My Hero

My Hero:

Close your eyes. Picture a shiny, red convertible. The top is down, music of the 70’s and 80’s blaring through the speakers. The smell of marijuana lofting through a warm breeze. A beautiful, dark haired woman with tanned skin and dark sunglasses driving by without a care in the world, singing along to the radio. You can’t look away because there is something completely captivating about this lady. She smiles at you and waves as she passes by and you are left standing there in awe, wondering if that really just happened. You just saw my hero.

What is a hero? The mere word “hero”, conjures up thoughts of super powers, capes and cool cars for me but is that really what a hero is or is that Hollywood version? I’ve never encountered a caped, masked figure and if I ever were to have such an encounter, I don’t think my first thoughts would be, “Oh, that’s a hero!” Nope, not in a million years. I have, however, been blessed enough to know one. The dictionary says that a hero by definition is a person who is admired or idealized for courage, outstanding achievements or noble qualities. Funny, there is no mention of capes, cars or heroic deeds but that is for another time. Based on the dictionary’s definition, there is only one person who meets the standard and who has been my hero for as long as I can remember. Her name is, Marilyn, or as I call her, Momma.

On May 25^th, 1958 a hero was born, or at least that’s my version of events. Much like her famous namesake, her formative years were difficult and the struggle for she and her family to meet even the most basic of needs was a difficult one to put it mildly. Growing up in rural Eastern Kentucky presented it’s own challenges. There were many times the family went hungry and electricity was a blessing she and her family did not receive until well after it was common place. Even the humblest of beginnings couldn’t dull the light that this woman was meant to bring and give to the world.

Beautiful, smart, sassy, vibrant, although true, these words could all be used to describe Marilyn but none seem to truly capture her essence. She’s so much more than “beautiful”, so much more than “smart”, one could write a page on her contagious laughter and luminous smile. These things alone only begin to describe the woman who is my hero. Those only remark on the outer shell but inside the shell, oh, that is where the real story calls home. Her heart, her spirit, the light within her shell is one that this world needs more of and that even the best storyteller, writer and/or director in Hollywood longs to capture and display on the big screen. It is an exercise in futility because even the best, and most talented of them all would only manage to present a fraction, a “pail in comparison” version of this marvelous human.

Marilyn is my aunt, my mother’s younger sister, but to me she has always been so much more. When I was very little, I stayed with my grandmother, Marilyn’s mother, more than I was at home. My grandmother pretty much raised me with the help of two of my aunts, Marilyn and Joann. As a very young child, these woman were my mothers. The love I have for my grandmother, who is now deceased, is unwavering. She was not simply my grandmother, but also my mom, my mentor and my friend. Grandmother was truly one of a kind and gave birth to four of the most amazing woman you could ever hope to meet. Marilyn is one of those woman. She and I have always had a special bond. Even as a small child of 3 or 4, I can remember sitting across from her at my grandmother’s kitchen table and watching her get ready for work. She had taken a job as a waitress at a local diner when she was only 14. Legally, she wasn’t even considered old enough to have a job but that didn’t stop her. The money she made at the diner went to help with food and utilities, as she was still living at home with her parents at the time. I would sit captivated as she applied make up and curled her hair. She was so beautiful, I wanted to be just like her. It was rare to see her in a bad mood or not smiling. I was her little shadow. I followed her around constantly and she took me with her when she went to visit friends or on trips to the grocery store, anywhere she went, I was right beside her. She was everything I wanted to be when I grew up.

Marilyn became a mother in 1979. She gave birth to a baby girl, Jessica. I was 6 years old at the time and I had been her baby for all of it. Now, she brings home this tiny little creature that cries and despite what all the grown-up people said, didn’t always smell good. I was jealous but she never made me feel like I was in second place. Although technically my cousin, Jessica became my little sister instantly and remains so still today. I held her, fed her, rocked her to sleep and when she cried, sometimes I was the only one who could get her to stop. I was so proud and in love with the little being that my favorite person in the world had made. Perhaps, that is part of the reason I loved her so much, she was a part of the person whom I loved the most in the world. To this day, Jessica and I have a connection that cannot be broken.

As time went by, Marilyn went on to have two more children, both boys. I loved them like brothers and still do. She had married and moved into her own home. I would stay with her often but I didn’t get to see her as much as before and now that she had her own children to care for and I was living back at home with my mother, our time together was limited. Seeing her with her children and the ways in which she cared for them, I knew that was the kind of mother I wanted to be to my own children someday. I watched her cook, clean, care for small children and all the while help to take care of her aging parents. I was always watching, paying close attention to how she handled even the most basic of tasks and I filed away each detail so as not to forget the tiniest of things. Even with all of these responsibilities, she still made time for me. On nights that I did get to stay with her, we would stay up after she put her children to bed and watch movies. She would make us healthy snacks like celery with peanut butter. It was never about money, toys, material things of any kind, it was just spending time with my favorite person. She didn’t have much money but that didn’t matter at all to me. From a small child I knew the best things in life didn’t have a price tag. No one in our family had a great deal of money, but we were rich because we had each other. These were life lessons passed down from my grandparents to their children who passed them on to their own.

It seemed like with each year that passed I got to see her less and less. Some of this was due to living in a neighboring state and my mother not having a drivers license or car. Some was due to all of my aunts and uncles having now married and starting families of their own. It made me sad at times but it made seeing them all the more special, especially when I got to see my favorite person in the world. Even though I saw her less, I always knew she was with me and I could count on her. My home life was not a happy one. My mother struggled with drugs and alcohol very early on and my father was an abusive alcoholic who beat her and at times, me. He died when I was only 5 leaving my mother to raise me. To say that we were poor would be an understatement. My mother struggled to simply keep food in the house or the heat and lights turned on while simultaneously fighting her own demons. I loved my mother but she was never “my person”. We were just so different. I believe I was about 6 years old the first time I thought to myself that I never wanted to be like her. I became the adult voice of reason at 6 years old. I knew right from wrong and I didn’t care to share my opinions if I felt or believed something wasn’t right. Much of this was due to the influence of the people whom I valued most in the world and at the top of that list was Marilyn. Many memories flood my thoughts when I think of Marilyn. Smiles, laughs, tears, hugs, but one in particular sticks out from the mental box where I keep them. It happened during the summer I was 10 years old. Our Landlord at the time was a huge perv. He would come over to the house to visit in shorts that were too short and sit so that his private area could be seen. This time, my mother had sent me with a note asking to borrow money from him. This was not an uncommon practice and looking back on it now, I’m sure my neighbors hated to see me stepping on to their porches. I took the note across the street and rang the bell. When he answered the door, he was totally naked. I didn’t know what to do, I just froze there, trying not to look at him. He was so casual as he walked around the house as if he weren’t a grown man terrifying a young girl. I knew, even at 10 years of age, this was not normal or OK. I went home and gave the money to my mother. I immediately told her what had happened and she began yelling and saying all of the things she was going to say to him or do to him but never once did she hug me or tell me that everything would be fine. Five dollars, I guess that was the price of innocence at the time. Later that evening, he brought over a Barbie doll with several accessories for me. My mother not only let me keep the doll but stood in the kitchen having a conversation with this man, and not one word was said about what he had done. Two days had passed when I finally had the opportunity to talk with Marilyn. My mother had asked me to call her to borrow money. We had no home telephone so I went to the neighbors house and asked if I could use theirs. I called collect, as I always had to do. All of my family, including Marilyn, lived in Kentucky and we were in Ohio. As soon as we began to talk, I told her of the incident and she told me to never go to that house again no matter what my mother said. She calmed me down, told me everything would be alright and I immediately felt better. I guess I took far to long because when I returned home, my mother was not pleased. Not only did I have to tell her that my aunt couldn’t give her any money but I also told her that I had informed my aunt of the incident with the perv. Boy, was that a mistake! My mother was not happy and yelled until I thought for sure the walls would crack. I didn’t care. I knew I had done the right thing and that no matter what, I still had Marilyn. She was my person, then and now. This was one of many times in my life where her intervention saved me. As a teenager, I suffered from depression. I attempted suicide when was only 15, thinking at the time it was my only way out. I didn’t actually want to die. It was a cry for help. The relationship with my mother was worse than it had ever been. My step-father was also a pervert. I tried to talk with my mother but her ability to truly see what was happening had long been blurred by her desire to be with him. She held him high on a pedestal. He sat higher than her family, friends, and most of all, me. There were many times I wondered if she even loved me or at the very least, liked me. I was too afraid to even attempt an investigation of this because somewhere deep down, I already knew the answer. Even with an attempt at suicide, she halfheartedly hugged me, mostly because there were other people around and she that was the appropriate reaction. Of course, behind closed doors, she yelled and called me names. She was pretty good at putting on a show for people, especially our family. It worked for quite a while but I never stopped telling my side. During this time, it was Marilyn who once again intervened. She talked with me not to me. She made sure I knew I was loved and valued. She saved my life more than once, even though she may not even be aware of it.

Growing in to an adult, my understanding of events changed and time provided clarity on what I now know to be traumas endured throughout my childhood. I have often wondered how I escaped the abuse and neglect that I now know I endured without a jaded outlook or negative disposition. There really is only one answer, Marilyn. She and my grandmother were my touchstones. Even when I was cold, hungry, hurt or sad, I pictured their faces and smiled my way through. I knew it wouldn’t always be so hard and one day, I would be free of all the weight I carried with me. I knew without a doubt, I could be better, do better, and I knew these things because Marilyn made sure to tell me.

When I became a mother, I followed all of the things she taught me and showed me even when she didn’t think I was paying attention. When I needed parenting advice, I asked her. She has never let me down.

This woman, who has been my light in the darkest of times, has fought and beat cancer twice! She was diagnosed and her first words were, “How do we fight it?”. Over the years she had told me how proud she was of me, but during this moment, this time of uncertainty and fear, I was never more proud of her. She fought cancer, faced it head on and whipped it’s ass with a smile on her face. That is the essence, the fire that resides inside her soul. The spirit with which she faces the world and holds her head up high even on the days she feels like letting it fall. This and so many more things, are what make her so special, so unique. I don’t believe she even knows how truly phenomenal she is or that she even cares about such things. She’s just her, plain and simple. What you see is truly what you get.

Her life has not been an easy one. From birth, she has known struggle and what it feels like to be hungry, cold, scared or just plain exhausted. She has faced adversity, loved and lost, loved and won and battled inner demons. She has known loss on every level but never wavered in her faith that God has a bigger plan. She has helped to raise not only me but also a vast number of nieces, nephews and cousins. Her two sons battle with addiction and mental illness. She has never failed to love them even on the days when she wanted to not care. She has provided all who truly know her with an image of what true grace and beauty look like and done so while walking through proverbial flames. She has been bent by life’s trials but never broken.

There is no doubt in my mind that if it had not been for God blessing me with this magnificently flawed individual, I would not be the person I am today. It has been her love, compassion, wisdom and when needed, discipline, that has shaped me. Without her, the adversities life handed me would have no doubt molded me into a shape unrecognizable to the person writing this story. She has been so many things to me over the years. My aunt, teacher, mentor, sister, friend, and best of all, my Momma. Webster’s Dictionary and subsequent Thesaurus have yet to obtain words to adequately describe this woman. To know her is to love her. To be loved by her, a priceless gift to be treasured forever.