Jackie's Story
Nobody’s Mother
Jackie is somebody’s aunt, but nobody’s mother. She has had the joy of sticky, lollipop-lips kisses and squeeze-your-breath-away hugs with dimpled fingers clutching her neck. These pleasures were only borrowed from her brother and his wife, but she savors them as hers alone.
She is not an elderly widow, but an elderly spinster. That is a word that still evokes powerful connotations of being unwanted and rejected, but Jackie was neither. Her lost love died in a long-ago war. She never sought another.
Jackie lives in an apartment building with a lot of ladies and men who shuffle along with walkers and canes and have gray hair and bad hearing. They sometimes forget one another’s names. She is 91 years old and you only make her acquaintance for a few minutes before you find out she is a proud Italian-American. She needs no cane or walker and strides along, ramrod straight, with no assistance. Her hair is white blonde, her makeup, impeccable.
On this day, she sings “Happy Birthday” to a friend and asks if the cake has cannolli filling. She wears bright colors and exquisite vintage jewelry. For forty of her working years she served customers at a Chicago Michigan Avenue jewelry store and is a jewelry expert.
When the birthday song is done and the cake consumed, she shares a hug and some tears with the birthday girl, who is 92. Perhaps they are aware in that moment, without speaking about it, that their future birthday celebrations are limited.
Later today her nephew will pick her up in his car and bring her home for Sunday dinner. He will share his home and his family with her. I am very sure he has fond memories of one who loved him just as his mother did. Now his chldren, another generation with sticky lips and dimpled fingers, know the love of their Aunt Jackie.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
By Rosanne Gulisano
I blog about snippets and snapshots of the memoirs and life stories of everyday folks attending my Lifestories workshops. I have changed the names, but the stories are the real thing, from the plain and simple to the sinister and dangerous. Enjoy!
Lester’s War Memoir
After long months of training and getting used to the tropical climate of the South Pacific, the men in Lester’s airborne unit were both anxious and tense about getting into action. The division sailed for Leyte in the Philippines in October, 1944, to engage the Japanese. Tension and fear were common emotions, but Lester remembers an incident where he very nearly lost his life.
Often putting ashore was as dangerous as hand-to-hand combat. As the unit was making for shore off the coast of Luzon in amphibious vehicles called “ducks,” their vehicle was under fire, struck and damaged. The driver steered towards a swift running river to avoid further harm. The sump pump couldn’t keep up with the rising water in the boat. They stuffed rags in the bullet holes, but it was still necessary to abandon the duck and swim for shore. The men were weighted down by a carbine, a pack, helmet and heavy combat boots. The waves were over Lester’s head and the current from the river was pushing them back out to sea. After dumping his pack and helmet, Lester swam for his life and managed to crawl up on shore, thankful to be alive.
War movies and novels do not even come close to describing the conditions, from terror to tedium, that are part of a combat soldier’s life. In the Philippine Islands in 1944, Lester and his fellow soldiers endured months of heat, rain, humidity and endless mud, marked by sporadic, but intense, encounters with the enemy. Doing their job and coming home to a safe America kept these men going through trying times.
I blog about snippets and snapshots of the memoirs and life stories of everyday folks attending my Lifestories workshops. I have changed the names, but the stories are the real thing, from the plain and simple to the sinister and dangerous. Enjoy!
Lester’s War Memoir
After long months of training and getting used to the tropical climate of the South Pacific, the men in Lester’s airborne unit were both anxious and tense about getting into action. The division sailed for Leyte in the Philippines in October, 1944, to engage the Japanese. Tension and fear were common emotions, but Lester remembers an incident where he very nearly lost his life.
Often putting ashore was as dangerous as hand-to-hand combat. As the unit was making for shore off the coast of Luzon in amphibious vehicles called “ducks,” their vehicle was under fire, struck and damaged. The driver steered towards a swift running river to avoid further harm. The sump pump couldn’t keep up with the rising water in the boat. They stuffed rags in the bullet holes, but it was still necessary to abandon the duck and swim for shore. The men were weighted down by a carbine, a pack, helmet and heavy combat boots. The waves were over Lester’s head and the current from the river was pushing them back out to sea. After dumping his pack and helmet, Lester swam for his life and managed to crawl up on shore, thankful to be alive.
War movies and novels do not even come close to describing the conditions, from terror to tedium, that are part of a combat soldier’s life. In the Philippine Islands in 1944, Lester and his fellow soldiers endured months of heat, rain, humidity and endless mud, marked by sporadic, but intense, encounters with the enemy. Doing their job and coming home to a safe America kept these men going through trying times.
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