Tonight on a street in Ada, Oklahoma, I discovered by a chance encounter, the heart of Mother Teresa's personal mission. Later, in reflection, I realized that the inspiration that led me to Kolkata, India in 1995 was only the beginning of a lifetime journey. In August, 1995 when I sat next to Mother Teresa on a concrete bench in the mother house, she ordered me to put my cameras down and instead to work in the orphanage run by the Missionaries of Charity. I recalled her worn out sari draped over a body that would soon prepare to leave this earthly world. I had no idea then that she would lead me on a mission that would eventually take me to this street scene in a small rural community of southeastern Oklahoma.
It was here that I found Mother Teresa’s Jesus; the one she served through her work; He was reflected in the face of a 12-year-old boy. He was lying face down on the hot asphalt, a skateboard by his side. An old woman in a wheelchair peered at him as she clutched the arms of the chair with her bony fingers. A middle-aged African American woman in jean shorts was standing nearby giving information on a cell phone. In that moment, a sense of something bigger triggered the core of my soul.
I was on my way to the post office in my Nissan Rogue with the intention of mailing a car payment. I had been through one of the worst days of the summer. The night before, my new boyfriend and I had a huge misunderstanding and I had only slept three hours as I tossed and turned through the hot night. Earlier that day, my son and I also faced a challenge that appeared insurmountable.
However, by the time I was driving down that street, the storms had broken. Scott and I were reconciled and Paul and I had transitioned into a new understanding. At 7 p.m., I was printing some photographs in my studio at East Central University.
The intention to mail a check was curtailed by a more significant reality. The elderly woman was the boy’s grandmother. I noticed her black toenails curled over the edge of the metal frame. The fallen boy’s twin brother was wrapped around the woman, sobbing into her soiled shirt. The old woman stared with blank black eyes at her grandson whose body began to shake with the tears of pain and fear.
I bent over the young boy and stroked his matted hair, blood already drying on the back of his head from the hot evening sun. His struggle with pain and the shock of the harsh fall off his skate board on the cracked pavement seemed to subside as he lay prostrate on the ground. The boy was only 12 years old, yet he appeared ageless.
I continued to stroke his hair and sweaty shoulders. A slight curl of dark hair was pasted to his neck. I strained to look at his eyes, to gain some recognition. I connected to his beautiful blue eyes, blurred with tears, and as I gazed at him, tears welled in my own and with it a shock of recognition.
This is what Mother Teresa saw. This is what she wanted us all to see. She wanted us to recognize the dignity within each soul, and that a body lying on the street or huddled in a luxurious senior center, was equally deserving of love.
Blessed Teresa of Calcutta demonstrated that recognition of the soul's journey, by her simple message of love for humanity. By stopping on a street corner to console a person, she showed us how Jesus taught us to love.
After quickly assessing the boy's ability to function, I ran to the Rogue for my cell phone. A passerby had called for an ambulance. The despondent grandmother asked me to call her son, the boy's uncle.
A few cars slowed down. One stopped and a woman jumped out in a bikini. I asked her for some ice. I filled ice cubes in a plastic bag and laid it over the boy's head. I ran back to my car and found a green car pillow. I placed it gently under his head. He continued to cry softly, afraid to move. "You are going to be okay," I said. I prayed to Mother Teresa, asking for her intervention. A couple stared at me and I closed my mouth.
The boy's twin continued to cry on his grandmother's shoulder. The ambulance hadn't arrived. Finally, a police officer appeared at the scene, and I was shocked by the officer's demeanor. He stood by the child and smiled to himself with his arms folded, as he also waited for the ambulance.
The child's uncle arrived in a pick-up truck. He appeared "high". He groaned at the interruption of his day. He walked over to his nephew whose head rested on my pillow and blew a cloud of smoke into his face. The officer asked him to step away.
I peered down the road, hoping to see an ambulance. Not yet. I stood up and put my arm around the boy's twin brother. I stared into the same blue eyes. I tried to console him. "I know life is hard, but you will find that people will help you one day."
The ambulance finally pulled into the street and two young men jumped out onto the sidewalk. They demonstrated the consistent patience of experienced crisis workers. They told the young boy that they were going to treat him as if every bone in his body was broken. They rolled him over, to reveal shorts covered in urine. They strapped him tightly into the transport carrier and lifted him into the ambulance.
I asked the uncle for the boys address so that I could drop off some helmets. "He might wear one now," he said. I told this dreary man that the boys had been traumatized and needed some attention. He smirked at me and rolled the wheelchair onto the back of his pick-up truck. I waited until all the vehicles left the scene, and hoped for better results at Valley View Hospital.
I decided to purchase a bottle of wine at a Mother Goose’s on Mississippi Street. The owner, who I only know as Mother Goose and I enjoy an occasional conversation about life in Oklahoma. I described the incident I had just witnessed and tears filled in my eyes. I told her about the short exchanges I had with the grandmother and twin brother. "I asked the twin where his mother and father were and he told me, 'I don't know, somewhere in Washington. Where is your father? In jail’” Mother Goose appeared unaffected by my story. "It's not your problem," she said. “They are probably already part of the system and DHS will be at the hospital tonight. They’ll do something, but then the boys will be right back with their grandmother.” Somehow, I knew that Mother Goose had a larger heart than she allowed the world to see. Based on our conversations, it seems that she understands that life for many is simply moving through a system that is also broken.
As I write this story, I have the vision of a boy's face and the timeless spirit of humanity that came through from another source marked on my soul forever. I discovered my own Calcutta tonight in Ada, Oklahoma.
