secrets

I want to preserve a couple of stories about one woman named Gloria that our guest pastor shared with us this past Sunday at church. He spends a good deal of time talking with and prays with people in hospice care who may not have long to live and it is during those conversations in their final days when people share secrets with him that they have carried for a lifetime. Parts of the story are paraphrased and/or they may be partly fiction based on my recollection.

When he arrived that day she was eating a bowl of fresh strawberries as she often did. She enjoyed eating them so much that they were the only things she would request when anyone would offer to bring her anything. The pastor asked her why and she said it was because it reminded her of the farm. And so the story began.

“Did you grow up on a farm?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “but every Sunday after church my mother and all of us kids would change into our play clothes and drive out to the country to help out at the farm of a black family in need. Their mother was trying to run the place all by herself while caring for their five children. Her husband died at a relatively young age. Us kids used to bring a picnic lunch and pick strawberries all day long eating as many as we could then rest in the shade and play in the tall grass until the sun went down. As a child whenever I would ask mother why we came to help this family every Sunday she would just tell me to hush. Into my early teens we continued helping them until again I asked my mother “why this family every week and year after year?” and she scolded me saying I was never to ask that question again if I knew what was good for me and I never did.

Eventually I left home and became a wife and mother myself. My memories of those Sundays on the farm grew fuzzy in the back of my mind. I had all but forgotten when my grandmother passed away and I attended her funeral. It was sad occasion but it was also an opportunity for many family members I had not seen in a long time to pay their respects. A black woman about my age came up to me with a grin on her face and said, “Gloria? Do you remember me? I am your cousin. I'm Sadie.”

I thought, "My cousin Sadie? Of course I remembered. It was a thousand years ago but I could never forget. It all came back to me when she held my hand and she gave me a hug and she said, 'She was my grandmother too,' and then it all finally made sense to me. 

My uncle fell in love with then married a black woman in the 1930s. After they had five children he got sick and died leaving her with the family farm. Rather than watch the farm fall into ruin and see our kin scattered to the wind my mother drove us out every week to pitch in hoping to get them through the hard times, at least until the children were old enough to handle the chores. My uncle's wife and children had been a secret from my grandmother for her entire life and now that she had passed we could all get to know each other."

Just then Gloria began to fade away as if she was about to drift off to sleep. She closed her eyes and the pastor said, "Gloria should I come back another time?" 

Nothing.

"Gloria, do you want to take you nap now?"

Silence.

"Gloria?"

Then she said suddenly, "That wasn't the story I was going to tell you. That was the story about why I love strawberries so much. I have never ever told anyone this story and I want you to tell this story at my funeral OK? Do you promise?"

"If that's what you want," the pastor said.

Gloria continued. "When I was 19 I had finished high school but I was still living at home with my mother and father. I was working as  a secretary and I did not have much of a social life so when my best friend's boyfriend invited me to lunch I was excited to go out. In his car he told me that he and my best friend had had an argument and that they had broken up. Then he said he had always wanted to kiss me but he had never had the nerve. I had never even had a boyfriend but that day in the car with him we went all the way. It happened very fast like it was all a dream. A few days later my best friend and her boyfriend got back together and we pretended that nothing had ever happened. After a few months I was sure that I was pregnant. I had only had sex with one man one time so there was no doubt who the father was. My parents were very strict. I was not allowed to wear makeup, I could never wear my hair down, and all my skirts had to be past my knees. When I told them I was pregnant i was 3 months along. They sent me away to a home for unwed mothers. I made friends with some of the other girls who were pregnant and we all had so much in common. It was very hard for all of us. When the day finally came and I went into labor, they said I shouldn't look at my baby when it was born because it would be harder if I did. They told me I had given birth to a boy and then they took him away a minute later. I did not look at him and I never got to hold him. The very next day I returned home and my parents did not look me in the eye or ask about my condition. There was no mention of where I had been or what had happened. That first night back home I woke up absolutely certain that I had made a terrible mistake and that I had to get my baby back.

I called the home for unwed mothers where I had given birth and spoke with a woman named Ruth that I remembered well. She was so thin I couldn't believe she could stand up straight. When I told her that I wanted my baby back Ruth told me I was not fit to be a mother for this child without a husband. She said I had no money and no place to raise this baby. She said the baby was better off with a stable loving family who could support him. I continued to insist and then demand to have my baby back and finally Ruth said, 'If you want to get your baby back you have to pay your bills. Those are the rules.'

All the medical bills, living expenses, room and board, clothing, laundry, food, and the list went on. Ruth provided me a grand total and I set about the task of selling everything I owned. My car, my clothes, my records, my turn table, even my curlers. All I had left to my name was one dress and one pair of shoes that was wearing at the time. I placed all the money in an envelope and I went to my parents to tell them I decided I wanted to get my baby back and that I was going to raise him myself. Then my parents asked me to leave their house and never come back. 

I made my way to my grandmother's house and I told her everything that had happened and she said she would let me and the baby stay with her. She drove me to the home for unwed mothers. We walked into Ruth's office and I placed the envelope on her desk. First she looked me in the eye then she left the room and returned with my son placing him in my arms for the first time. I began to cry. Ruth looked at me and said, 'You are more of a mother to him than any of these girls will ever be and if you can love him his much for the rest of his life then he will be that far ahead of everybody else,' Then Ruth turned and left the room."

Gloria's funeral was Friday, April 6, 2018.