A Family Martyr
Oct. 27th, 2005 03:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stitchwhichMy sister-in-law, Patty....
When I met Patty (Patricia Pattee, born March 17th - aren't parents just lovely when they saddle you with something like "Patty Pattee, born on St. Paddy's Day"? I used to buy her an annual T-shirt with a leprechaun mooning the world on it so she could wear it on her birthday.) As I was saying, when I met Patty, she was getting off of a greyhound bus, a tiny little woman, dark like her mother (reservation Cherokee. The skin gene missed Arn), wearing a Salvation Army cast-off coat and clutching a bottle of Red Rose Wine. It was in the Wino-brown-bag wrapper... I'd never seen Red Rose before - I thought it was exotic and wondered why she'd be carrying it like that. And where she'd found wine in such a small little bottle. I've learned a little more of the world since then. Patty was coming out to visit and meet the new In-Law since I was the wife of the Only Son and Heir of the Family (big whoop, eh?) She had time on her hands because she'd quit working on the shrimp boats and her husband was in jail for dealing drugs. She hadn't known he was dealing until the arrest - that's how connected they were. So she was going to "find a new life" she said. Well, I've seen folks do amazing things and she was witty and smart, so I didn't make a judgement about her but I did wonder what I'd married into.
A year later, we were in Japan and she was in San Francisco. She was working two jobs and had started going to the Community College. Then she was going to State college and working one better job because she had figured out the grant/loan system. Then she was a graduate (AA) and was enrolled in UCB as an English major. She'd got a divorce from the hubby and was beginning to really gear down for serious studying but was also spending a lot of time hanging out with one of the professors from her old college. Next I knew, they were married.... he took her to Paris to dine while listening to the Benny Goodman band as his contribution to their honeymoon. She learned Parisian French so she'd be more comfortable there and wouldn't shame the gift. They stopped at Oxford on the way back and she called me, long distance to Japan, to tell me that she'd looked all over for Tolkien's translation of Beowulf and no one seemed to know what she was talking about. Wow. I'd given her the "Lord of the Rings" set when we first met and she'd remembered me flipping to the scene where Frodo was standing on the bar table declaiming "The man in the moon came down too soon" and telling her that if Tolkien could do that with a nursery rhyme, imagine what he'd done with Beowulf. Apparently, the conversation had stuck.
I didn't see her again until over 10 years later. We drove a meandering route out from Virginia to Oregon, where she and her husband lived, to see relatives and show our boys our beloved West. Patty met us at a local restaurant - she was in a simple silk dress and driving a Mercedes. She was polished, self-assured, poised. It was an amazing transformation. We spent the day with her husband and her and learned that they were both active in the NRA. Their gun safe was the size of a room. They terrified me by giving our sons loaded guns to fire into the woods around their house (I, of course, didn't know that they'd done that until the first shot. Arn had said "yes"!). Patty'd started studying at a new college and was getting her Master's degree while also teaching some classes at the community college, "to give back", she said. She spoke three languages besides English by then. But she told me that her husband was getting older and a little scary. He'd have violent temper episodes and had fired one of the guns at her. She'd waited out his fury in the gun safe. He'd called on the house phone to apologise when he came out of it. I left with a feeling of discomfort for her future. Young second wives were not generally well loved by children of the first wife, especially when the hubby was well off. She had no friends or family close to her home, no one to turn to in her isolated mountain top. Southern Oregon can be rather stark and lonely. But, she said, they loved the view and she didn't really need anyone besides him and their books - and she was staying in contact with folks since she was so involved with the academic community.
She stayed in contact with us. The only relative of Arn's that did. She got certified as a small arms instructor and then a rifle instructor. She took the NRA to court to force them to honour their certification - they apparently never let women teach until Patty sued them. The suit was dropped when the NRA caved and she and 7 other women were allowed to teach. Her life seemed to be going fine but there were odd episodes of husbandly-violence. Finally we got a call from Portland. She was in a spousal-abuse safe home and wanted us to know that she was okay but that she was being protected because of the threats from her husband. She asked us for advice about her duties as a wife, she cried about not being there for him while his mind was failing, she agonised over him being left alone at home. Her stepchildren had started a court suit to have him certified unable to care for himself and to shift authority to them... I told her to trust her heart and the advice that she'd get from the protection councellors. I tried to talk her out of going back to check on her husband even while I knew that I was talking to the wind. Her duty was clear in her mind and heart. Three weeks later, she was found shot to death in the woods outside her & his home. The police ruled it suicide.
So Patty is a hero, in my world, and a martyr too. Her husband lived a little longer and died of old age. I'm sure they had a bit of stuff to sort out when they met again. And I'm sure, as big as her heart was, that she didn't hold his actions while demented against the healed soul that he was when they met again. Wherever you are, Patty, I still love you. And admire you too. And I love Arn a little more for bringing me into your world to watch you blossom into the woman you became. And the tragedy you personify.
When I met Patty (Patricia Pattee, born March 17th - aren't parents just lovely when they saddle you with something like "Patty Pattee, born on St. Paddy's Day"? I used to buy her an annual T-shirt with a leprechaun mooning the world on it so she could wear it on her birthday.) As I was saying, when I met Patty, she was getting off of a greyhound bus, a tiny little woman, dark like her mother (reservation Cherokee. The skin gene missed Arn), wearing a Salvation Army cast-off coat and clutching a bottle of Red Rose Wine. It was in the Wino-brown-bag wrapper... I'd never seen Red Rose before - I thought it was exotic and wondered why she'd be carrying it like that. And where she'd found wine in such a small little bottle. I've learned a little more of the world since then. Patty was coming out to visit and meet the new In-Law since I was the wife of the Only Son and Heir of the Family (big whoop, eh?) She had time on her hands because she'd quit working on the shrimp boats and her husband was in jail for dealing drugs. She hadn't known he was dealing until the arrest - that's how connected they were. So she was going to "find a new life" she said. Well, I've seen folks do amazing things and she was witty and smart, so I didn't make a judgement about her but I did wonder what I'd married into.
A year later, we were in Japan and she was in San Francisco. She was working two jobs and had started going to the Community College. Then she was going to State college and working one better job because she had figured out the grant/loan system. Then she was a graduate (AA) and was enrolled in UCB as an English major. She'd got a divorce from the hubby and was beginning to really gear down for serious studying but was also spending a lot of time hanging out with one of the professors from her old college. Next I knew, they were married.... he took her to Paris to dine while listening to the Benny Goodman band as his contribution to their honeymoon. She learned Parisian French so she'd be more comfortable there and wouldn't shame the gift. They stopped at Oxford on the way back and she called me, long distance to Japan, to tell me that she'd looked all over for Tolkien's translation of Beowulf and no one seemed to know what she was talking about. Wow. I'd given her the "Lord of the Rings" set when we first met and she'd remembered me flipping to the scene where Frodo was standing on the bar table declaiming "The man in the moon came down too soon" and telling her that if Tolkien could do that with a nursery rhyme, imagine what he'd done with Beowulf. Apparently, the conversation had stuck.
I didn't see her again until over 10 years later. We drove a meandering route out from Virginia to Oregon, where she and her husband lived, to see relatives and show our boys our beloved West. Patty met us at a local restaurant - she was in a simple silk dress and driving a Mercedes. She was polished, self-assured, poised. It was an amazing transformation. We spent the day with her husband and her and learned that they were both active in the NRA. Their gun safe was the size of a room. They terrified me by giving our sons loaded guns to fire into the woods around their house (I, of course, didn't know that they'd done that until the first shot. Arn had said "yes"!). Patty'd started studying at a new college and was getting her Master's degree while also teaching some classes at the community college, "to give back", she said. She spoke three languages besides English by then. But she told me that her husband was getting older and a little scary. He'd have violent temper episodes and had fired one of the guns at her. She'd waited out his fury in the gun safe. He'd called on the house phone to apologise when he came out of it. I left with a feeling of discomfort for her future. Young second wives were not generally well loved by children of the first wife, especially when the hubby was well off. She had no friends or family close to her home, no one to turn to in her isolated mountain top. Southern Oregon can be rather stark and lonely. But, she said, they loved the view and she didn't really need anyone besides him and their books - and she was staying in contact with folks since she was so involved with the academic community.
She stayed in contact with us. The only relative of Arn's that did. She got certified as a small arms instructor and then a rifle instructor. She took the NRA to court to force them to honour their certification - they apparently never let women teach until Patty sued them. The suit was dropped when the NRA caved and she and 7 other women were allowed to teach. Her life seemed to be going fine but there were odd episodes of husbandly-violence. Finally we got a call from Portland. She was in a spousal-abuse safe home and wanted us to know that she was okay but that she was being protected because of the threats from her husband. She asked us for advice about her duties as a wife, she cried about not being there for him while his mind was failing, she agonised over him being left alone at home. Her stepchildren had started a court suit to have him certified unable to care for himself and to shift authority to them... I told her to trust her heart and the advice that she'd get from the protection councellors. I tried to talk her out of going back to check on her husband even while I knew that I was talking to the wind. Her duty was clear in her mind and heart. Three weeks later, she was found shot to death in the woods outside her & his home. The police ruled it suicide.
So Patty is a hero, in my world, and a martyr too. Her husband lived a little longer and died of old age. I'm sure they had a bit of stuff to sort out when they met again. And I'm sure, as big as her heart was, that she didn't hold his actions while demented against the healed soul that he was when they met again. Wherever you are, Patty, I still love you. And admire you too. And I love Arn a little more for bringing me into your world to watch you blossom into the woman you became. And the tragedy you personify.
