Life's Path by Gladys (Robbins) Gunderson

Did you ever wonder why you are like you are? Why did you take the path you have chosen in life?

While I was growing up, Pop* worked on the railroad. When he came home from work, his feet were hot and tired. He always wanted me to soak his feet. I remember one time distinctly. We were on the back porch. I washed and rinsed his feet, dried them and then put powder on and massaged them. He said "You oughta be a nurse someday". I thought to myself "fat chance". We kids all had to quit school in the eighth grade and go to work.

I married and had two kids. That marriage didn't work out so I divorced, then married again and had five kids.

Every once in a while those words "You oughta be a nurse" would surface in my mind. I found out about an LPN program. When I checked into it I found two years of high school was required. I needed my GED. The University of Iowa gave a test to check your education level. I made arrangements to take the test. I passed it with the equivalent of two years of high school. I only needed two years to get into the LPN program, but I thought why not go ahead and get my GED. I took 16 weeks of classes and passed the GED.

At the time I was a licensed baby sitter and had an upholstery shop in our garage where I worked evenings and weekends. Fate stepped in again. I couldn't afford financially to stop those two jobs and go to school full time. An opportunity arose for me to go to work for the State of Illinois with the Department of Mental Health, caring for the mentally ill and developmentally disabled.

I had worked there a few years when a junior college opened up in Springfield. I sent to see if I could get into the nursing program. (Of course I needed a high school education or GED to get into college. Good thing I had gone ahead with my GED. At least I was ahead of the game for once!) They told me that I wouldn't be able to work and go to school and offered me a grant. I couldn't afford to give up my job because I had no guarantee that I could make it in the nursing program, plus the fact that I was almost at the cut off age of being accepted. I refused the grant and signed up for classes. I worked full time, took my classes, graduated in the second year of the program (their first student to work full time while going through the nursing program), passed my state board and became a registered nurse in June of 1974.

A long way and many years after Pop said "You oughta be a nurse" I retired at the end of 1991 from the Department of Mental Health as a registered nurse with 29 years of service. I firmly believe Pop's words were the seeds planted to make me persevere all those years and finally reach my goal. Although he died in 1956, I like to believe he knows that I finally made it. Thanks, Pop, for saying "You oughta be a nurse"!

Gladys on the day she received her nurse's cap and pin, June 1974

I also have to give credit to my cousin, Paul Robbins. He was always my shining example. If you work hard and persevere you can make it. I promised my kids they would graduate from high school and after that their education was up to them. They have gone on to further their educations, while raising their own families. They say "Mom, you set the example for us". No mom could ask for a nicer compliment.

An off hand comment years ago set the course of where my life took me.

* "Pop" is Oliver Robbins

The Mother's Day card shown above was found in Bertha (Curran) Robbins' possessions after her death in 1977. There is a handwritten note at the bottom "from Lou Ella". Louella was Bertha's step-daughter. She passed away in 1949, so the card was given some time before that. It was obviously a cherished memento to be kept for so long.

My mother's hands have always been a symbol to me of comfort, caring and accomplishment, so I wrote this poem a few years ago to chronicle those symbols from my earliest memories to present day.

Want to see the entire contents of the printed edition of the newsletter? Send your subscription request using the convenient online form, or e-mail the editor.