Reunited

Leta wanted her children to spend Thanksgiving with her. She was living with Aaron and his family again, having moved back after several months of living on her own. She had not spoken to her children since September of 1929, and now it was mid-October 1930. She missed them, but so did their cousins, aunts, and uncles. During the interim, she had girls in her life—Aaron and Florence’s daughters Lucille and June with whom she lived, and Little Leta, her sister Louise’s oldest daughter, who shared many similar qualities with Leta’s own daughter Vivian. But this wasn’t the same as being with her own children.

She did not know how she should contact them. If she telephoned, anyone in the household might answer, including their father’s current wife whom she had never met and never wanted to. She contemplated simply appearing at the house, waiting for the children to arrive home from school, but what if their grandmother or stepmother saw her first? How would she speak to her children when she did meet them? While it was proper for her to speak to Ralph before she approached the children, all she really wanted to do was reconnect with Vivian and Dale. For a woman who was rarely intimidated by others or anxious about her own behaviors, she spent several days in deep thought about the situation. During the day, she assisted her sister-in-law with the housekeeping, but shortly after the family finished supper, she would retire to her room and not emerge until the next morning.

“What is it, Leta?” Florence asked one Friday morning after Aaron had gone to work and the children to school.

“What do you mean?” Leta asked, as she scrubbed the sink. Florence was sitting at the table, writing her grocery shopping list.

“You’ve been quiet all week,” Florence replied. “That’s very unlike you. Something’s bothering you.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Leta replied and returned to her task.

Florence’s inquiry, however, seemed to have broken the rumination in which Leta had encased herself. She stopped scrubbing again and turned to her sister-in-law.

“I want Vivian and Dale to spend Thanksgiving with us,” she said bluntly.

Florence put down her pencil and smiled broadly.

“That would be wonderful!” she exclaimed. “We all miss them so much, and you, I’m sure, most especially.”

“My problem is that I just don’t know how to get in touch with them,” Leta added.

Florence looked surprised. “My dear, just telephone them,” she said.

Leta stood stiffly, looking imploringly at Florence.

“This afternoon, after they get home from school, get on the phone and call,” Florence directed. “I am sure that they are waiting for you to get in touch with them.”

Leta still did not move. All of her energy was focused on absorbing her sister-in-law’s words. She slowly accepted that fear had been her own enemy in this endeavor. The fear of her children’s response to her having deserted them had immobilized her and compounded over the months that she remained separate from them. She was behaving as if she had done something malicious and should be ashamed. She was allowing the necessary although significant act of leaving Vivian and Dale with their father for their own good grow and fester into a large, unwieldy state.

“It’s time,” Florence added.

Leta agreed. She had the tools. She had the capability. She had the responsibility. She would cut and trim her anxiety back into something manageable, and potentially cut it out completely.

That afternoon, while Florence was catching up with her own daughters’ school day, Leta telephoned her children. Dale answered.

“Hello, Dale,” she said.

“Ma!” she heard him cry and then shout, “Vivian, it’s Ma on the telephone!”

When she saw them the following weekend, wanting some time alone with them before they joined the entire family for Thanksgiving dinner, Leta immediately understood that the reunion was permanent. Vivian had filled out more and changed her hairstyle. Her dress was simple, and unflattering, but she had a rich, womanly look in her eyes. Dale had grown at least two inches. While he had never had good control over his muscles and joints, he was even more awkward, manipulating his uncooperative body as best as he could. Both of them, in their own ways, were as happy to see her as she was to see them. Leta immediately felt her maternal love return. The fear and anxiety had been trimmed. The unhealthy parts had been cut away. All it needed now was nourishment to grow stronger, grow the way it should have. She would see to that.