She was a Hero; Not A Saint [View all]

[Annie Moosee]

In 1943, on (or about?) the seventh day of the seventh month, my mom was born. Or delivered; as she was evaluated as being dead at birth. When she did begin to move and cry, the orderly freaked out and grabbed her by her ankle.

On her first day at school, a boy pulled her bright red braid and got a beating from the five or six year old girl that she was. Still in grade school, she spoke at a school board meeting to argue that the girl that was pregnant should be allowed to stay in school because she was a kind and helpful person and had been such a help to the students and teachers of the grade school classes. My young mother was so nervous as a little girl that the janitor found a jacket or shirt to hide where she had wet herself. They decided to let the pregnant girl study after hours.

She saved people's lives and helped many others. From making free lunches for the mostly people of color hired as handymen, cleaners, maids, and other low paid workers; to making one of the first women's crisis line an active and effective place for survivors of sexual assault.

But she wasn't a saint, and she didn't have a lot of patience. Even in the last eleven years after we moved in together in Tennessee, I still was subject to her frustrations and judgments.

But none of the issues change the fact that I miss her. Since her admission to the hospital for end stage lung cancer, to her death five days later on the twelfth day of the twelfth month, to today: I miss her. I miss the fun we frequently had. I miss the jokes we shared. I miss the compassion for all of life that she had. Her care and concern for people to animals.

I want to tell her story, I want people to know her - warts and all, as they say. But I am also part of her story. So it would be my story too.

I'm in the middle of my first year without her. And last month, my 17 year old miracle dog passed away. I feel so broken and lost. My eyes are frequently puffy from crying ("Are you having allergies?" I'm asked). And smiling is difficult now. ("What's wrong? You look so grumpy anymore!" ) I guess I now have a "resting grief face."

I guess that's all for now. Thanks for reading.