Hi Friend,
This is a message about the recent death in my partner Krissy's family that I mentioned in my previous email.
When Kirssy and I returned home a few days ago from the Tuscarora Reservation, it was late at night. Pulling up to our house in the midst of the rolling hills of the Hudson Valley, we realized we had not remembered to leave the outside lights on - something we normally do. Walking into the house, the kitchen was a mess. It was as if someone had been in the midst of cleaning up from a big meal and then suddenly left. Food, now moldy, was on the countertops. In the fridge was sour milk. Two eggs sat on the stove, as if waiting to be cooked. Did we eat before we left? I wondered. I thought we had. Yes, those plates were from breakfast.
As my friend Anna Mudd reflected back to me when I shared this with her, there are those moments, wild ones, that slice through life, and freeze certain aspects of it, while others become heightened.
The dishes seemed frozen - I barely noticed them at the time. My attention was heightened - elsewhere.
Krissy's eldest son, Rahnekawe:rih, aka Dr Montgomery (Monty) Clayton Hill, has died.
Some of you have heard his recitation of the Words Before All Else (the Thanksgiving Address) that we often use in our teachings and sharings. Others of you have participated in our Fourth of July gatherings that he has been such a key part of. He and I had many plans for future online courses, essays, podcast episodes, and other cool projects. He was an extraordinary linguist, played a significant role in the revitalization of the Tuscarora language, recently become an associate professor in newly created Indigenous Studies Department at the University of Buffalo, and had received a contract for his first book, titled: Tuscarora: Life, Death, and Language, which he was in the midst of writing. Most importantly, he was a beloved family member and community member, including the father of a super bright and funny ten year old child.
We thought of leaving immediately upon hearing the news, but nobody could move. Krissy's eldest daughter came to our house, and the two women sat stunned, while I worked and made sure they drank water and tea and had food and prepared plans to make the 6-hour drive alongside the waterways of what is now New York State. We three left early the next morning - that must be why I didn't even soak the breakfast dishes - and drove alongside the old traditional waterways of trade and travel, up the River that Runs both Ways (the Hudson River) and then West, the sun often in our eyes, alongside the Mohawk River. We talked of the living and the recently departed. We talked in the way one talks whilst trying to make sense of something that does not, inherently, make sense.
These days I can sense the shifts in the landscape as we go across the traditional homelands.... the sharp rocks (often flints) and cliffs of Mohican, the rolling hills of Oneida, the great lake at Onondaga that transitions to the long flatlands of the Cayuga and Seneca.... land more commonly known as Western New York. These are amazingly fertile lands that are now acres and acres of GMO-infused farmland. Then we go through the swamps where herons rest, and then around the bend in the road, past a small green sign that reads: "Tuscarora Reservation." Did I notice it that sign the first time we entered these territories? Perhaps not.
I notice the signs much more than I used to, these recently constructed boundaries, and the differences of culture and mindset and grief practices that they hold within them.
Eventually, we entered Krissy's family home. Wherein we paused. For a moment, we couldn't get out of the car. Too much was there. Lots of cars. Lots of people. Lots of memories. Lots of ... a kind of thickness, a kind of energetic density.
We entered the 10 Days. I knew that - I had known for some time - the practice of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy, the practices of the Longhouse, is that after a death, one clan helps the clan of those who have died engage in a 10-day ceremony of grief. Krissy is of the Beaver Clan, and so therefore her son is also of the Beaver Clan. In this case, the Bear Clan was responsible for supporting her family.
The practices are not exactly private, but I do not feel I am prepared to share much of them here. Except to say that I, who have sat in a number of grief circles and accompanied a number of people through death and other forms of loss, have not encountered anything this potent, thorough, and beautifully structured. Each day was different, guiding the family first through being held so that they could fall apart and then being able to stand up again. It was - well, extraordinary. In the most mundane, ordinary kind of way.
How wondrous: that the Great Law of Peace tends so well for the process of a family's grief.
I also did not really know that I was going to be out there for 11? 12? days. Which partly explains why I didn't really bring the right clothes. Sometimes this kind of thing happens in life... we just don't always know how to pack. How to prepare for that which we never wanted to have happen.
Every day, I tried to make a few phone calls. To tell people the unexpected news. I could only handle a few calls a day. Every time there is the same thing: shock. Horror. How could this brilliant, charming, life-infused, big-hearted, tall, powerful presence of a being suddenly not be amongst the living? The heart leaps to the throat and wants to extend across the vast distance and fill the gap that has been left, the void, with something that resembles love and care. There is almost always that moment when people don't know what to say. When they feel they should say something. Actually, I would say, its ok. You don't have to have words right now. It's ok to not know what to say.
It's big heart-work, to be with people as they find out. So I didn't push myself to do it too often. And if I haven't yet called you, please know that it is not personal. There's just a limited amount of energy I have on any given day to hold the space that needs to be held.
Space holding is work. As I am sure you know.
Fortunately, the space that we were in was holding us. Holding us in a ritual that was far older than are we.
Holding us in a community that has far more experience with this kind of grief - far, far too many parents have lost their bright, beautiful young adult children to accidents/violence/overdoses/mental health/physical disease than in the 'outside' (in this case non-indigenous) world.
If you know Krissy, you know that she is someone who can hold a lot of people through a lot of things.
During these ten days, I watched a lot of people hold her. Some of the people who held her -big bear hugs, soft hand holds, gentle leans, long sobbing holds, wailing and fist pounding and sighs - also held me.
Which in some ways was what I needed to see: that she was being held in the way she needed to be held. Watching her being held let me feel my own grief.
As we've been engaging with the world outside of the Confederacy, people keep asking us what they can do to be supportive.
After some discussions, the family decided that the greatest need is for financial support to cover immediate costs the family is incurring related to the death. The organization that Krissy works for, Rē: the Regenerative School, has opted to help us do this through hosting the fundraising page. Please click here to donate. As Rē is a non-profit, all donations are tax-deductible and all donations will be going directly to Krissy's family.
There is no need for flowers. Or resources on grief.
We recognize that lots of people want to write messages, and so we are putting together this Google Doc - feel free to upload images or songs or messages or whatever feels right for you. You might want to keep in mind that the family might not read them for a while.
I'll say one thing about the messages though: most of Krissy's family are not Christian, so I recommend leaning away from Christian-orientated messages. And the family/clan/culture as.a whole does not identify/align with the hyper individualism that western culture perpetuates. So their practices tend to refrain from uplifting "how great this person was" and, "we will always remember him." I could probably write a whole essay just on this, because it is quite an interesting cross-cultural difference, but that's not what this missive is about. There is nothing wrong if that’s what you want to say and what feels right for you. I’m just noting that there are some cultural differences.
Below is the obituary that Monty's sister, Kimberly Hill, wrote, after consultations to ensure she was conveying the right information.
"Rahnekawę:rih Montgomery Hill, 35, of the Tuscarora Nation, Beaver Clan, passed away on April 11, 2025. He was born in Niagara Falls, NY, on January 5, 1990, to Donald C. Hill and Kristine M. (Wheatley) Hill. His favorite role was the beloved Nakeri (father) of his only child Yehwatsironnyons Gibson Lynn Clayton Maracle Hill.
He attended Tuscarora School, graduated from Bard College at Simon’s Rock in 2011, and received a PhD in linguistics for his dissertation, "Tuscarora Morphology & Language Revitalization," in 2020 at the University of Buffalo. He was most recently awarded the Mellon Foundation's 2025 Career Enhancement Fellowship managed by the Institute for Citizens & Scholars, and was an Assistant Professor of Indigenous Studies at the University at Buffalo.
He was a self-professed language nerd as both a Tuscarora and Mohawk speaker, linguist, and language activist. He attended Standing Rock in 2016 and was part of the group who added the Tuscarora marker to the signpost, now in the Smithsonian Museum. He was an active community member within the Tuscarora Nation and invited to become a speaker at the community’s longhouse in 2013.
In his free time, he loved to go on walks, play video games with his child, spend time with family, and continue his learning of Indigenous knowledge and Indigenous knowledge creation.
In addition to his parents and his child, he is survived by his three siblings Rachel (Yasiel Cabrera) Hill, Kimberly Hill, and Logan Hill, his grandparents, Ken and Kathleen (Patterson) Wheatley, and many loving aunties, uncles, cousins, and friends.
He was the grandson of the late Daniel C. and Hazel L. (Van Every) Hill."
If you want to hear more of his talks, you might want to google him - he has a lot of talks on youtube. It sounds like the University of Buffalo is going to start some kind of digital archive of his work, but that hasn't happened yet.
We are so appreciative of the many expressions of love that have been coming in. Monty's work has already and will continue to make ripples that are far, far beyond what I can imagine.
We appreciate the many forms of support. As I've been sharing with people like you, I've been hearing of some of your recent losses, as well: friends and uncles and older brothers and beloved aunties and dogs and others - and so I say a blessing for all of the recently deparated.
And I won't say no to any offers of help with housecleaning/housework in the next few weeks for anyone who is based in the Hudson Valley!
It's an honor to be able to share our lives with you, and to be in the many forms of cross-pollinating forms of love and support and unlearning and relearning and reMembering.
Many blessings,
Sara Jolena
ps - you may have noticed that we have moved the next ReMembering cohort to start in early May (Friday May 9) due to this passing. For those who might be interested, we have a last-minute informational webinar on this powerful course in about two weeks, on May 5.
