Story_Fire

Burnt Flesh

I am daughter of Myrtle Elizabeth Tussinger, Granddaughter of Susie Bearskin. My origins began in the back hills of Oklahoma where I attended a one-room schoolhouse on the back of a horse.

In the summertime my baths were taken in the creek that flowed on the other side of the road and in front of our home. Wintertime and the water was heated and poured in a round tin tub near the wood burning stove in the kitchen. The stove was oval with a small mouth that allowed ashes to spill out of it into a metal pan on the floor in front of the stove.

Once, as I was sitting in a highchair playing with my plastic barrettes, my mother passed by that stove with a basket of clothes that she was bringing in from the clothesline. Her long flowing skirt swept by the mouth of the stove and caught fire from the hot ashes in the pan on the floor.

She screamed and I was horrified.

My Grandfather was the first to arrive. He laid her down on the floor, rolling her around. Her brother came next and they took her outside continuing to roll her burning body in the grass while wrapping her in a blanket.

Mother's hands and back were damaged the most and we hurried to the Indian Health Service Hospital located in Tahlequah, Oklahoma that was miles away. The doctor said she would never use her hands effectively again and nothing could be done about the scars.

Grandfather looked at him and did not say something. He gently put his arm about his daughter as if shielding her and we left the office with her body and hands bandaged. No words were spoken on the way home. Listening to the hum of the engine, I fell asleep with my head resting on the hump on the floor in the back of the car.

Each day over the next year, Grandfather rubbed my mother's back, hands and fingers with a mixture he had prepared. He prayed and talked to her. It was our family ritual to see him holding her hands and rubbing the greasy substance over her.

Long after it was no longer necessary, we still continued to spend time together at that point of the day when he would be praying and rubbing her back and hands.

You have guessed by now. She was able to use her hands again, she also returned to college and eventually got a Degree in Art. And she never even had one single scar. No, not even a darkened shadow was found anywhere on her skin.

The moral of my story?, there was much sacrific and self-giving love.

I watched a video called, "Marvin's Room". It is about the sacrifice a woman made to take care of her invalid Father. In the end, the woman spoke of how wonderful it was to love. Her sister said, "Yes, you are lucky to be loved so much." and the woman responded, "no, you don't understand. I, me, I am the one who loves them. I am fortunate to be able to love him so much."

Do you understand the difference? It is not that "we are loved", but "we are able to love them".

The ability to love someone unbounding, no matter what and with no time limit. This is the blessing.

Written by a Wyandotte Woman

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