Most of us are too young to remember back to the 1950’s and what it was like to live in that time. We know from movies and stories passed on to us from those who lived in that era that it was a time when divorce was not common. Most women didn’t work. It was a time when women were pretty much dependent on their husband for the basics of life. Women stayed home and raised their children. Men went to work and supported their wife and children. That was simply the way of theworld.Very few women worked outside the home. Women in the workplace was probably a pretty radical idea back in those days. Since men had the income, they also had the say for the most part in what happened with their wife and children. It was a different time.
Imagine then if you were a woman in that day. Your very existence, subsistence depended on your husband. I have no doubt that there was infidelity in those days. From what I gather from talking to friends who were housewives in that generation, it was not something that was broadcast. It was not overlooked, yet it was not an open topic of conversation either. If you were a woman you simply turned a blind eye to the infidelity. To do otherwise meant you were going to be without support.
This is the story of a woman who was married to a man who was not content to “fool around” and stay married. This man made a decision that would change the lives of many others. Rather than divorce, he committed his spouse to a mental health facility, claiming she was depressed and needed help. Then he dropped off 4 children ranging from the age of 3-10 at a Children’s home in Tulsa. . In effect, he rid himself of his obligations. Selfishly, so that he could be with another woman, he abandoned his wife, his children, hisconscience. It’s interesting to note that he did keep one child, a baby girl though later he would attempt to turn her over to the state as well. The other 4 he left, promising to visit. That didn’t happen. They were left alone as surely as if they had been orphaned by death of their parents.
Imagine being a 3 year old child when this happens. Suddenly, your reality is not a home with siblings, but a Home where there are many, many other children. Many of these children were not orphans, but were from families who had fallen on hard times and could no longer afford to provide for them. All of the children at the home were provided for, yes. In fact, the food was great, the care was good and for all intents and purposes, these children had a good life. No different than their peers except that they went to school in the neighborhood of whatever foster family they happened to be with. Or they went to school with others at the local school in the district of the Children’s home. Their birthdays were celebrated with cake and they received birthday gifts thanks to donations from the community. What was missing was the permanence of a family. Their “family” was constantly changing as adoptions were made and new foster families came forth.
Imagine going to bed at night in a room of other children. Being told good night not by a parent but by a virtual stranger, a house parent assigned to your section. Being 3 years old and not understanding what was going on, where your mom and dad were. Waking up and getting ready for the day by picking your clothes from a communal chest of drawers. Lining up each morning to go downstairs for breakfast. . And wondering each time you turned the corner into the dining room which of your biological siblings would still be there and which ones would not because they were adopted or sent to a foster family.
Reality changed forever for those children who were dumped off that day. Not only was their mother taken their life unnecessarily, they were all eventually adopted out, to different families, different states and all family ties lost because of the selfishness of one individual. They had new parents, new siblings. Sometimes it was a foster family and a temporary situation. Some were adopted. People came and went in their lives. And gone, but not forgotten was the family they were born into.
Visiting the gravesite of my mother on Mother’s day, I thanked God for the years that I had her in my life. I thanked God for every member of my family. I thanked God that there was a place I could come and place flowers in tribute to the woman I called mama. And each time I visit that gravesite and see all the hundreds of stones, it reminds me that to someone those lives mattered and that those we love are to be cherished for they won’t always be there.
So what happened to that child of 3? He grew up to be one of the most amazing men I have ever known. His compassion for the hurting, his heart for the underdog, his appreciation of even the smallest things in life amaze me on a daily basis. How easily he could have taken the path of the victim instead of becoming a victor of his circumstance.
For this man, only a vague memory of being told his biological mother was buried in Muskogee remained. She had never lived in Muskogee. It didn’t make sense that it would be her final place of rest. He remembered being told she had died but didn’t remember any of the particulars though. All his knowledge second hand.
And so I checked. I called the cemetery and asked for her by name. And sure enough, she was buried in Muskogee. A few miles away from where we live. .
And so her son, now 53 went today and found her gravesite. There was no stone. She was buried in a pauper’s grave. In a plot that had been donated. No headstone marked her life. No flowers adorned her grave. None of that mattered though. What mattered is that she mattered. Maybe not to the husband who abandoned her and abandoned his children. But to the son who lost her at 3 years old, due to circumstances beyond his or his sibling's control, who has lived his life with only 50 year old memories of his mama she mattered. She mattered to him and she mattered to God. Her life gave him life. For that he is grateful. And for that I am grateful. .
Thank you Opal Collier for your gift to the world. Your son, my husband Joe.
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