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The Amazing Anita Miller

The Woman I Never Truly Knew

By Diana R. JonesPublished 3 years ago 3 min read
2
Allakaket, Alaska 1954

Anita Miller (or as I call you) Grandma Nini,

I have no memories of you before your mind decided to go. I remember all of us as kids giggling as you’d read every street sign or billboard out loud about six times just trying to make sense of it. For all of this I apologize; as we didn’t know any better.

I remember being at the Naval Academy for my older brother’s graduation when the city of Annapolis was swamped with people. I remember the look of terror on your face when you realized you had no idea where you were or what was going on around you. I remember feeling so sorry and scared for you.

I found a picture of you at my mother’s house taken in 1954. You were standing in front of a lodge in Allakaket, Alaska and holding my mother in your arms. You were wearing pants. I know for a fact that the previous winter it was 69 degrees below zero (because I just looked it up.) I also know for a fact that where you were living had no electricity or running water and had to be heated by wood.

I know that you walked 10 miles a day through the snow, even when 8 months pregnant with my mother, working to inoculate the Inuit people of the region. I know that you had to hitch a ride on a mail plane 3 hours south to Fairbanks to give birth to my mother. I know that you gave birth to her by yourself and my Grandfather found out via the radio.

I know that you were the heiress of a fortune from Bucyrus-Erie’s Daniel P. Eells. I know that your life could have been cozy, lazy, and easy. I know that you refused to touch any of this money with the exception of giving it away to those less fortunate than yourself.

I know that you considered your family’s fortune to be “blood money” and opted instead to make clothing from scratch for your six children and drive around in used vehicles that needed to be replaced every other year or so.

I know that you gave birth to four babies in four years and only used cloth diapers. I know that you washed 250 cloth diapers a week while still finding time to volunteer in your community helping raise a neighborhood of young girls and boys, not just your own.

I know that you traveled all over the globe with the Red Cross giving aid to earthquake victims and using your skills as a nurse whenever needed. I know you went to Honduras and taught children Science and English.

I know that you could have had an easy and comfortable life, but instead chose to spend your time on the Lake Traverse Reservation and later Winnebago and Omaha Reservations as a nurse.

I know that you took the money that could have been spent on yourself and your children and instead set up a college fund for Native Americans who wanted to but couldn’t afford to go to college. I know that when you did this it was quite the surprise to your husband. I know that you made each one of them write an essay as if it was a competition and then approved every single person who applied. I know that because of you over 100 Native kids were able to go to college and help break themselves out of poverty.

I know that your dinner table and home were always open to travelers and vagrants who needed a hot meal or a bus ticket.

I know all of these things about you and I wish so hard I could have known you back then. I’m sorry that I only knew you during your decline; but the world is a better place because you existed.

I hope in my heart of hearts to one day be half the woman you were.

grandparents
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About the Creator

Diana R. Jones

Just a small town girl. Living in a lonely world.

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