A new true north points toward the redwoods

 

Precise directions are lost, somewhere on the far edges of my mind, as I can’t seem to remember the exact location of where I’m heading on this frosty February morning.  Google Maps remembers.  When I add the first few numbers of the address, a full location pops immediately: Cancer Partners of Nebraska.

I am heading for a cancer checkup, marking a year since I first quietly approached my physician with a few troubling questions. Ten months since a full hysterectomy, eight months since the grand finale of radiation – and perhaps six since I believed I had conquered my demons.

After all, in these past months I had determined to wake up every single morning, feeling the wild abandonment of life. I created a gratitude list and an always-say-yes agenda. smoked my first cigar, painted shades of the rainbow into my hair, savored as much lemon ice cream as possible, danced with summer fairies, ocean tides and even a sky filled with Northern Lights. 

I had lived life passionately, darn it.  I had done everything right. Yet these last few appointments – billed as quick examinations and check-ins – unpredictably gobsmacked me.  

Bottom line, the checkups arrived without fanfare, and all seems to be dandy inside my body. The same familiar medical folks greeted me with smiles and hugs. The examinations passed quickly and I was blessedly proclaimed “Cancer free.”  Everyone wished me well. They told me to go live my life.  And this time around they set up an appointment for six months ahead – not three.  

Six months, sigh. 

“Did you need something sooner?” one of the health care workers asked, gently.

“Yes, please,” I replied.  “Could you please come to my house every single morning and assure me that I’m cancer free?” 

We all laughed, of course, and I headed on my way.

Except that something has clearly shifted.

One of my favorite projects over the past year has been helping with the first Nebraska Storytelling Festival – therein meeting and listening to a glorious, 29-year-old breast cancer survivor named Madison.

“The thing about cancer, you can’t wave a magic wand and get your life back,” this young storyteller wisely explained.  “You lost the life that you had before, and you lose the person that you were. And there is so much grief in that realization.”

As Madison described constant and futile attempts at hanging on to the life she had left behind, I considered the comfort of a Mary I had created and nurtured for more than six decades – a cheery, positive person who believed everything would always be ok.  Yet ultimately, also, a solitary woman fiercely proud of her independence. 

In fact, I’d spent much of my life successfully avoiding unnecessary entanglements. Lately I’ve been wondering why.  Perhaps I didn’t want to disappoint.  Look silly.  Get trapped.  Depend, rely, lean on anyone.

“I worked really hard to become the person I was before, and it’s been really hard to say goodbye to her,” storyteller Madison said. “But time has been healing a lot of my wounds. Every day I feel better and better … The magic in me is powerful, and it’s what helped me crawl out of that hole … has helped me push on for the life I want … This new woman, I’m still getting to know her.  But I think I like her.”

This weekend, I’m off to go camp in the redwoods, and I’ve been reading up. Although they are the tallest trees in the world – reaching heights of 375 feet – redwood root systems only extend a measly six to 12 feet into the ground. Their secret?  Growing together in forests of other redwoods, their indomitable roots interlock with one another, creating the strength to withstand powerful winds and floods.  

Yes, cancer sucks.  But it also holds the promise and sweet surprise of transformation.  

I found an extraordinary village when I experienced cancer, a forest of friends and family that – indeed – held me up through powerful winds and floods … held me when I was crying uncontrollably … loved me when I was thoroughly unlovable … delivered sustenance and faith to my door. 

And when I look back in honest reflection, the greatest moments of joy came with those connections.  Those unpredictable, out-of-control moments of vulnerability when I actually managed to share the reins of my life. 

This new Mary, I’m still getting to know her.  I suspect she is not any better than the old one.  She’s just different.  Perhaps a little wiser, strangely calmer and gentler with the world.  Not nearly so solitary and independent as the old one.

And for all of this I say to cancer: Thank you.

This coming week, when I greet those redwoods, I’m gonna hug a few trees. I’m going to bow below them, accepting that I will never truly understand all the forces beneath me shaping my life. Accepting that my body will never be the same.  Proudly wearing the scars that surgery has left behind, while understanding cancer is now woven into the fabric of me.

Perhaps that’s where I find my new true north.  

Future storms and drought are certain.  But by tending to my roots – the friends and family who surround me – I find my best hope of resilience for tomorrow. 

If the trunk could talk...

by Mary Reiman

Looking to the future and guessing what the city, the state, the world, will look like in 100 years, seems overwhelming and too scary/sketchy right now. Continuing to form our more perfect union seems more difficult every day. So today I spent time reflecting on the past. 

I would love to sit across the table from Henry Louis Gates, Jr., the host of ‘Finding Your Roots,’ the weekly, hour-long inquiry on NPM delving into the histories, the stories of a variety of famous personalities. How they locate so much history, so many documents and photographs and historical data from around the world makes the heart of this librarian soar. Rich and robust research.

Watching Julia Roberts’ face when she learned why her real last name is McDonald. Hearing Queen Latifah’s response when she learned that a woman, on October 1, 1792, set in motion the freedom of her ancestors with a handwritten document. “People still think that one person can’t make a difference...Mary Old, one person, made a difference to my whole entire family line.” 

Now, instead of watching television, I look below to what has become the TV stand. The wood trunk with the letters FR engraved on the front. 

I believe this handmade trunk carried the world of Freidrich Reimann to the United States. Freidrich was born on March 13, 1839 in Paderborn, Germany. When he arrived in Templeton, Iowa, in 1872, he was Frederick Reiman. 

In the late 1800s, people in many parts of the world decided to leave their homes and immigrate to the United States. Fleeing crop failure, land and job shortages, rising taxes, and famine, many came to the U. S. because it was perceived as the land of economic opportunity. Others came seeking personal freedom or relief from political and religious persecution, and nearly 12 million immigrants arrived in the United States between 1870 and 1900. During the 1870s and 1880s, the vast majority of these people were from Germany, Ireland, and England... Although immigrants often settled near ports of entry, a large number did find their way inland. Many states, especially those with sparse populations, actively sought to attract immigrants by offering jobs or land for farming. Many immigrants wanted to move to communities established by previous settlers from their homelands... Often stereotyped and discriminated against, many immigrants suffered verbal and physical abuse because they were "different." While large-scale immigration created many social tensions, it also produced a new vitality in the cities and states in which the immigrants settled. The newcomers helped transform American society and culture, demonstrating that diversity, as well as unity, is a source of national strength.        (Library of Congress: Immigration Challenges for New Americans)

According to family records, Frederick married Bernadine Henkenius in 1873 and they farmed near Preda, Iowa before moving to the Templeton area. The Henkenius family came from Schmechten, Germany. 30 kilometers from Frederick's hometown. All immigrants. To Frederick and Bernadine were born 12 children: Joseph, Elizabeth, Bernard, Mary, Fred, John, Theresia, Kathryn, Bernadine and Bertha. Two older children, Anna and Anton died early in life. 

We’ll never know exactly what brought Freidrich Reimann's family to Iowa. His reasons for leaving Germany are not in any records I have found. Perhaps he was following the love of his life. Perhaps the family was fleeing persecution or poverty.  We can only create our own stories of hardship, or hope for a better life, or even a spirit of adventure. But it could not have been an easy journey. Just as it is not an easy journey today for those who arrive at our borders. 

According to the most recent Vintage 2022 population estimates (The Census Bureau creates a new “vintage” of estimates each year based on the latest data available.), Foreign-born individuals now make up almost 15 percent of the U.S. population. The main reason most immigrants came to America in 2022 was for employment opportunities. Other reasons were to escape a violent conflict, deal with environmental concerns, pursue educational opportunities, or reunite with family. The immigrants who came were primarily attracted to Florida, Texas, Arizona, and North Carolina. In addition, more than 900,000 immigrants living in the U.S. became U.S. citizens in 2022, according to a Pew Research Center estimate based on government data released for the first three quarters of the year. (Forbes, December 30, 2022: U.S. Immigration-2022 Year in Review by Andy J. Semotiuk.)

Immigrants, then and now. Do we look at the photographs from Ellis Island with the same mindset as the photographs we now see from El Paso? Maybe, maybe not. 

100 years from now, when historians describe the immigration patterns and policies of 2023, how will they describe the photographs of those lined up at our southern borders, having walked hundreds of miles or having traversed the waters in a boat. They came because they simply wanted to leave their home, their family, their language? The reasons for going through such great hardship in today's world?  

What is most controversial about immigration? The same things that were controversial in the 1800s? Most of our ancestors came from another country, whether forced to come or arriving voluntarily. Arriving from across an ocean. From Africa. From Asia. From Europe. 

I don’t live in the epicenter of the massive number of people standing in line to cross the border today. Knowing how to support those in need is a major issue, a divisive issue in our country. 

There are no easy answers. No straightforward solutions. Are our souls filled with kindness and support or with fear and hatred? Many different perspectives, just as there were many years ago.

I am thankful for Freidrich Reimann, my great-grandfather. I wish I had pictures of him. I'll keep looking. For now, I will continue to conjure up stories of him from the facts we do have.  

Frederick passed away in 1911 at age 71. One of his sons, John, and his wife, Josephine, moved to Milford, Iowa, in 1914. John was 27 years old. They purchased farmland. They built a house, made it their home, raised their family. 4 daughters and 2 sons. Loretta, Clara, Clarence, Dorothy, Bernard and Gertrude. The wood trunk arrived in Milford with them. It was still in the attic of the farmhouse 50 years later, during my childhood, after my dad, Bernard, purchased the farm. 

I am thankful for John Reiman, my grandfather. Grandpa was witty and kind with a twinkle in his eye and goodness in his heart. He was loving and gentle and very fun! I wish I knew more about his childhood, his parents, the decision to move to Milford, and the trunk he brought with him. 

If only that trunk could talk...

Unabashedly strong female leaders: I’m looking to you, Generation Alpha

By JoAnne Young

Everly Sampson has given me hope for Generation Alpha. 

Yeah, it’s probably too early to be looking to our youngest generation of girls to someday help guide us out of our messes, given these little girls are still wading through addition and subtraction and figuring out the main idea of their storybooks. However, it isn’t too early to start thinking about how we can help them to become, and then stay, confident, decisive, courageous and strong leaders.  

 

Case in point: Everly, who is all of 4 feet and 55 pounds of feisty and funny, flippant and fierce.  Although she may cause her parents, and possibly her teachers, frustration at times, watching her as I can from a distance I can see her developing into someone who can stand in a courtroom, or a boardroom, a legislature, research lab or operating room and get things done. 

 

Already at 7, she can look you in the eye and tell it as she sees it. She is learning from history that America has been “just rude” to both its minority populations and its 51-percenters: women. She’s not going to let that continue on her watch. 

 

She casts a side eye at authority, and she won’t hesitate to tell her mom: “I’m sorry you’re frustrated, but I’m trying to make a point.” 

 

Actually, she has a great role model in her mom, Alynn High Sampson, a nonprofit administrator and woman tapped in 2020 by Inspire Lincoln with a leadership award. She’s got nature and nurture going for her. 

 

“We’re both just very independent, very strong, very opinionated,” her mom says. And blunt, throw that in there, too. 

 

Everly’s dad, Will, reminds her frequently how similar she is to her mom. She prefers to lean in to their differences.  

 

“I have patience. She doesn’t,” the 7-year-old says. “I’m more sassy. I wear better clothes … cute jeans and crop tops.”

 

Her mom wears, ugh, sweaters.

 

A couple of years ago, when Alynn was about to be featured in an article for her Inspiring Women award, photo and all, Everly responded: “Oh my god, Mom! You are not magazine ready.” 

 

She is unapologetically honest and direct. 

 

She’ll sell you Girl Scout cookies, and at the same time tell you she’s not a big fan because, well, they don’t offer chocolate chip. 

 

From the time she was born, she was a handful, much different from her big brother, Eli, her mom says. She was constantly restless.

 

“I think sometimes her feelings were just so big she just didn’t know how to communicate them or even handle them. And she would just blow up. … She would get fixated on things. If she wanted something she would die on that hill.” 

 

Those qualities can serve her as she grows and matures, perfects her tone and hones her leadership.

 

In her 7^th year, she says she’s learning to turn away if a friend makes her mad. She is one of the first to befriend other kids who have challenges in class or who need encouragement. 

 

Everly is just 11 years from going to college and figuring out what she wants to do with her life; 14 years away from full-fledged womanhood.

 

I, for one, am hoping that nothing gets in her way to discourage that honesty, sassiness and strong sense of right and wrong. 

 

Her mother knows she will encounter teachers and others who will want to tamp down her boldness, to encourage her to soften her approach. Her directness can be jolting to those who think children, especially girls, should be sweet and precious at this age, pleasing, if you will. 

 

I would say, please don’t let her grow up to think a woman’s job is to please others, at the risk of sacrificing self. We don’t have to be complicit in how this culture responds to strong, confident girls, even if their road to womanhood is a tad bumpy. 

 

I am counting on you, Generation Alpha, and those on the tail end of Gen Z. Everly, Aila, Ellington, Finnley, Everlyn, Scout and all the rest of you. And I’m counting on us to see them through.

Follow us on Facebook at 5 Women Mayhem.