My wife and I met Olga through her daughter, Keisha. Keisha Thalia to be exact. Keisha is what you would call your everyday run of the mill school girl with the kicking and screaming label of a ‘lunch buddy’ initially attached to our relationship. It’s a label because it’s a stereotype and it’s a stereotype because it’s a program for the under privileged and Keisha at the time my wife and I became involved, was all girl; full of pride about not wanting others to think of her as ‘under’ anything, let alone be treated differently.
But she was and still is, different – even if she won’t admit it.
First, there is the fact that when we met her almost ten years ago, she wouldn’t speak to us. She was so against us mentoring her at school lunch one day a week, she would barely speak to herself! Any conversation with us would signify that the guidance counselor was right and she needed a father-figure in her life after her dad had left. Her silence was buried in fear; in fear she didn’t want to admit he was not coming back and in part I believe that she was afraid he might come back. She was not ready for someone to replace him, and even more fearful yet, there was some hidden concern that we might get close and abandon her too….
But of course over time, Keisha did learn to speak. It only took a winning smile (my wife’s) and candy (my idea) to get her to warm up to us. Soon we found out that she was bi-lingual and since her mom is Dominican the only language spoke at Keisha’s house is Espanola. So when we want to communicate with Olga, we depend on Keisha because my wife is half Japanese (“Hai” and “Si” mix like oil and vinegar) and the only Spanish I know is “Hola,” “Adios” and “Kemo Sabe” from my Lone Ranger days.
Then there was the fact that Keisha knew everything about fashion – designer fashion, fashionable fashion, and fashionable designer fashion on every subject. If you want to know about what to wear to Happy Bow-weevil Day in New Town, South Dakota – Keisha knows. Match colors; no problemo. Accessorize; to the hilt. I never realized I was so fashion deficient until an eight year old taught me the error of my ways. I must be lacking the ‘jean gene.’ I never knew there were boot cut, carpenter cut, straight cut, taper cut, cut offs, no cut bellbottoms and of course ALL THOSE shoes to go with them. I pick jeans to wear from my closet by whether they have a hole in the crotch and if the zipper is still functional. Underwear is similar only without the zipper, and holes are acceptable. And where I come from, shoes were optional, not fashionable.
Over time though, something amazing has happened.
The Keisha who wouldn’t speak has now become the Keisha who confides in us in her most dire of times. And over time she was honored as the ‘Student Who Does the Right Thing’ for collecting money for cancer, sang solo in the talent contest (only one stanza in a trio but was dressed very fashionable I might add), and participated in pep club, cheerleader, honor student, and was a one time class president.
And while we have known Keisha for almost ten years, it is Olga who has watched over, protected, provided for, nurtured and raised not only Keisha, but her older sister and brother as well; both whose current careers in life are college and work, and to watch over Keisha when their Mom can’t.
You see, Olga has cancer.
It started with breast cancer ten years ago, but recently has progressed to the kidneys and liver. Nothing I have ever lived through, accomplished, or had the slightest desire to brag about can compare with what Olga has experienced. She has been through all the chemo and radiation treatments allowable by law. She has lost all the hair, threw up food and bloated her body to the limits allowable by nature. Her skin fluctuates between yellow and gray from good days to bad, but her disposition is always sunny and bright. She fights a good fight and the word defeat is not in her vocabulary.
We all die; some sooner and some later, but no matter. We are praying fervently for her to overcome her afflictions, but whether Olga lives another day or another five decades, she is teaching her children something my wife and I could never teach as mentors, and now close friends. She is teaching them courage, bravery and grace in the face of a silent enemy. She is teaching them that every moment of every day of every life of every person on earth, is important and precious and special.
She keeps a clean and neat house and has done so all of her life. She will not ask for money and has taught her children to work to earn not only what they purchase, but earn self respect in a job well done and the reward that comes with it. This my wife and I have observed over the last decade, and it is these examples she sets that have made us grow to love Olga as much as her children.
I will never forget the Christmas we were humbly invited into their home for a wonderful Caribbean dinner of pulled pork with lime juice and cornbread corn… as thank you for our support. It is a support my wife and I whole heartily shy away from taking any credit of being something noble. In our minds Olga and her family have given more to us than we could give them in a life time.
And so, it is this past decade long chapter of our lives, I affectionately call ‘Olga-time.’
We have watched with concern without so much as a word from Olga as to how bad she must feel at times, but I have learned this over the last decade: Olga’s family is anything but ‘under’ privileged – they are rich beyond any wildest dreams and it has been our privilege to be a footnote in their lives. I am writing this tribute unfinished. Unfinished because Olga is still alive; still fighting for her children, for her every breath, for her very life.
Personally, I would be content to never write a sequel to ‘Olga’s time.’ I can wait for the next chapter in life if it means that chapter has to be lived ‘Olga-less.’ But if it must be… then I can only hope and pray my wife and I face the future as bravely as Olga; a future where her many shining examples will always be a part of our lives – and of her children’s.
