Courage and Fear and Claremore

Mom was very greatly challenged by fear over the past year or so; and even more, reaching back over a decade or so.

This was in so many ways very out of character for her. I remember her in the 1960s and 1970s and 1980s even as an outgoing, confident woman with exceptional social skill and grace and good humor. She was President of the Women's Society at her church in the 1960s, after all, and in the years we spent overseas - my father worked for an oild company and had been transferred from Tulsa, our home, to Tripoli, Libya, our new home, in 1967 - she seemed, well, without fear, except of the kind that most of us would consider good, prudent watchfulness. Her sister and my cousins remember her back then the same way.

I myself think that things began changing for her sometime around the time of her divorce from my father (mid 1970s) and estrangement of her daughter, my sister (mid or late 1980s).

I had the privilege while looking at her things to read some of what she had written to her first grandson. It was not completed but made clear two things: her deep, deep love for her family; and her approach to "family things" with a "frame" that was all traditional, all family. The things pertaining to my father and my sister that ultimately destroyed her ties with them were things that made no sense, that were unthinkable, incomprehensible. She did not know how to live as a divorced woman. She did not know how to live as a mother who was estranged from her daughter, and as a grandmother who could not see, except on rare occasion, her beloved grandchildren. The world that proposed such things to her was a world that had become unmoored and strange. To that extent she truly found herself a stranger in a strange land. And the earth became fearful and strange indeed at times.

Yet for this very reason I am so very, very, very deeply impressed by her courage. She kept on, in this strange land, and acted as best she could under enormously difficult circumstances. In speaking with my aunt and cousins, courageous is their characterization of her as well. Courageous she was to the end.

For example, she was often very fearful of getting out of the house. She was often very reticent to get out at all. When we did, she could suddenly turn to me with fear across her face, and say, "Oh let's go home. Let's go home now." And would sit beside me in the car withdrawn, her head down, as I drove her home.

Yet about a month ago (I think?) I had need to go to Claremore Indian Hospital, where I am treated for diabetes. I simply needed to get a quick dental check. I think, looking at my book, that it was on Friday, July 13. I asked Mom to go with me ... she had hinted that she wanted to go "to support me." And so we drove from Tulsa to Claremore together.

It was a pleasant drive. She chose to wait in the car, in the shade, while I went to the Dental Clinic. My appointment was brief, and when I came out, she seemed relaxed and said that she had been looking at the large, lovely trees. I proposed that we go up to the Will Rogers Memorial ... just up the street ... and look around a little; and then get lunch on the way back to Tulsa. To my surprise, she agreed.

So we parked at the Will Rogers Memorial, and I got out her wheelchair, and in we went. The Memorial is, to me, unusual for a museum in that it is so very inviting in its layout, and certainly in its staff. Open, friendly, relaxed. I pushed Mom down hallways and we looked at memorabilita, posters, etc with the smiling, relaxed face of Will Rogers ... and we talked and she so seemed to enjoy being there. We sat in the back of a theater showing the last part of one of his films, and I sat beside her, her in her wheelchair, me in a theater seat. It wasn't a large theater, again, small and old-fashioned, perhaps very familiar from her childhood and the Hornersville Cinema of her youth. Still, she had become very frightened in Tulsa theatres we had "tried out" a couple of times over that past 4-5 months, and I was surprised at her seemingly easy adaptability.

We left and I suggested stopping someplace to eat, since it was lunchtime. She said Yes. The first place didn't look wheelchair accessible. So I suggested looking elsewhere. Often in those days she would have said, "Oh, let's go on home." One try would be enough. Not this time, though. She said, "OK." We stopped at Mazzio's for lunch. It was crowded and a very kind waitress helped us find a table. We ate and talked through the din. The table top was high for Mom, so I pepared her a plate with pizza and things, and she held it on her lap under the table as she ate. Despite the circumstances - crowded, tight spaces could be very frightening - she was on this occasion relaxed and enjoyed her meal and afterward said it was nice to get out places sometimes (!).

We returned to Tulsa and I look on this as a wonderful time of freedom for her, temporary freedom, but freedom nonetheless; and ascribe to her courage her coming with her dear son to Claremore, to support me, and her willingness to try things unfamiliar while there.

There were other times that she would be experiencing terrible confusion and ask, "what should I do? What should I do?" I would say, "Do what you want, Mom ... do what you can ... can I help you with something ... ?" And she would then look at me and then do something, small things, perhaps, to some of us, but to her very, very big things indeed. Toward the end folding small hand towels and washcloths could be difficult ... and yet she wanted to do something, and did these things, with courage and fortitude knowing that this she could do even though there were so many things she would like to do that she could not.

Today I can hope that she is in a place where there is no fear; where courage is not needed as an active virtue though I have no doubt that she wears her courage as a garment she wove with amazing tenacity and perseverance and love during her life.

I love you Mom ... and miss you and your courage so much.

Charles Delacroix
Feast of St Augustine