Elsie

Elsie, my biological mother, is a woman of passions.  In her youth, she practiced her passion in falling in love and, believe me, she had no problem finding willing partners for the practice.  Elsie was not classically beautiful, but she was charismatic.  In the vernacular of the day, she was stacked.  Five foot eight in her stocking feet, she liked to wear three inch heels.  Needless to say, she was an amazon.

When she walked into a room, every man in it wanted to meet her.  Not that that necessarily brought her happiness.  Married seven times to five different men, she was always looking for the Maxwell House ideal marriage...good to the last drop.  Unfortunately, the men she chose were more the instant decafe version...good when you can't find the real thing.

Outside of my last stepfather, Elsie says my dad was the only good man she married.  How she and my father ever got together is a mystery that I can't solve.  They were a confluence of opposites.   Elsie was a party girl.  My dad a homebody.  My dad had low libido, Elsie was hot to trot.  Elsie didn't love him.  I don't know if he loved her.  Both had wills of iron and were unwilling to compromise.  Why they got married...well, your guess is as good as mine, but I'm glad they did.

Elsie's passions carried her from Oklahoma to California and back again.  A dust bowl Okie, her family moved to Watts back when it was still a white community.  She lived on the wrong side of the track with a mother who also partnered with more than one man.  She ran away at 13 and never went home again.  Not a wonder she was always in search of a home and with her generation, that meant marriage.  She let her passion carry her back to Oklahoma with a man who broke her heart not once, but twice.  But Inola, Oklahoma, became Elsie's passion and brought her final love match.  Elsie's final marriage to Curt Boyd took because Curt was the real deal, a good man who understood her.

For the last twenty years or more, since Curt's passing due to Alzheimer's Disease, Elsie has lived off and on by herself.  During the off time, my half-sister, Cythnia, the daughter of Elsie's forties, lived in argumentative co-existence.  Elsie cared for Bailey, Cythnia's daughter, during her early years, and provided the "milk and cookies" during Bailey's school days.  It wasn't an easy existence for two strong-willed, passionate, dramatic and self-involved women.

Oh by the way, did I say that self-involvement is the family curse?  I fight it everyday.

When Cynthia finally moved out after one argument too many, Elsie crafted a deal that let her stay in her home--some five miles outside Inola, a one-horse rural community--on her own.  Elsie loves that home where she has lived for the last more than forty years of her life.

Recently, Elsie, who is now 92 years old, went to the hospital with congestive pulmonary disorder.  She was on the verge of pneumonia and I despaired that she would go from the hospital to a nursing home.  Elsie would hate it.  As she told me last summer, she doesn't like old people.  One has to agree that years don't make a person old.  Even at 92, Elsie's not old.  Elsie loves her independence.  A nursing home and the loss of her independence would be a death sentence I'm afraid.  I was so worried because I was powerless to do anything.

I'm glad to say, Elsie's home again.  She's a little frailer, but still passionate...even about her eventual passing.  Elsie says she's ready to go, but obviously God isn't ready for her.  She has lived a good life she says.  And I would have to agree with her.

My daughter posted some picture on Sunday that show Elsie sitting in her chair looking just like I left her in July when I visited.  I had spoken with her the day before the pictures were taken and she was sounding like her old self.  I'm so grateful to all those who care for her in her daily life.  They allow her to continue to live her passionate life.

I didn't grow up with Elsie and that's a story for another time.  But over the years, I have grown to appreciate Elsie's passion.  She has lived life...I mean really lived it.  If Elsie has regrets, it's not for things she didn't try.  I wish I could say the same.  Elsie has grabbed life with both hands and wrung every last drop from it.  Now that's living.

At 92, I don't know how many more years Elsie has left, but I pray that every single moment may continue to be filled with passion.