Ode to Loretta - Olivia Final

Ode to Loretta I have already told some people here the little anecdote about my middle name: Loretta. My grandmother, whose name is Loretta, believes that my middle name comes from her. It is only known to my mother and I that my namesake is actually Loretta Lynn, the country singer. This is especially sad to me because when my grandma is feeling chipper, she’ll call me ‘‘Loretta’’ and flash a cute grin. Neither my mother nor I have the heart to tell her, and I suspect we never will. My grandma deserves so much better. Not just because of the name incident, but because she is not as respected and revered as she should be.

She is what Sherman Alexie would call an “Urban Indian”. For forty years she has lived in Spokane, Washington, and adapted to the city’s ways of life long ago. She lives alone in a small, third-story and one bedroom apartment on a corner that drivers never bother to slow down when they turn it. Once, she slipped on ice on that cemented sidewalk corner and broke her ankle. It was 30 minutes before my mom came to rescue her--she was too afraid of troubling anyone and refused to call for an ambulance. Only one of her eight children bothered answering her call. Granted, two are dead and one is missing, so that narrowed down the potential rescue party. The rest live all relatively closeby, but only visit her to drop off grandkids in need of babysitting.

When she is not babysitting, she walks over to her ex-husband’s house (my grandpa) and helps him cook and clean because he is older and less physically robust than she. She divorced my grandpa long ago because of his infidelity and abuse, but still helps him in any way she can without complaint--even when he still mistreats her to this day. My grandma is the most life-giving person I know, so it is infuriating to witness just how much of her life she gives without it being replenished. After all that she has gone through and continues to go though, why doesn’t she go back to her home and siblings in South Dakota? She visits most summers, so why doesn’t she stay? The way she is treated back home is in stark contrast to the way she is treated by her Spokane family. She is a respected elder in her Hot Springs family. People always listen to what she says, and never take advantage of her.

I have my own theories as to why she stays in Spokane. My grandma is the only person in my family that passes along history of our heritage. Others do not know, or do not want to tell. All that I know of my family and our ancestors, comes from her. Yet, there is a lot that she does not know and there are still many things that she will not discuss. For example, she was not permitted to learn our language; she doesn’t know how to bead or cook any traditional recipes. What she has acquired comes from books and oral history, but her willingness to share in full what she has learned is such a blessing in my life. Maybe she stays to share.

Regarding her journal entries:
For my final project, I wanted to share something genuine. I figured there was no more genuine story that I could share, than some from my grandma. Missing my grandma feels a lot like homesickness, so sharing parts of her life with everyone here makes this place feel a lot more like home. Attached below is one of her journals she started and gifted to me after her last trip (summer of 2017) to Hot Springs, South Dakota. Inside are brief personal anecdotes, glimpses into our family, and small tidbits of Lakota history. Enjoy. https://drive.google.com/open?id=1Bnx9yOI00vy0qMmBzQmxlVX_59xwz0XO