A Tribute for one of my Heroines and her Hero

 

December 2, 2016

 

A Tribute for one of my Heroines and her Hero

 

My Aunt, Olga M. Hovda Hardeman, became my surrogate mother when I was 8 years old after my mother (her youngest sister) passed away. My father died years earlier, so when my mother passed, six children were orphaned. My two eldest brothers were adults, but just barely, at 26 and 22-years-old. My next brother was in Vietnam at the tender age of 18 and when mom died, they sent him home. The balance of the six of us were three girls at 15, 12 and 8. It was an incredibly sad time for our family, but we were incredibly lucky to have loving aunts and uncles and loving brothers, who took us into their homes. I do not want to bad mouth orphanages and/or foster homes because I know that many are wonderful places, but I feel so truly fortunate that my aunt and uncle took me and that they were good people.

 

My new home with my aunt and her husband, my Uncle George, was in Spring Branch, a suburb of Houston, TX. It was far away from Minnesota where my 18-year-old brother stayed (where we lived with our mother); far away from my 12-year-old sister who came to live with an aunt and uncle in Colorado, far away from my 15-year-old sister who came to live with my eldest brother and wife in Colorado too. For me it was a big change, as it was for all of us, but children are much more flexible than we tend to believe. My Aunt Olga looked so much like my mother, I believe I took great comfort in that and her husband, my Uncle George, my surrogate father, was the kindest, most caring man, besides my Uncle Al, whom I ever knew. I did not remember my father who died when I was two, and my Uncle Al was there in Minnesota helping my mother raise us - he was my mother and aunt's youngest brother.

 

The thing is, these people who took me, an 8-year-old, to raise because I was their sister's child and they were taught to help their family, they were 58 and 66 years old or years young depending upon your perspective. My aunt was born in 1907 and my uncle born in 1899. Can you imagine taking an 8-year-old to raise full-time when you are getting ready to and looking forward to retirement? These people, without any self-serving motives, were undoubtedly saints in the making because of the values they had been taught and learned throughout their lives. They had no children of their own; my aunt had taught children of all ages from a country school in Minnesota in 1927 to the suburbs of Houston in 1965, but now they faced the challenge of a child, 24/7. They parented. They cared for me when I was sick, they took me shopping for school clothes, they took me to the Houston music hall to watch Barbershop Quartets, they took me church and I sang and performed in the children's choir, they took me every summer back to Minnesota to see my brother and my grandmother, they enrolled me in book of the month club and the YMCA, and they tried to discipline me (lol) - so much, much more.....

 

They took me to the Hemisphere fair in San Antonio in 1966 (my mom had passed in 1965); Hemisphere was like 6 Flags. They let me go on rides, they walked the park with me, rode the train, etc. so you say, so what, that is what grandparents do. Yes, indeed, but these were not my grandparents. They were my elderly aunt and uncle who took on a less than angelic little girl to raise. My aunt was teaching kindergartners when they brought me home - 60 kindergartners a day. She once told me I was worse to take care of than her 60 kindergartens! (I must have really made her angry - lol). I was a hellion - I am not proud of that, but I guess its who I was (am?). God bless them, and I mean that! My aunt and uncle not only gave me their love, but they also taught me responsibility, community awareness, ethics and morals, kindness, compassion, humanity, humility, the list is endless.

 

As I said, I do not remember my father, and I barely remember my mother. I know they were good people too; I don't dispute that in any way, but my surrogate parents hold a very special place in my heart. Twenty-one years ago, today - my how times flies - December 2, 1995, I lost my aunt. She was 88 years old, and I was fortunate enough to have had the opportunity to take care of her at home until the very end. Not only did I owe her that, but I wanted to give her that, to give back to her what she had given me. I would not trade those last six years of her life, having the privilege of caring for her, for a million dollars...for anything. She was one of my best friends and I cherish every moment of my life that was spent with her and her husband - taking care of an elderly parent can be exceedingly difficult, so I want to say here that I did not do it alone. I had the support of my brothers, sisters, uncles, cousins, and some incredibly special friends - thank you to each of you.

 

To you Aunt Olga, I still miss you today and every day. I wish we could make strawberry jam together. I wish we could watch The Fugitive together again. I wish we could embroider together again. I wish I could bug you so much that you say, "Linda, stop with all the questions." As much as I miss you, I am happy you are no longer suffering, and I know you got your wings right away because you deserved them; your love for me was limitless and divine. I hope your cloud is cozy and comfortable. You gave me boundless smiles in my life, taught me perseverance, independence, creativity, intellect and love. I will always love you and Uncle George - always.

 

Holding you forever in my heart, love from your daughter, Linda