Lorraine
Yesterday, I heard that she died. Lorraine.
I barely knew her. I went to high school with her. She and I crossed paths occasionally on facebook, but that was it.
When I heard that she had died, I looked at her obit and saw that she had been in hospice for cancer.
I put down my phone, went into the kitchen and got a big glass of water. Drank a few sips. Put the glass down.
And felt this huge wave of emotion fly up from my stomach and into my head. I hung my head and cried. For a woman whom I didn't know. For a teenage girl whom I barely knew.
Something had sparked a memory. A memory pulled from somewhere deep down inside of me. A memory that I didn't even know was there until I had heard she died.
Lorraine went to my small town high school. I think our graduating class was under 20 kids, but I am not sure. I skated past those years as quickly as I could, so anxious to get away.
Lorraine came to our high school as a freshman. She had gone to a country school near her family's farm for her first 8 grades. She and her sister came together. Because our school was small, I knew her...but she and I were not close friends. We didn't hang out together. Because she was a farm kid, she didn't stay late to school for activities or sports. She went right home after school.
The Memory
The teacher of our class had to use the bathroom or make a phone call, something, so told the class to work quietly on our own. As these things go, of course the class did not work quietly. Two of the more popular boys were sitting across the room and talking to Lorraine and her sister. Suddenly, one of the boys stood up and announced that Lorraine and her sister would now sing one of the songs that they sang together as they milked their cows each morning. He said this with a flourish and a snicker as if he were a carnival barker.
Lorraine and her sister stood and held hands and began to sing. I can't remember the song at all now, just that a lot of kids were snickering behind their hands, some openly. I was horrified for those girls. Embarrassed. Three fourths of the way through the song, Lorraine's face began to change from happy to confused to red with embarrassment. She had realized...finally...that she was being mocked. She sat down and tried to yank her sister down with her. Her sister, not understanding, refused. She finished the song and even made a little bow after it was done.
The teacher came back in the room just as the song was finished. He asked what was going on.
"Nothing," one of the boys said, nonchalantly. No one corrected him. The teacher went on with the lesson.
I am an adult now and this memory haunts me. I was raised by a Dad who would have expected better from his daughter. He would NEVER have thought it acceptable for me to just sit and watch while a classmate was mocked.
Yet, I never stood up. And I never went up to Lorraine or her sister after class to say something nice....like I thought the song was pretty, etc.
I did nothing. I just sat there, looking down at my work book. The boys were popular and mean spirited. If I had said anything, I might have been their next target.
And now Lorraine is dead from cancer.
My sister, who lives in that small town, tells me that she married a farmer a few years after graduation and that they moved to her family farm and continued working it. She and her husband had two children, now grown and moved away.
She tells me that whenever she saw Lorraine at church, she always asked after my health. That she was a sweet, good woman.
So, now I am sitting here bawling all over again, wishing that my younger self had been stronger. Wondering what would have happened if I had stood up and told those boys to stop it, that they were just dumb asses who made themselves feel cool by harassing two young girls who were naive enough to think that standing up and singing milking songs was acceptable, even okay.
And, for the love of Mike, it WAS okay. It should have been okay. I recall that it was a very sweet little song and that they harmonized effortlessly.
So, I cried. Am crying. For Lorraine. Who went on and had a lovely life and had the sweetness to always ask my sister how I was doing, even as she must have been suffering herself.
Lorraine? If you will do me the honor of being of one of the people who meet me when I pass on? I would love to link arms with you and have you teach me that song. I am truly sorry that I never said anything to you, never stood up for you. I was young and weak.
See you soon. I hope that you are free of all of your pain finally and singing sweetly in a beautiful garden. Your obituary said that you loved to tend to your garden.
Because your voice was truly lovely.
I barely knew her. I went to high school with her. She and I crossed paths occasionally on facebook, but that was it.
When I heard that she had died, I looked at her obit and saw that she had been in hospice for cancer.
I put down my phone, went into the kitchen and got a big glass of water. Drank a few sips. Put the glass down.
And felt this huge wave of emotion fly up from my stomach and into my head. I hung my head and cried. For a woman whom I didn't know. For a teenage girl whom I barely knew.
Something had sparked a memory. A memory pulled from somewhere deep down inside of me. A memory that I didn't even know was there until I had heard she died.
Lorraine went to my small town high school. I think our graduating class was under 20 kids, but I am not sure. I skated past those years as quickly as I could, so anxious to get away.
Lorraine came to our high school as a freshman. She had gone to a country school near her family's farm for her first 8 grades. She and her sister came together. Because our school was small, I knew her...but she and I were not close friends. We didn't hang out together. Because she was a farm kid, she didn't stay late to school for activities or sports. She went right home after school.
The Memory
The teacher of our class had to use the bathroom or make a phone call, something, so told the class to work quietly on our own. As these things go, of course the class did not work quietly. Two of the more popular boys were sitting across the room and talking to Lorraine and her sister. Suddenly, one of the boys stood up and announced that Lorraine and her sister would now sing one of the songs that they sang together as they milked their cows each morning. He said this with a flourish and a snicker as if he were a carnival barker.
Lorraine and her sister stood and held hands and began to sing. I can't remember the song at all now, just that a lot of kids were snickering behind their hands, some openly. I was horrified for those girls. Embarrassed. Three fourths of the way through the song, Lorraine's face began to change from happy to confused to red with embarrassment. She had realized...finally...that she was being mocked. She sat down and tried to yank her sister down with her. Her sister, not understanding, refused. She finished the song and even made a little bow after it was done.
The teacher came back in the room just as the song was finished. He asked what was going on.
"Nothing," one of the boys said, nonchalantly. No one corrected him. The teacher went on with the lesson.
I am an adult now and this memory haunts me. I was raised by a Dad who would have expected better from his daughter. He would NEVER have thought it acceptable for me to just sit and watch while a classmate was mocked.
Yet, I never stood up. And I never went up to Lorraine or her sister after class to say something nice....like I thought the song was pretty, etc.
I did nothing. I just sat there, looking down at my work book. The boys were popular and mean spirited. If I had said anything, I might have been their next target.
And now Lorraine is dead from cancer.
My sister, who lives in that small town, tells me that she married a farmer a few years after graduation and that they moved to her family farm and continued working it. She and her husband had two children, now grown and moved away.
She tells me that whenever she saw Lorraine at church, she always asked after my health. That she was a sweet, good woman.
So, now I am sitting here bawling all over again, wishing that my younger self had been stronger. Wondering what would have happened if I had stood up and told those boys to stop it, that they were just dumb asses who made themselves feel cool by harassing two young girls who were naive enough to think that standing up and singing milking songs was acceptable, even okay.
And, for the love of Mike, it WAS okay. It should have been okay. I recall that it was a very sweet little song and that they harmonized effortlessly.
So, I cried. Am crying. For Lorraine. Who went on and had a lovely life and had the sweetness to always ask my sister how I was doing, even as she must have been suffering herself.
Lorraine? If you will do me the honor of being of one of the people who meet me when I pass on? I would love to link arms with you and have you teach me that song. I am truly sorry that I never said anything to you, never stood up for you. I was young and weak.
See you soon. I hope that you are free of all of your pain finally and singing sweetly in a beautiful garden. Your obituary said that you loved to tend to your garden.
Because your voice was truly lovely.
I will always remember Elizabeth, the girl who defended me from a bully in elementary school .
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