Terrance C. Petoskey
Died October 30, 2018
Died October 30, 2018
PESHAWBESTOWN –
Terrance Charles Petoskey, 70, of Peshawbestown, passed away on Oct. 30, 2018
at Medilodge of Leelanau, after a brief cancer related illness, amazing how
short the cancer trip is from stage 2 to stage 4, to a quiet slip into death. .
Terry was born
June 6, 1948 in Traverse City the son of Sylvester “Pete” Francis Petoskey and
Dorothy (Raphael) Petoskey. He was a
member, citizen of the Grand Traverse Band of Ottawa and Chippewa Indians,
descendent of Little Traverse Bay Band of Odawa and Saginaw Chippewa Indian
Tribe. The defining event of his life
was his mother’s death when he was young, the consequent dislocations, injuries
and pains followed him to the end of his life.
He graduated
from Marquette High School with the Class of 1967. There he played football and
began a life-long love of sports, (injuries sustained from sports precluded him
from the army draft) Terry then attended Northern Michigan University for
several years before moving on to a traveling life.
During the
1970’s; Terry lived and worked on the coasts of Louisiana (shrimp boats) California
(forest work) Oakland (labor) and became a life-long Oakland Raiders fan
spending many memorable moments in the sport stadiums. Terry was an avid sports
fan, he loved watching baseball, football and golf.
He loved to
play golf with his father, he loved to fish and camp with his brother Bob and
he loved the randomness of conversation with his brothers on many
adventures. During the 1980s and early
90s, Terry was a substance abuse counselor (putting significant personal
experience to work) with the Keweenaw Bay Indian Community New Day treatment center
helping other Indians overcome the grip of addiction, many Indians in Michigan
benefited from his counseling.
In the late 90s
and early 2000s, he worked in a bird food facility in Grand Rapids. He became permanently disabled in early 2005.
He was an avid reader and continuous patron of libraries.
Terry is
survived by his siblings, Donna Swallows, John Petoskey, Leona May, Wyman
Chippewa, Glen Petoskey, Eliza “Tootsie” Burns, Diana Taula, Joyce Petoskey,
Greg Petoskey, Glenda Petoskey, Joan Petoskey, Bill Petoskey, Janice Petoskey;
and many loving nieces, nephews, cousins and extended family members.
He was preceded
in death by his parents; Sylvester “Pete” and Dorothy Petoskey; his siblings,
Robert “Bob” Petoskey, Gary Chippewa, Brenda Whiteye, Steve Petoskey and Karen
Nichols.
The funeral
service will be held at 10 a.m. on Saturday, Nov. 3 with the family greeting
friends at 9 a.m. at the Martinson Funeral Home of Suttons Bay. Burial in Kateri Tekakwitha Cemetery will
follow the services. Sister Sue Gardner
will officiate. Terry was a lifelong Catholic attending various churches most
recently St. Francis in Traverse City, though Kateri Tekakwitha was his
original home, and now, his permanent home.
Condolences
may be shared with Terry’s family below or on our funeral home Facebook page:
One of my favorite memories about my Uncle Terry is when I asked why he was so good at finding morel mushrooms.
ReplyDeleteI was about six at the time. He lived with us. My sister and I would often sit in the grass in our backyard and he would hit golfballs far over the trees. I usually teed it up for him. One time I teed up a fake ball that exploded into a cloud of smoke, but that is a different story. He had a good swing, the golfballs he hit would land somewhere in the dense woods around our house. Sometimes we would accompany him--on what felt a journey of biblical proportion--to go find the ball. He would inevitably come out of the woods with giant morel mushrooms that he fried in butter for my grandfather and for us. This was his process. Hit the ball, find the mushroom. For us, it seemed like magic. We always struggled to find even the smallest morsel while he would find literal pounds of mushrooms. So once, I asked him how he did it. He responded by smiling and giving his signature cackle between his crooked teeth. He put out his hand, scanning the perimeter of the forest. He told me "you have to look out at the woods, and think about where the mushroom might be." I put out my hand and followed his instructions. He continued, "maybe under a tree, behind a wet rock. Once you have a clear image in your mind, you just have to go to that place and that is where the mushroom will be." I've tried this technique, and it still hasn't worked for me all that well. I am convinced that it was a certain kind of magic that followed my uncle; maybe an ancestor that whispered the images into his mind's eye and directed his feet to that mushroom grove.
My uncle Terry passed away last night, one of many deaths this month in our little ndn community. He was born in his homeland, just as his nieces and nephews were, just as his mother and father before him were, their mother and father before them also were, and so on. When I am mushroom hunting, or find myself in a dense thicket of woods, I will always remember my uncle and what he told me. More than that, I will remember his image in that moment of patient listening. His extension of his hand asking for help from God, the spirits, or whatever you want to call it, in revealing that which is unseen. He saw the connectivity between the natural and spiritual when we were together in the woods that day. And it was an unremarkable connection to him, something his young nephew surely could do. Something I still am trying to understand. This connection is the link between us and the land, to our past, to our families, communities, and to one another. It connects the living to the dead, too. Human life and expereience are both remarkable and unremarkable. Patient and impatient. Spiritual and mundane. Each just small bits of a greater whole. I remember this lesson today as I remember my uncle. I hope the next time I look for mushrooms he will be there--in the land and among the trees--to tell me where they are. Rest in peace, uncle; love to my community in a time when too many of us have been passing.