of chronic health issues. He eventually quit mining and became a school custodian on the reservation, in Shiprock. 

I have come to know my grandfather’s life only through stories and photos. Every detail I encounter brings him back to life in new ways.  

My mom told me the story about Elvis visiting him in the hospital. See, when Grandpa David was a custodian, he suffered a major concussion that left him in a coma. This happened the same week Elvis died. My family remembers the nurses in the Indian hospital walking around mourning The King’s death. Days later, when Grandpa David came out of his coma, he already knew what had happened. He told my family he met Elvis in the other realm. Not long after that, Grandpa David too would take his last breaths. 

These stories and details are committed to memory. I place them in the architecture of my mind where there’s a room I’ve built devoted to the grandfather I never met. On the walls are the sparse photos I have seen of him. 

In the few photos I know, my grandfather is usually staring into the camera with a serious expression. He looks formal: his hair is slicked back in a side part, and he’s often in a careful, serious pose. I can recall these images on command. 

Recently, my mom came across a new photo of Grandpa David. It’s a black and white picture from the 1976 yearbook for Shiprock High School, where he was a custodian. The photo shows my grandfather wearing a cowboy hat and a high-collar button-up shirt. He’s also holding a coffee cup. What I cherish most about this image is the way it candidly captures him smiling while looking off-camera. Seeing my grandfather smile in this new scene from an old life brings me a little closer to him. This scene adds more texture to his life. Because I know what’s happening internally and out of frame. I know there’s a cancer taking over his body from all those years in the uranium mines. I know he was only paid once a month as a custodian, and my grandmother had to weave and sell her own Navajo rugs to help make ends meet. I know the stories about all the strength and wisdom my grandfather carried, and I know he was a man who wanted the best for his family. I see all those traits in this picture. I see why Elvis would visit him. 

It’s strange to say, but sometimes in my mind, my grandfather seems almost mythical. And yet he’s within reach through family stories. Those stories describe an iron-willed, working-class Diné father who also held close our people’s teachings and songs. Also, the engine driving my curiosity to learn more about shicheii stems from the ways I mirror him. I carry his name in my middle name. I have been told that my thick wavy hair resembles his. And one time my mother described her father as a gentle, patient person, and she said I resemble him because I have those qualities, and it twists my heart up a little to be a version of someone I never met, but I am in awe to be a chapter in his story. 

Also, a smile offers up new possibilities within a story, so we must recognize the everlasting blessing contained within that joyous expression. 

By that I mean, this black-and-white picture of my grandfather was taken about a year before his death. But the beauty of that image is the way it makes death retreat like a defeated army. I look at the photo and I see shicheii David basking in a golden moment, beaming a golden smile because he knows love transcends a lifetime.

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