"There's a hill above Tulalip Bay where the cedar and fir trees no longer stand, where on a clear day, there is nothing above but the distance to heaven. On that quiet hill is a young man's grave; a place of lost promise.

More than 600 people walked Mylo Harvey to this spot. That is how the end of a life is marked on the Tulalip Indian Reservation. When one goes, everybody comes.

The mourners gathered about a half mile from the grave, at the big, brown wooden building that is the Tulalip Tribes' headquarters. Their procession was led by 18 men, all relatives and friends, hauling along a cart that carried Mylo's casket. The wind that day carried the sound of rawhide drums. The songs were in Lushootseed, the language of Mylo's ancestors, as he took his place among them on the hillside. Nearly six years have passed. The young man's family visits his grave often. They pull weeds and bring fresh flowers. They send up prayers and sometimes sprinkle fragrant cedar leaves and tobacco as a blessing. Mylo's smooth, round face is etched into the black marble tombstone. He's smiling. In the distance the twin spits of land that enclose Tulalip Bay arc toward each other, like the arms of a loved one reaching in an embrace that must last for eternity.

Mylo died Nov. 15, 2002 after struggling with Everett police. He was not in his right mind. He'd made a bad choice by eating hallucinogenic mushrooms. The drug took away the charm that made him a leader among young people on the reservation. It robbed him of the good manners and the respect for others his family had cultivated within him. He turned away from the promises he'd made ever since the time he was small. Mylo was going to stay away from drugs. He was going to make something of his life. Instead, he wandered naked into the night along Everett's Casino Road and into a confrontation that would end his life at 19."

Get the Story:
A Truth Beyond (The Everett Herald 8/17)