Understanding OraA Story by Longing for HomeA character descriptionShe was born in 1892, and had already lived a lifetime by the time I came into the world – and the lifetime had not always been kind, revealing its’ harshness towards her in her face and body. There was nothing extraordinary about her. She was of average height and average weight, with drab, thin yellow-gray hair (not elegant silver or pearly white) pulled back in a severe, no-nonsense bun. Her face was long in shape, and was lined and scored with deep wrinkles, eyes a dim blue that gazed intently behind her “spectacles”. Her nose was relatively thin, but seemed to have large nostrils that flared. Her sister once made the comment that she “looked like the south end of a north-bound horse.” She spoke in a husky whisper, as if her vocal cords were rebellious at the thought of actually speaking. She tried to appear frail and weak, but her sturdy body and sharp mind refused to allow this image to take shape. Never flashy or ornate, she dressed in faded plain “housedresses” with deep pockets which she sewed herself without the aid of a store-bought pattern. In those pockets, one could find wadded up tissue to catch the drips from her nose caused by her constant hayfever, as well as horehound candy and Luden’s cough drops. No-nonsense stockings held up by homemade rolled elastic garters covered her legs, topped with sturdy, sensible black shoes. She always looked the same. My little 4-year old heart would rebel at the sight of her…my perception was that she was mean and boring and selfish and...old. Even her name was old – Ora. Whoever heard of a name like that?
“I’m NEVER going to be like HER!” I’d say to myself, and I’d wonder why she had to be so horrid and boring.
What I didn’t know, of course, was the story of her life. How she had traveled in a covered wagon from Illinois to the Indian Territories during the Oklahoma Land Rush. How she’d outlived her fiancé who was killed during World War I, then her husband and two daughters, all who died exceedingly young. How she supported her daughters and their families during the dust bowl, the depression, and World War II.
I didn’t learn until much later, after her death, of how she helped my own mother escape from an abusive relationship from my father in a time when such things were not discussed. She gave my mom the money for a divorce, and said, “There is no shame in being a grass widow.”
I was too young to understand her faith -- she was a devout Christian, who showed love in actions, not words, always putting the needs of others’ before her own.
Now that I am older, I do understand. I wish I could tell her that I think she’s beautiful and I believe that like her, I too, am strong.
I wear her wedding band as a reminder. I think that she would approve.
© 2009 Longing for HomeAuthor's Note
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1 Review Added on March 15, 2009 Last Updated on March 15, 2009 AuthorLonging for HomeMadison, WIAboutWho am I? I am a mom (with an indomitable spirit) of 3 young adult children -- one of whom suffers from Paranoid Schizophrenia. I am the wife of a very gentle soul. I am an employee to a savage co.. more..Writing
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