The Epic of Earl

“The Epic of Earl”

Autumn Whitehorse

On this journey called life, we all have so many experiences that make us feel pain, sadness, joy, happiness, anger, and so much more. There is no “How To” book with instructions for how we should live our lives. We search for ways to be remember and be remembered. An important part of my journey began with the sudden and unexpected passing of my father, Earl Whitehorse. This loss left me struggling with pain, sadness, and loneliness that I am still working through.

In 1995 my mother, Virginia, thought she had the flu but found out she was pregnant with me instead. When October rolled around, my mother gave birth to me, and my father named me Autumn for the season and Eve for the time of day.

Through the years, my siblings and I looked to him as if he was a superhero because he would do everything in his willpower to give us the best lives we could have. He was kind, helpful, and very unselfish. He showed us how to love by how he treated our mother and us, to continuously help others through kindness, and so much more. There are so many stories that I could. I know I was my dad’s baby. He called me that every day of my life, through a text message or in a birthday cards, and I felt special.

I was born 8 years after my sister and the age difference made it difficult to live up to my siblings because I grew up in a different era than they did. My parents raised us all to be athletic, playing basketball, football, volleyball, baseball and softball. But growing up, I always felt just average at playing sports compared to my siblings. But my mom told me not compare myself to them and to be myself—which was not easy to do. But one day I realized my own calling. I was about 6 years old when I went to the Shonto Rodeo. I fell in love with barrel racing and fast horses, and my interest in rodeo began that day.

I began by using my cousin Jeffery’s horses. Then seeing my passion for rodeo, my father bought me my first horse named Babe. We got along well, and she was a great horse to learn from because she was gentle and followed my commands. But eventually, Vortex

I knew I had to get a different horse, one that loved going fast as much as I did. I wanted to win! And again, my dad came through for me with two horses, Sissy and Bunnie. If I said my dad brought two amazing horses into my life, amazing would not do them justice. There is one rodeo I will forever remember in my heart, Yakama Treaty Days in Yakama, Washington. I never won a saddle during my first four years of competing in rodeos, but that was my goal! My parents, sister, Aunt Irene, and I made the long drive to Washington just so I could compete in that rodeo. When I saw the saddle that the Champion Junior Barrel Racer would take home, I could barely breathe; it was so beautiful. I wanted to win that saddle more than anything!

I made my first run in the Junior Barrel Racing, and I won the long go (the first round of the rodeo). The next round was the short go run. Before I went into the arena, my dad was tightening the cinch on my saddle, and I looked him and asked, “What do I need to do, Dad?” He replied, “Just be a little bit faster.” Bunnie and I made our way to the gate and like he said, we were “a little bit faster”--fast enough to win. Bunnie helped me win my first saddle on that day I will never forget. When I trotted out of the gate after that run, I rode up to Dad who was sitting on the fence. My mom was on Sissy. I saw the tears in his eyes because he was so happy and proud of Bunnie and me. Through every accomplishment as well as every heartbreaking loss, he was always there for all of us with his famous line, “All right!” As kids, we never knew what it was like to have an absent father because our dad was ever present for us.

Last year, my parents began to volunteer with the Navajo-Hopi COVID relief group that delivers food and every day supplies to families and elderly who weren’t able to travel to stores because they were at risk of getting COVID or who became sick with COVID, so they were self-quarantining with their families. On the Navajo Nation, not everyone has running water, electricity, or access to certain luxuries. My parents volunteered all through 2020, and they helped people with what they needed—even hauling water for livestock. The luxury of running water is a main concern especially living in a climate that gets up to 105 degrees during mid-summer days. We own a herd of cattle and ranch horses, so we understand the importance of hauling water for livestock especially on hot summer days. My parents would plan out their deliveries wisely, they would take 350 gallons of drinking water for livestock as well as the food

for those families. If they needed more water, my parents would drive to Page, 30 to 40 minutes away, to get another load of water. They made sure everyone within a 40 mile radius of Kaibeto was taken care of before coming home or they would get at the crack of dawn the next day to finish where they left off.

On December 1st, my sister took my father to be tested. While he waited at home for his test results, he did what he could to help heal my mom. He got herbs that were believed to help with COVID, he got an overpriced heater to keep the travel trailer warm for my mom, and most of all, he prayed so hard for my mom to heal. Two days later, he received a phone call, and he was told that he was positive for COVID too. He didn’t show symptoms for a couple days, so he went out walking, drank tea, went into the sweat lodge, and drank a lot of water. But as the days went on, he started to worsen. He coughed a lot, slowed down on drinking his water, laid on the couch more, and lost his taste and smell. At this point, my sister and I were doing the best we could to take care of our parents. My sister cared for my mom the majority of the day, and I took care of my dad. But then my mom began to worsen. She wasn’t able to keep down any liquids, and so she eventually got dehydrated and had to be taken to the emergency room twice. The second visit to the ER, she had to stay longer because she needed oxygen and antibiotics. The days that my mom was hospitalized, my dad worsened. He lay in bed more, he slept more, he hardly ate or drank liquids, he didn’t leave his room. He was struggling.

Honestly, a serious fear of losing him began to settle in my heart. I begged him to sit up, and he would tell me, “Baby it hurts to be awake. The coughing takes a lot out of me.” His condition worsened, so my sister took him to the ER. She watched him walk for the last time. Every day that he was in the hospital, I would text him to check up on him. On December 10th I wrote him, “Good night Daddy. I love you. Keep getting stronger.” He replied, “Feeling better,” and little did I know that was last text I would ever get from him. A couple of days later, the doctors believed that he needed more help than they could give him, so they decided to fly him to the Del E Webb Memorial hospital in Surprise. Once he flew out and was admitted, he was sedated. We called the hospital every single day to get an update on his condition. The nurses and doctor had so much faith that he would heal, and they believed he was going to be released the

second weekend. We could not have known he wasn’t going to make it.

Two days before he passed, I had a dream of him. We were at a rodeo, and my boyfriend and I were chasing the calves down the return ally to where my sister and her boyfriend were. As we were walking behind the calves, I looked up into the stands and saw him sitting next to my mom. I ran towards my parents and asked my dad, “When did you get back? Why didn’t you call us to pick you up?” He replied, “I just got back from Phoenix. The doctor said I’m all better now, so I called mom to pick me up. I told her to not to call you girls because you guys were busy with the cows and calves.” I said, “Ok dad, I’m happy you’re home, but you still should have called us.” The last thing he said to me before I woke up was, “All right, you go take care of the calves. I love you baby,” and he gave me one of his big ole daddy hugs. I woke up crying because my dad always called me baby no matter how old I was. The dream gave me a glimmer of hope that he was going to recover from COVID and come home to us.

Within the next couple days, his health took a serious turn for the worse. Two days after my dream, we were scheduled to FaceTime with him, and the nurse told us he was fully sedated, but he could still able hear us. As we were talking to him, I had this gut feeling that this could be the last time I would I talk to my dad. I didn’t want to feel that feeling, and I didn’t want to think about it, so I fought it the whole time we were talking to him. Towards the end of the call, the nurse told us that as a family we needed to make a decision about what was best for my dad, but I knew that being the man he was he would make his own decisions. And he did. Once we got off of the phone with him and the nurse, we stayed on Facetime with my brothers. At first, no one said anything. Then I spoke. “I don’t want to be the first one to say it, but I think we need to let Dad go. Everyone was living their lives when he broke his leg, and I was the one home with him every day. He wasn’t himself. He is so independent that I could see he didn’t like how his youngest had to take care of him. He didn’t like being handicapped and unable to do anything for himself. I don’t want to see him struggle every day now because we are too selfish to let him go. He deserves not to suffer. As much as we all don’t want to let him go, we have to if not for ourselves but him.” My family cried as they spoke, but we knew we had to let him go.

Ever since January 7th, the silence I feel at home without him seems to have grown

louder each day. I wander in my thoughts and memories searching for my dad. I know I am waiting for him to come home, and the pain is a churning in my gut that never stops. I am only 25 years old, and I have lost my maternal grandmother, maternal and paternal grandfathers, uncles and the memorable horses whom I loved. I feel I have lost so much in my life. At night, I lay in bed wide awake because the house feels so quiet. It feels like we are all waiting for him. I wonder how God could take someone so unselfish, kind, and loving. I know I should not question God’s intentions but I do. My dad caught COVID because he was doing everything in his power to help those who were weak and needed help the most.

And I feel so guilty for letting this happen to my dad. It is hard to come to terms with his passing because it is hard coming to terms with what we could have done to save him. I think of everything I should have done as a daughter and I cry and say, “I’m sorry dad. I’m sorry this happened. Daddy, you are the best person to ever walk this earth, you were the best father and grandfather, and I love you.” I would give up everything to have one more day with him. And when my mom cries, I wish I could comfort her and make her feel better. All my life, I’ve always seen my parents together; there was never a moment in life that they weren’t together. But lately, I have a feeling he is still right there beside her.

Every day since his passing, I battle the feelings of being lonely, lost, and confused about life. I wonder who I am without him. I always went to my dad for everything, from air in my tire to help with homework. He made sense of every little thing. Now I feel lost not being able to turn to him for help. For me, this journey is just now beginning because, for the rest of my life, I will be learning to do things without him. But I remember him telling me that we never stop learning. And although I have lost my dad, I have gained the gift of knowing what a man among men he was to all our family: grandfather, uncle, husband, son, and most of all, as my dad. My dad always believed that I could do anything. Whenever I felt defeated, he always told me “We wouldn’t be here if you couldn’t do it.” Now, I reflect on his words and think, “I would not be at this point in my life if my dad didn’t think I could live life without him.” And I want to continue to make him proud of me.