Month: June 2023

My first efforts to quell the ravages of my mother’s mind were fraught with misunderstandings, mistakes, a total lack of knowledge about mental illness. We hide such things in darkened rooms. Few people wish to even hear about psychosis, paranoia, deep depression much less openly discuss such diseases emanating from the brain. We have all too often shamed and spurned those whose minds break down. Finding help for loved ones suffering from such illnesses is all too often a far too difficult task. Loneliness is the partner of mental illness. 

In the summer of 1969, I found myself facing one of the greatest challenges of my life when my mother drifted into a fog of depression so severe that she was rendered incapable of even discerning reality from paranoid contortions of her mind. I was up to that point a rather naive and unsophisticated soul. I had never before encountered anyone with a mental illness. I knew little or nothing about what to do for someone so deeply melancholy as my mother now was. 

When I contacted my aunts and uncles for advice I soon realized that they were as baffled as I was. They were reluctant to do more than come to visit her and then shake their heads in confusion when I asked what we might do together to help her become well again. Their comments urging her to pull herself together were as fruitless as the medication that Dr. Jorns had previously prescribed for her. The food that they brought to her ended up in the trash because of her fears that it was poisoned. She was in deep pain from her very legitimate illness and I soon realized that I would have to be the person to find a treatment for her. 

I called Dr. Jorns again and when I described her worsening symptoms he agreed that she needed more expert help than he would be able to provide. He gave me the names of two trusted psychiatrists and suggested that I contact one of them, noting that I would not go wrong with either one. I randomly called the first one on the list without any real knowledge of his education or reputation. I had to simply trust that Dr. Jorns was not misleading me. 

The doctor had a clinic with his father and brother in the Memorial Baptist Hospital that used to be in downtown Houston. When I described Mama’s behavior to him he urged me to bring her to the emergency room of the hospital and get her admitted. He would treat her from there. 

While he made the task sound simple I already knew that it would take some slight of hand to get my mother to agree to such a plan. I enlisted her long time friend, Mrs. Barry, to help me. Together the two of us convinced Mama that she needed to see a doctor so that she might feel better. I explained that Dr. Jorns had suggested that she see a specialist at Memorial Baptist Hospital and that he might want her to rest in the hospital for a time. While she initially quashed the idea, I was determined to get her there one way or another, so I talked her into submission. 

The following day Mrs. Barry drove me and Mama to the hospital. The doctor with whom I had spoken had already alerted the admissions department that Mama would be coming. They were ready with the paperwork that had to be completed. That created the first dustup as Mama became suspicious of all of the personal information they wanted from her. Ultimately I had to finish all of the documents and when my mother refused to sign any of them I was the one who placed my name on each page. 

The whole process was exhausting to both me and my mother. Mama began to feel so weak that she protested very little when a nurse took her to a room in a wheelchair. She was greatly confused by then and I suspect she was feeling betrayed by me and Mrs. Barry as well. Nonetheless she had very little fight left in her when the nurse gave her some medication to calm her down. She was soon sleeping deeply for the first time in many days. 

I learned to drive on the freeway to downtown in the weeks that followed. I visited my mother daily and saw progress even as I sensed that somehow my relationship with her was now strained. I knew that she loved me and hoped that she realized that everything I had done was also out of love, but she was never able to admit that she did indeed have a mental illness. It would be a bone of contention for the rest of her life. Sadly at the time neither of us understood that her illness was chronic. I hoped that it was a once in a lifetime event precipitated by the traumas that she had endured and triggered by the stress and disappointments of the teaching position that had overwhelmed her along with the difficult relationship she had with her mentally abusive man friend. 

When Mama finally came home she was better, but shaken by the experience. She insisted that her doctor had assured her that she was cured and would never again endure such an horrific experience. Her next goal was to find another job. Mine was to return to the University of Houston to work toward my degree. It had been a difficult summer but I was optimistic that better times lay ahead for me and Mike and for my mother and brothers as well. 

Perhaps the best news was that my mother finally had the determination to end her relationship with the man who had in many ways contributed to her fears and melancholy. It was easier than she had thought, but what she never knew is that her brothers had visited with him when I told them how he had been treating her. They essentially suggested quite strongly that the man would have to deal with them if he continued to harass Mama. He got the message and the bravado he had used to manipulate her disappeared. I was relieved to know that we would never have to see him again nor hear his boasts about knowing powerful people who were willing to use violence to change the face of our nation. We all had a second chance to restart the next chapter of our lives without the yoke of negativity weighing us down. My optimism and determination returned. Better yet I now had proof that I was capable of accepting adult responsibilities. It was time to get serious.

Nineteen sixty nine would become a turning point in my life, an unexpected reckoning that demanded that I become courageous and mature. I began the last year of the sixties as a ridiculously naive young bride who still felt uncertain about being an adult even as I posed as a confident woman. I was finally driving, but only on the quiet side streets of the city of Houston. I had yet to enter the freeways that were slowly but surely defining the growing city. I spent time taking classes at the University of Houston and caring for my new home with Mike. The two of us often visited our parents and when around them I mostly still felt like a child, especially under the confident eye of my mother-in-law, Mary. Nonetheless I struck a pose intended to hide my own anxieties about mapping out my future for more than one day at a time. 

When I was alone with Mike I felt as though we were a powerful team, but at other times the world seemed so uncertain. I knew all too well how quickly hopes and dreams can change from my father’s death. I was often reticent to look too far in the future. The war in Vietnam was still raging. Young men who had attended Mt. Carmel High School when I was a student there had died. Others were actively fighting in the jungles of a faraway place. Still others had volunteered to serve in the Navy, the Air Force, the Army, the Marines. The draft hovered over the heads of virtually every young man of a certain age. There were no guarantees that life would go according to a predetermined plan. 

The summer of nineteen sixty nine was one of great excitement in Houston, Texas. The final plans for a manned journey to the moon were underway. The dreams of travel to the moon that had so enchanted my brother, Michael, were soon to become a reality. The enthusiastic predictions of my science teacher, Mrs. Colby, were finally taking place. The whole city was abuzz with anticipation and Mike had become a part of the preparations through his Uncle Bob. That summer there was much electric work to be done at NASA and Fisk Electric Company was heavily involved. Uncle Bob had brought Mike into the process as an electrician’s helper. In that capacity Mike spent hours each week crawling under the floor of Mission Control pulling cables to supply electricity to the massive computers and screens that would communicate with the astronauts on their historic journey. 

The workload was enormous and Mike sometimes labored into the early morning hours. Other times he came home to sleep for a few hours and then quickly returned to NASA. His Uncle Bob who lived in the Heights neighborhood of Houston picked Mike up for each of their shifts. That left me with the car and lots of time alone, so I often went to visit my mother who was struggling a bit over the disappointment of not being asked to return to her job as a teacher at Eliot Elementary for the next school year. While her time there had initially been fantastic, the spring semester had been particularly difficult when a new very troubled student had come to her classroom. Additionally, she was still indecisive about the man that she had been dating and his tendencies to demean and dominate her. Her usual optimism was missing.

Mike was making very good money that summer so my usual worries about adhering to a budget and saving money had dissipated. I attempted to cheer up my mother by taking her to the annual Gulfgate Mall moonlight madness sale where we searched for great bargains amongst throngs of people who came from all over the city for the annual extravaganza. It was a glorious setting for female bonding and Mama was usually the life of the occasion, but in 1969, she was obviously feeling distracted. The same thing occurred when we went to see movies. Nothing seemed to bring her joy, which was so uncharacteristic. Not even the historic walk on the moon seemed to lighten her spirits, but I assumed her dark mood was just a passing thing. 

By August, my mother had taken to her bed. She pulled the curtains and blinds tightly closed and lay in the dark in stifling heat. She was afraid to open the windows to let air into the house but also refused to turn on the one air conditioner that hung in the living room window. Her eyes darted in fear as she attempted to explain that unknown forces were attempting to accuse her of heinous crimes. She warned me to be very careful because our family was being watched. I had never before seen or heard her like this and I became quite worried. Eventually I managed to convince her to let me take her to see Dr. Jorns.

We went to the doctor’s clinic without an appointment. He had been our family doctor for years and I had worked for him in the summer. I knew that he would see my mother even though we did not have an appointment. As we waited for what seemed forever my mother began to look weaker and weaker. She was a shell of herself with trembling hands, sallow cheeks and dark circles under her eyes. Even Dr. Jorns was surprised when he saw her. He gently attempted to ease the fears that she described to him and then gave her a prescription for medication designed to calm her frayed nerves. 

Somehow I thought that visit would perform a miracle and that the medication would return my mother to her normal state. Over the ensuing days her paranoia only increased and not even visits from her brothers and sisters soothed her mind. It felt as though we were losing her hour by hour. I would eventually have to shed my youth and become the rock for our family that my mother had always been. The years of caring for a family alone had taken their toll. She needed help and I would have to be the one to find it for her. Like the young men my age becoming men in war, I too had battles to fight and it was time to gird my loins and say goodbye to being a little girl.

I was back at work early Tuesday morning after a whirlwind  honeymoon in New Orleans. Since we had only one car, an ancient Dodge that had once belonged to Mike’s grandmother, he dropped me off at the school each morning still urging me to take a driving test soon. I managed to work even as my mind was more focused on getting our apartment set up to be more livable. For much of the week I spent my evenings hanging pictures, arranging the bits of furniture that we had accumulated and organizing the kitchen and linen closet. 

Mike and I had purchased a sofa for under a hundred dollars at FedMart, one of the early versions of a big box discount store. It was a burnt orange color which was one of the popular hues of the day along with avocado green and gold. Many gift items for my kitchen echoed that trend, dating them as artifacts from the sixties to this very day. 

Mike’s mother had bought us a rocking chair which added extra seating to our living room. Alan and Susan gave us their old formica topped table with metal chairs for our dining nook. Mike brought the furniture from his bedroom that included a student desk, a double bed and a dresser. His parents also gave him an old television that sometimes behaved and sometimes had a tendency to flip and roll or become fuzzy. It worked just well enough to suit our needs. In our thinking we had exactly what we required to be comfortable. Best of all it was the first time that I had lived in a place with central air conditioning. In the humid heat of Houston, Texas that was a big win for a girl who had always slept with the windows open and the attic fan attempting to pull enough air inside to create a breeze.

We soon learned that our strict budget often became stressed when emergencies arose. There were times when our dinner consisted of boiled cabbage with canned pineapple for dessert. We were young enough to laugh at our folly and simply carry on until the monthly checks for our work arrived. Mama knowingly had a tendency to present us with a bag of groceries whenever we came to visit. Mike’s mom sometimes gave us packages of meat from the stash that she stored in her freezer or slipped a twenty dollar bill into one of Mike’s pockets. We timed our visits around meal times more often than not. Even Alan and Susan came to our rescue with invitations to Saturday feasts of Susan’s incredible cooking. 

Our sacrifices felt minimal to me. My mother had taught me to have gratitude for having a roof over my head, a warm bed in which to sleep safely at night, and a loving family by my side. As long as we made it from one day to the next and kept moving toward our goals together I was happy. In fact I enjoyed the challenge of that first year of wedded bliss. I suppose that those will always remain some of the happiest of my days.  

I finally screwed up enough courage to take the driver’s test. I had turned twenty years old and felt that I was long overdue in that regard. My first attempt went magnificently until I hit the orange cones while attempting to parallel park. The officer shook his head and bluntly announced that I would have to come back another day to try again. 

At first I felt totally defeated, but I’ve always had a stubborn determination in the face of challenges, so not long thereafter I was jumping through the hoops of the exam again. I froze as I approached the final leg of the test which was parallel parking. Mike had told me that the important thing was not to hit the cones, so when I realized that I was about to fail again I abruptly stopped and announced that I would probably have to practice some more because I felt incapable of parking properly. The kind officer asked me how old I was and shook his head when I told him I was twenty and that I had failed the test before. He sat quietly for a moment and then asked how often I might need to park a car between two other vehicles on the street. When I acknowledged that such a thing would rarely if ever happen he announced that he was going to give me a passing mark with the proviso  that I never try to parallel park unless I was certain I would not damage another car. To this day I have never attempted to park in such a situation. 

Mike was able to vote in the presidential election that year, but I was still shy of being twenty one and the voting age had not yet been lowered. Richard Nixon handily defeated Hubert Humphrey who had received the nomination of the Democratic party almost by default after the death of Robert Kennedy. Neither Mike nor I were fans of Nixon but his election had appeared to be inevitable so we were not surprised by his victory. The Vietnam War was very much on our minds, dominating the worries that we had. The mood in the country was tense and uncertain after a year defined by upheaval. Meanwhile Mike and I were happy inside a bubble of our own making as we charted our future together. 

In December we attended the wedding of our friends Linda and Bill. It was a beautiful ceremony just as I knew it would be. Bill was still in the army so the two of them were soon on their way to Germany where they would enjoy an adventurous beginning to their own love story. It seemed that so many of us Boomers were rapidly becoming adults and facing challenges not unlike those our parents had endured. Somehow we all rose to the occasion. 

When Christmas came that year we struggled to purchase gifts for our family members and each other. We found a small “Charlie Brown” Christmas tree that we decorated with makeshift ornaments and a single string of lights. Our budget was so tight that we literally debated whether or not to purchase a manger scene for five dollars. In the end we took a leap of faith and invested in the creche that we have continued to place under our holiday trees over the years. It remains a precious reminder of the joy and love that we found together. 

Our wedding reception was a simple but loving affair. Most of weddings were like that in the nineteen sixties. We rented the Parish Hall at the church for the evening and a woman from the neighborhood decorated the area and brought cakes, finger sandwiches, coffee and and punch for the guests. She did a wonderful job of making the hall feel special and everything she created in her home kitchen was quite tasty while also having an exquisite appearance. 

Mike and I greeted our guests as they passed through the reception line wishing us the best in our future life together. It was all a blur as we engaged in small talk with an effort to be certain that everyone felt welcome. The families and friends mingled together with laughter and good spirits with my Grandpa Little being a particularly popular member of the gathering. He looked quite handsome in his new Sunday suit and few would have guessed his advanced age of ninety years if they did not know him. 

The photographer kept himself busy snapping photos of the occasion while Mike and I mingled with the guests to show gratitude to them for sharing our joy. Soon we were carrying out the standard traditions of the times. I was wearing something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue and a garter. I sat on a chair and raised my skirt so that Mike was able to remove the garter amidst laugher and cheers. He tossed it into the air for one of the single men to catch. Then I did the same with my bouquet of white roses. Whoever caught those things was supposed to be the next to marry, but I can’t remember who they were for the life of me. After a bit more chatting we both left the party to change into our traveling outfits.

We emerged to shouts of love and encouragement as well as applause. The groomsmen had moved our car to the front of the building. It was decorated with shaving cream, tin cans, toilet paper and all sorts of silly scrawling. Mike and I were showered with rice that the guests hurled at us as we passed through the gauntlet of happy people. Everyone was laughing with delight as we drove away, but we were not quite yet leaving for the beginning of our life together. We had a flight to catch for a journey to New Orleans at Hobby Airport, but it was a bit early to depart, so we ended up driving to my family home where Mama was hosting an after party with my aunts and uncles and cousins. 

Everyone gushed about how beautiful the event had been. My Uncle Paul said that it was the best wedding he had ever attended. His comment made me smile because I’m not sure that he had been to more than a few weddings in his lifetime, but I enjoyed his enthusiasm nonetheless. It felt so comfortable in that house that I suddenly felt a tinge of sadness in knowing that I would never live there again. Such notions were fleeting however each time I considered the adventures that lay ahead for me and Mike.

Soon we were saying goodbyes again and heading for the airport with my cousin Alan and his wife Susan behind us. Those were the days when airports were relaxed places where everyone was free to wander the premises, so Alan and Susan not only followed us to the boarding gate, but even said their goodbyes to us inside the plane. Susan was taking photos the entire time to commemorate the occasion. After hugs and best wishes they left and I felt as excited as can be because I had never before flown nor did I ever remember being in New Orleans. I would later find out that I went there with my mother and father when I was still a baby riding in a stroller. 

The flight was quick and easy. We caught a cab and headed for the French Quarter where Mike had made reservations in the Hotel Monteleone. I had to admit to feeling like a kid on an exotic adventure as we turned down one of the narrow streets filled with beautiful historic architecture and people celebrating late into the evening. Soon we were walking into the lobby of the hotel where Mike felt a jolt of disappointment because it was under renovation and we walked on sheets of plywood to reach the desk. I was so fascinated by it all that nothing marred my enthusiasm. It was literally like being in another world unlike anything I had ever seen. 

For the next two and a half days we toured the lovely shops on Royal Street and sampled food from fine restaurants. We went to Pat O’Brien’s where I sampled a breeze and Mike went all out for a hurricane. We listened to jazz bands and munched on beignet at Cafe du Monde. We rode the trolley to the Garden district where Mike showed me the dorm where he had lived as a student at Loyola. We walked through the neighborhood where he showed me the place where he and friends played the pinball machines. We ate roast beef poboys from a tiny eatery. We even enjoyed a steak from a place that offered a meal for under two dollars. 

Back in the quarter we dressed up for a special dinner at Broussard’s. We sat in the courtyard feasting on foods so indescribably delicious that my mouth still waters at the thought of them. One evening we went the Blue Room of the Roosevelt Hotel thanks to Mike’s Uncle Bob who thought we might enjoy some great entertainment. A singer, dancer, actress named Fran Jeffries was the featured performer and she did not disappoint. I felt like I was on a movie set starring in my new role as Mike’s wife. 

During those days we woke up early and stayed up late. We invested every bit of our youthful energy into enjoying New Orleans at its best including visiting the St. Louis Cathedral for mass on Sunday morning and walking through the Cabildo which gave me a feeling of deja vu. I would later find out from my mother’s photo album that I had been there with my parents in the long ago. 

Soon it was time to return to reality. We flew back to Houston on Monday afternoon, spending our last dollar just to be able to boast that we had spared no expense for our honeymoon. We would both be getting back to work the following day, walking into a future that would take us to many unexpected places. We were two kids who thought we were grown up. Life would teach us a lesson or two about that.

As the saying goes, best laid plans often go awry. On the Sunday before my wedding one of the priests asked us to remember the pastor in our prayers while he traveled on a vacation that week when I knew that he was supposed to be in town to officiate our wedding. Then the reverend urged us all to attend the First Friday mass scheduled at the same time in the same church as my wedding. I drifted between the idea of passing out or becoming hysterical as I realized that somehow, someone had forgotten about our supposedly scheduled wedding. It took every bit of resolve that I had not to dissolve in tears right then and there. 

On the way home I ranted liked a banshee while my mother attempted to remain calm, urging me to wait until I got more information before coming unglued. My only thought was to immediately call the rectory to find out how something so disastrous had happened. I practically ran into the house before Mama had even put the car in park. I tore through the phone book searching for the number and dialed with my hands shaking and my heart racing. One of the priests answered the phone and suggested that I call the following day to speak with the secretary who would be back in the office. Not to be trifled with, I demanded an immediate explanation for the mixup, so the poor man agreed to look at the master calendar of events to determine how my wedding date might have been overlooked. 

The now irritated priest put me on hold while I became more and more agitated as the minutes passed. He finally returned and admitted that there was no indication anywhere that Mike and I had reserved the church on any date, nor did the pastor note that he had agreed to preside over the wedding. His words, “I don’t know what to do.” trailed off while I felt myself falling into an abyss. 

My next call was to Mike and I was barely able to speak through my sobs. He tried to calm me but I was not ready to surrender my anger, so he finally suggested that he would attempt to resolve the situation. I hung up having little faith that he or anyone else would be able to do anything. After all of our careful planning we seemed to be facing a nightmare. 

A few hours later Mike called again. His mother had contacted the priest for whom she worked at Assumption Catholic Church to ask for his advice. He had immediately contacted the powers that be at Our Lady of Mt. Carmel. He learned that the pastor who had agreed to officiate at our wedding had indeed neglected to record any of the information, and so over time our wedding was forgotten. Nonetheless, we would still be able to use the church at the appointed time with a few additional “guests” who would come for the First Friday mass. He would be the person presiding over our vows and one of the priests at Mt. Carmel would assist him. All was well. The wedding would still happen at the appointed time and in some ways it had become more meaningful because Father John Perusina, who would be the official witness to our vows, had long before baptized both me and Mike. It seemed fitting that he would be person joining us in matrimony.

Mama and I worked all that week at Eliot Elementary, even on Friday. After school we rushed to the beauty salon to have our hair coiffed then hurried home to put the final touches on our faces. Mama set out the tuxedos for my brothers Michael and Pat and placed my wedding dress and veil in the car. Just before the appointed time she revealed the concerns that she had concealed up to that time. She was worried that I had hurried into a commitment that I was not yet ready to make. She assured me that if I had any misgivings it would be okay to back out even at the late date. She said that she would go to the church and tell people that I had changed my mind and nobody would think any less of me. I simply smiled and told her that I had never before in my life felt so sure about what I wanted to do. That was all she needed to hear and we were off to the church. 

I found my bridesmaids waiting for me. We all donned our dresses in the bridal room with the assistance of the photographers’ wife. I went into a kind of surreal fog, an out of body feeling that I was floating above the reality of all that was happening. Soon we were lining up for the processional into the church. My brother, Michael, would give me away. He looked so grown up and serious in his tuxedo as we linked our arms. I thought of all that our family had endured and how wonderfully we had survived. I felt incredibly blessed.

Soon the music began to play. Mrs McKenna, Susan’s mother, sang with her beautiful voice that I had grown to love. One by one Susan, Nancy and Ingrid walked down the long isle while Mike stood looking so handsome and strong. Finally with the flourish of a trumpet Michael and I slowly coursed through the center of the church while our guests turned to smile at us as we passed. Mama was sitting in the front with Grandpa Little by her side. Mike’s parents, Mary and Julio, were on the other side of the aisle. Father Perusina was flanked by three priests, who hearing of the confusion over our wedding plans had insisted that they also celebrate our nuptials. The flowers were magnificent. Everything had fallen beautifully into place, but best of all there was Mike who would forevermore be my best friend and my rock. 

The priest who delivered the homily spoke of the uncertainties of the world, particularly in nineteen sixty eight, a year that would be remembered for great upheaval. He mentioned how faith and goodness would guide us through other times of turmoil. He talked of the power of our love to change the world. It was a beautiful lesson for all of us and I would always remember his words of encouragement. Then we made our vows to love, honor and cherish each other all of the days of our lives. We performed the sacrament of matrimony just as both of us had been taught in our Catholic School upbringing. I knew before God and humans that our union was meant to be. 

As we left the church everyone was smiling. Some of the people who had come for the First Friday mass exclaimed that it was a beautiful idea to schedule a wedding for the occasion. The church had been almost full with both guests and parishioners. The extravagance of priests on the altar had made the event feel even more significant. I felt a happiness that had been missing from heart since the day my father had died. The outpouring of love had shown me once again that our family had never been alone and then there was Mike and we were one.