My mom, the frequent flyer

      She was born July 26, 1919 in a place far from her home in upstate New York. Her parents were Mohawk indians of the St. Regis reservation. She and her younger brother were in St. Catherine's, a town not far from Niagara Falls, just on the other side of the Canadian/ American border. Her mother died when she was only 4 or 5 years old.

      The family returned to the reservation and an aunt took her and her siblings in for awhile until a Canadian government social worker decided her aunt had too many children to take care of. She and her other school age siblings were shipped, trained, then driven to a special school even farther away from her home than her birthplace. There in a  mission school  located in northern Ontario she spent the rest of her school age years.

      When she went as far as the educational system permitted (about 8th grade), she was sent to a teacher training school

so she could return and teach, but she didn't like the job and so she left. She returned to the reservationwith the intent of getting married. She had a couple of boyfriends but they didn't work out for different reasons. One reason was my mother's desire to leave this small, town environment and explore what was "out there". She moved to the city of Brooklyn, N.Y. upon the encouragement of brothers who worked there.

      She became quite familiar with Filipinos since a community of Native American ironworkers had developed in the

same vicinity as a Filipino community of transient merchant marine men. She began attending dances with Big Band music and there at one of those dances she met my dad. He was much older than she, but he impressed her with the "royal treatment" he bestpwed on her, which eventually convinced her to give up her partying with the others

.

      In 1944 she gave birth to their first child, and she continued giving birth to another eight children over the years. They lived in Brooklyn for awhile and she cared for the family while dad worked. They had a lot of friends there and relatives from her reserve often came to visit her. She continued to maintain close contact with her eldest sister, who had remained on the reservation.

         The family moved to New Jersey with six of us who had originated in Brooklyn. When dad retired, in 1963 from the Navy Yard life was surely a struggle. His fixed income could not support all of us, especially after my younger brother and sister were born, but we managed somehow. She was a superb seamstress and needlecrafter. She could sew, knit, crochet just about anything she did. She made curtains, slipcovers, our clothes, all of which had that professional touch. In this way she must have saved the family a lot of money.

      Often, she was approached by individuals who's seen her finished products to work on a project for them for a charge. She was able to  supplement dad's income and generate a little extra money in this manner. I know we all had a sense that we did not really qualify as the middle income, professional families in our immediate environment. Most families had three or fewer children, and many fathers were professionals of some sort. Yet, we never felt poor, as long as my mother could provide those little extras for us; and she strived to always make us feel good about being in this alien environment. She knew how important it was to feel like we belonged , despite our darker complexions.

        We developed a sense of responsibility toward helping out the family finances. We tried not to make unreasonable demands for things we really didn't need. As soon as we were able, we worked and contributed to the family. We didn't remain in the household if we were able to be independent and support ourselves.

          My mom never complained. She worked industriously at sewing projects, contracted or simply for the family needs. When the youngest was able to be left with father, she took an outside job in various factories where there was work. She assumed the responsibility for getting the family moved when my father became ill with cancer. I never saw her get angry or discouraged. I never saw her cry. She loved company and liked spending time with friends we brought to the house. She made them feel comfortable.

            She brought that congenial personality to Berkeley, California when we moved there in 1973, Family was always around and stopped in often to visit and check on their welfare. My father lived out his retirement as best he could in the favorable weather, where he was able to grow a vegetable garden which could feed the whole neighborhood. My mother took over the cooking form my father as he grew too weak to stand for long.

            Eventually he became bedridden and in November, 1977 he died. My mother, who now had full responsibility of the house, worked for ashile and had a boarder for a short time to help with the expenses. When my own marriage failed after only a few years, and her boarder moved out, I stayed with her with my two toddlers and helped with expenses. After I returned to work, she helped with childcare. She used to tell me that my children were like her own, and I knew she loved them as much as I did. She managed to live well on my father's social security because the family all helped her.

          She had an endearing way about her that made all who came in contact with her, love her. She was free spirited and became restless after awhile and often took off travelling to one sibling or another. By this time, our children were getting older and more independent. She had a stroke in 1978 and decided, after we moved out, that she could no longer manage the household alone and every one of my brothers and sisters invited her into his or her home; but she couldn't stay too long anywhere. After sellingthe house in the eighties, she flitted from one family member to another sometimes to Hawaii, or to New York or San Diego. When I remarried and we moved into a house, we would be on her itinerary also.

          We became closer than ever, for I was ever grateful to her for her love and kindness to my children and me during a very difficult period in my life. I felt I could never repay her enough, and as long as she was comfortable and happy with us, she was welcome to remain with us. We became a homebase for her after awhile. She continued to surrender to her restless spirit but was clearly slowing down.

          After her youngest brother died and she was the only one left from her siblings, she began spending more time with his widowed wife on the reservation. They were very close. Around 1995-1996 her memory was beginning to fail he. She became timid and fearful. She hated being left alone and I felt bad for her because we both worked full time. She knew there was something going on with her and her biggest fear was that she would become like her oldest sister , who died of Alzheimers. She knew she couldn't be left alone. She was afraid to turn on the stove, though so many times we cooked up recipes together. She didn't know how to turn off the stereo I left on, playing her favorite big band music. It was sad for I knew I was losing that wonderful person we all loved.

          Eventually, she decided to move to Louisiana where my brother's wife could care for her full time. At the end of 1996, she left. I was able to visit her early in 1998 while on a business trip and we tried to play scrabble, her favorite pasttime, but she couldn't concentrate very long and became frustrated, so we just talked. My son, who had his 3 month old daughter with him had come to visit also and wanted so much for her to enjoy her great granddaughter, but she hardly took notice of her. It was a great disappointment to him.

          Later that year,  I went to see her. It was October, only seven months since I'd seen her last and she didn't know me. She was to have turned 80 in July of the following and my sisters and brothers flew to Louisiana to celebrate her birthday early. They were there for Mardi Gras.

            In June, she died and I felt a good part of me had died with her. She was flown to Californiaand buried there, along with my father's ashes. Her mission school experience was never discussed. I have since heard horror stories firsthand from other former students and have read about the oppressive conditions in that school and other Indian schools across Canada. She never exhibited any ill effects of her experience there; and I don't believe that I have ever met anyone with the same honesty, trusting, congenial and generous nature as she displayed toward everyone. If the conditions at those schools were as bad as some have indicated, it is clear she had the determination and will to overcome them, then and in the rest of her life, no matter where she happened to be.