Fifty years ago this week my mom nearly died in a terrorist bombing in St. Paul. Just weeks before my senior year in high school.
I want to tell the story, to mark the anniversary, to make sense of it after so many years. But I’m not sure I can make sense of it.
Mom and Dad had just finished shopping at Dayton’s department store. Mom popped into the restroom on the way out. She was standing at the sink combing her hair when a bomb in the wastebasket exploded, destroying the restroom and changing her life forever. She was 47.
A larger bomb, intended to kill policemen and first responders, was found in time and deactivated.
1970 was a volatile time in the U.S. There were mass protests against the Viet Nam war. That spring protesting students were shot at Kent State. The fight for civil rights for blacks was ongoing, with “race riots” and bombings all over the country.
The bomber, son of civil rights activists, was inspired by the Black Panthers. He was 15, the same age as my younger brother. Ironic that the victim of his bomb was a progressive feminist and strong civil rights advocate. Mom said later that she understood his political rage.
My mom survived, because at 5’10” no vital organs were damaged, and because two of the hospital surgeons, just returned from Viet Nam, were experienced with shrapnel injuries. And because of her grit and strong will.
But after three months in the hospital her life was never the same. She now had trouble walking, chronic impairment from burned lungs, and hearing loss. She had to give up her high school teaching career, which she loved.
Mary Peek 1972 campaign
But she carried on without self-pity. She continued her wide-ranging political work–including a run for state house in 1972–and her writing (she wrote a book about her experiences in the hospital), among other things. As her injuries worsened with age, she wasn’t the grandma she wanted to be. But she was determined to make the best of each day.
What about the rest of us?
No one else was home that weekend. My oldest brother was married, living in Colorado. My younger brother and I were staying with friends, which was unusual. I was in Iowa with the soul friend I wrote about last month. Being with her saved my life. Had I been home I would have been in that rest room with Mom.
My senior picture 1971
While Mom was in the hospital Dad and my brother and I carried on, going to school or work all day and visiting Mom evenings and weekends.
Two agonizing times stand out from this period. One was when I saw Mom’s deepest wounds for the first time. The other was when she became agitated, confused and paranoid and I thought my mom might forever be crazy. The doctors told us it was the cumulative effect of drugs she was given for her many surgeries and it passed in a week or two (it felt like a LONG time).
How did the bombing change us?
We now knew no one is immune to violence or accident, so we began telling each other where we were going, left phone numbers, and when we’d be back. And we did not wait to thank someone or tell them we loved them.
We saw how hard it is to have mobility issues or hearing loss. The Americans with Disabilities Act, passed twenty years after the bombing, was nevertheless a godsend in Mom’s final years.
The bombing’s long-term effects on me were subtle and emotional. Mom and I had always been close, but after the bombing she was more intensely on my emotional radar. Especially as age exacerbated her injuries and she began to tell me more about all she had to do to function every day. Those confidences were often hard to bear. And made me reluctant to complain about anything in my life unless it was BIG.
Mom’s powerful personality always cast a big shadow, but after the bombing it was even bigger. I was convinced I could never live up to her strength, courage and drive. Now, fifteen years after her death, I wonder whether we ever know what strength we hold until life demands it.
So what did it mean? The fight for civil rights still rages. The love in my family remained. Both my mother and the bomber (in prison only three years), went on to live creative, productive lives. As did the rest of us.
Maybe there is no Grand Meaning. Maybe it is enough to tell the story. Remembering the suffering of one victim of political violence might open our hearts to other victims.
And to remember that sometimes the bravest thing to do is put one foot in front of the other each day.
Wow, what a defining experience for your entire family. That part about not waiting to thank someone or tell them we loved them. So important. Thank you for sharing, Anne.
I’m glad it resonated Ryan. Thanks for writing!
Dear Ann, I remember you telling me this story when we were at Carleton together and I really didn’t understand at the time why the perpetrator placed the bomb in the first place. Our current times with persisting racial injustice plus your insights in this piece shines a light causing understanding. As Vice-President Biden said in his speech last night it is time to look toward the light in this country rather than the dark and the time is right to end racial injustice. That is the only way we can prevent senseless violence birthed of anger at an unjust system. Keep safe and keep writing and drawing. Your blogs are delightful. Love, Lorraine
Yes, so much embedded injustice in all our systems causing anger and trauma and hopelessness all around. May we follow our deepest wisdom to some better ways. So glad you enjoy the blogs Lorraine! Blessings to you and thank you for writing.
What an inspiring, well-told story this is, Anne! Thank you for reminding us to cherish each other; to be as kind, loving and forgiving as we can be; and to continue to put one foot in front of the other as we do our part to make ours a more loving and just world.
Beautifully stated Barb!
Wow. Blessings of strength and fortitude to you all…. 💜💙💚💛🧡❤
Thank you Karen!
Dear Anne, I am in tears feeling the pain, suffering and challenge this must have been for you, your Mom and your family. Your love courage of heart and deep telling of your journey with your Mom touches my heart so deeply. We have such long roads to travel with our families, community and the world. Love and blessing to you Anne❤
Thank you Teresa. I think many people have powerful personal stories to share that would enrich us to hear. Blessings to you too!
Oh, this expresses my response and respect and compassion for you, too.
How wise you are, to my mind, to choose witness. We are powerful when we do. That power is moving the humanity in us to be yet more fully alive and fully engaged in life. Thank you.
Thanks Jan. May we all become fully engaged, compassionate witnesses more often.
Thank you for sharing this and so timely for now! You all were forced to learn much but your kind, loving spirit shines forth always Anne! May we all hold forth that only love wins in the end and what a strong woman your mother was, I remember meeting her and sensing what an incredible being she was. ❤️
Thanks Linda!
Ann, this is a profound and beautiful telling through your lens as her daughter. Yes your mother’s story is important and powerful, your experience is also important as her daughter. It is a telling of what I might call a secondary trauma. Not to label but to honor how when things happen to our loved ones we all experience hardship. Your mother and you are inspirations to me. Your strength and your journeys honoring women and civil rights, as well as the bound of mothers and daughters. The journey of forgiveness is also so powerful by your whole family. Wow!
Thank you Sarah. I think my brothers and I absorbed a lot by watching how my mom and dad dealt with the whole thing. And as you know from your own family, there are so many lessons we learn when we grow up in a politically active family.
Thank you, Annie,
I have heard parts of this story, of course, but this is so powerful, heartfelt and real. I love you and your mom and your mom in you.
Thank you Marcia!
Thank you for sharing this profoundly personal, impactful reality in your mom’s and your family’s life. I love “…sometimes the bravest thing to do is put one foot in front of another each day.” This is a beautiful tribute to your amazing, courageous mom.
Thanks Muffi! Yes, I think there are many brave people right now who are “simply” putting one foot in front of the other.
Wow, Anne, that is a powerful story!!! And well told as always. Thank you so much for sharing it! I will remember it for a long time to come. I admire your mom’s incredible strength and values and can see that the acorn didn’t fall far from the tree!
Thanks Kate!
Anne, this is such a powerful example of resilience and it lifts me up from the COVID-19 fatigue I’ve been feeling. Thanks for telling the story again.
I’m glad it was heartening Holli. Yes, I guess we all need to be reminded of our inherent strength right now.
Annie, I just read your story, and your Mom’s, and I want to let the impact of it sink in for a bit. I know it has sharp, shrapnel edges, as well as deeper connections that will emerge as I process and absorb what this might have been like for you and your Mom and your family. For now, I just want to thank you for sharing this story, with its reminders to be mindful and appreciative of each day with loved ones, grateful for the synchronicities that bring us along on our journey, and attentive to the needs and burdens snd strengths of others. Have a sweet day, remembering your strong Mom.
Thank you Lisa! So lovely to be read by someone as astute and heart-filled as you.
I’m so glad you shared this story, Anne. I recall your mom mentioning the bombing at some church event years ago, but I never heard about the lasting physical and emotional damage it left with all of you.
I remember your mom as a strong intellect, advocate, and presence. Basically, a force. This backstory adds greater dimension to my memories of her.
My mom was indeed a force! I didn’t remember you knew her some from Unity. Thanks for commenting Maura!