Legacy

I realized long ago that my mother, like it or not, has been the greatest influence on my life. My very first memories are of waking to her voice, of hearing her whistling in the early morning air. I struggled to climb to the edge of my bedroom window to see who made this wonderful sound; as my eyes peeked over the windowsill, I searched down the roofline and saw my mother moving along the clothesline, bright in the morning sun, the underwear and sheets blowing in the breeze. Her tunes - sometimes (what would come to be) a familiar hymn, sometimes an "Irish scat" - faded and resounded on the wind. I called out to her, and she would look up and say, “Well, good morning, Patricia Kaye!” I think back to those moments, and now they seem almost surreal, even though I know they happened.

I grew up in a village tucked away in northwestern Minnesota called St. Vincent. My house was the house my grandparents built, the same house my mother grew up in. At one time, my grandmother ran a maternity home in it; she, a strong-willed Irish woman, along with a Scot - a real-life Dr. Quinn named Dr. Ada Wallace - provided healthcare for women in the early part of this century. Out of this, my mother was given a strong sense of self and the value of hard work. The shelves of books in our home and my mother’s love of imagination and story instilled in me a lifelong love of
the same.

Yet, there’s always been a melancholy side to it all - call it the ‘other’ Curse of the Irish - but there’s always been a spirit of tension, of frustration, of anger. It’s as if we’ve all felt there’s more, or at least that there should be more, but we’re not quite able to get it, or do it, or get there...And because we’re not, we sometimes lash out at the very people we love the most. That very thing - that anger - that my mother and her mother before her, have passed down to me as a sort of legacy, I have in turn passed to my own daughter. The love between women in my family are simultaneously filled with affection and warmth, as well as an underlying
anger.

My mother, daughter of a woman on her own since age 13, gave me a strong sense of who I am, of who I can be - and part of that is the mystery of our anger, something none of us has quite figured out, but each has come to make her peace with in her own way. It has been the great motivator in my life, this imperfection we share, this humanity...

Invisible

"You get a hell of a perspective on life when you get old. I found that when I was in my twenties, thirties and forties, being a female by myself on the streets, I always found myself being looked at, whistles and all that.

"Now when I am by myself, in a restaurant or in other public places, I have the same invisibility that a child has so that I can really observe things much more openly. You’re freer. A target is gone. All it takes is white hair and wrinkles and to most people you are just invisible. And infinite wisdom, of course. Don’t forget that! I am much more aware of patterns in my own behavior, because I have been living with them for so long.”

From: Our Elders, Six Bay Area Life Stories, by Janet Clinger

Harriet's Obituary

Harriet Ellen Fitzpatrick Short
March 30, 1922 - June 11, 2007
Harriet Short passed away on Monday, June 11, 2007 at Eventide Nursing Home, Moorhead, Minnesota. She was 85 years old.

Harriet Ellen Fitzpatrick Short was born on March 30, 1922 in St. Vincent, Minnesota. She graduated from Pembina High School in 1940, then worked for Bell Telephone in Bemidji, MN. She was at her switchboard on December 7, 1941 when it lit up with calls; she soon found out it was due to the news of the Japanese bombing Pearl Harbor.

She married Gordon Short in February 1943 at the end of his basic training, and too soon said goodbye as he went overseas for two and a half years. After the war, they made a life in St. Vincent, raised three daughters, and retired to New Mexico in 1987, moving there permanently in 1998.

Although Harriet never had the chance at higher education, she was well-read all her life, and an inveterate letter writer to those she cared for. Throughout her life, her love of the written word and for writing itself was passed on to her children and grandchildren. She shared her passion for homemaking not only with her daughters through her amazing skills as a cook and seamstress, but also professionally as a Homemaker for Kittson County Social Services in the late 1970s and early 1980s. In that capacity, she traveled the county helping individuals learn personal finance, housekeeping, and other much-needed skills in many lower-income, rural areas.

Harriet learned from her parents that faith was important, but that asking questions was not wrong. Her intelligence, curiosity, and energy inspired her daughters to work towards their goals. Her pragmatism and Irish dark humor also tempered their own characters as they faced life's challenges. She always said, as her mother before her, that life could be hard; but on the other hand, there was much to be thankful for.

Harriet was preceded in death by her husband Gordon Short, her parents Albert and Elizabeth Fitzpatrick, and three siblings. She is survived by her three daughters, Sharon Hannaford (Darien, Illinois), Betty Thorsvig (Glyndon, Minnesota), and Trish Lewis (Fargo, North Dakota), seven grandchildren, and ten great grandchildren. There will be no public services; family have decided to hold a private Irish wake. Memories and condolences are warmly welcomed, and may be sent either via email or mailed to: Trish Lewis, 107 1/2 Roberts St N Apt 2, Fargo ND 58102.