I recently discovered an emotional letter my mother wrote to her parents in July of 1924 from a hospital bed in Minneapolis. Learning about her painful childhood struggles helped me understand the insecurities that plagued her for most of her life. It also deepened my love for the strong woman who later evolved. As a ten-year old she spent four months in Shriner’s Hospital for Crippled Children, as it was then called. Her parents lived 150 miles away in a small town in central Wisconsin. They had little money for visits and eight other children to care for. My mother wrote:
Dear Mama and Papa,
Why did you bring me up here? I cry all the time because I have nobody to stay. If Papa comes home or is home, you come up, will you? Oh Mama, please come up next weekend or this week. You can’t stay at the hospital, but you can come up and see me every day. I wish I was home. I hate it up here. You can talk by the window but can’t come in for a few days because two boys had diphtheria, but they are in the other part of the hospital so don’t worry about me. Will you send me something? Will you send me some paper and envelopes so I can write again? The other girls are all getting letters and packages from other folks. Come if you can.
Love Mildred
I cried thinking about her as a young child, alone and quarantined in a large city hospital, worrying about an operation. Seven years earlier as a three-year old, my mother had contracted pneumonia and been sick for three weeks. A painful joint condition followed, as well as swelling on her left knee. My grandparents took her to a regional hospital in Wisconsin where she was immediately operated on, with several incisions over the swelling. After a three-month stay she was allowed to go home, but when the cast was removed, her knee was stiff, flexed at about a 45-degree angle. According to hospital notes, my grandparents said that she’d had use of the knee before her first operation in Wisconsin. Her knee never improved, despite a second operation and four-month stay at Shriner’s Hospital. On June 22, 1926, nearly two years after her second operation, Shriner’s reported, “Condition exactly the same—perfectly stiff, not necessary to return.”
I remember, because of her inability to bend her knee which caused her leg to stick out, that there were plenty of embarrassing times. She often apologized to people at ballgames, on airplanes, in schools, or even in church who were momentarily inconvenienced while moving past her. I think her biggest regret and shame, though, was never being able to ride a bike. She could do so many other things despite her knee problems, but riding a bike was never one of them.
I never knew the history behind her illnesses or knee operations. In addition to her lengthy bout with pneumonia, she’d also had scarlet fever, measles, chicken pox, and influenza before she was 10. What I did know was that she was the youngest of 10 children and grew up in Neillsville, Wisconsin. My Norwegian grandfather Oluf worked as a deputy sheriff and janitor at the Clark County Courthouse. My grandparents were poor and the regional hospital understood that. In fact, Sister Superior wrote this to my grandmother on July 17, 1917 when my mother was three years old:
You are kindly informed that your little daughter has been very good. She slept till 9 o’clock this morning. You don’t need to worry about paying; we shall keep her for the love of God free of charge, if you are not able to pay.
The irony struck me—my being grateful for a compassionate health care system of yesteryear which truly cared about a young child from a poor family but failed her from a physical standpoint and probably worsened her condition.
I’ve come to understand why my mother had so much compassion for others. Whether it was the aged bedridden man in the shack across the street from us she brought meals to regularly or a friend who’d recently lost her son in Vietnam and needed a comforting shoulder to cry on, my mother was there. She was there for me in countless ways as well, and I now understand so much better why she didn’t want her own little girl to hurt in any way.
My mother truly believed in the power of love. For thirty-six years she kept a wonderful record of our family’s joys and sorrows, adventures and mishaps. The family book she started in 1938 is still treasured reading. She adored my father and wrote glowingly of their relationship. Unfortunately, the stories ended when my father died in 1974. My mother, at 59 had her most painful struggle. I, along with other family members, didn’t believe that she would survive, but she did. She moved to Arizona, where my parents had spent part of recent winters and where my father had made all arrangements for her for when he was no longer living. Gradually she made new friends, and spent hours walking around her neighborhood. Everyone seemed to like Millie. Eventually, through her daily walks and interest in sports, she met my stepfather Bill. They shared a real passion for sports, travel, reading, and nature. When they returned to our family’s cabin in Wisconsin, my mother immediately started preparing food for her beloved bird friends. I’d often visit and see her sitting by the lake watching her favorite birds—the cardinals, hummingbirds, and finches. There was always a big bucket with sunflower seeds for the cardinals, but she once got the shock of her life when she opened it and discovered an enormous mouse nibbling away. He was slow getting out and had obviously enjoyed a few good meals along the way.
Mom loved the Chicago Cubs
My mother, although a lover of simple things, was also quite complex and unafraid of expressing strong opinions. We frequently disagreed about politics and other issues, but she was never afraid of challenging me to see things from a different perspective.
When I decided to seek a divorce after 29 years of marriage, I was very hesitant to tell her. I was fearful of her reaction because of her devotion to my father. I waited until the last moment—as we sat in the car in front of my apartment. I shouldn’t have worried. Her only concern was about my happiness. She said, “I love you darling and only want you to be happy.” I sat in the car and openly wept before taking her into my apartment.
The tenth anniversary of her death just passed. I still can’t believe that she’s gone, even though she lived a long and full life. She was quite a remarkable woman who displayed tenacity and perseverance, an adventurous spirit, love and dedication, compassion and wisdom, and an incredibly independent and strong-willed nature. She was generous to a fault, and as a dear friend of mine said, “She was a sparkling human being.” I miss you Mom, but I feel your spirit is with me everywhere.
No comments:
Post a Comment