Her heroics were simply a way of life

The Boston Herald

Helen McLean died the way she lived, trying not to inconvenience anyone, accepting what she couldn't change. The diagnosis was cancer and the prognosis was bad. But she didn't fight it or the doctors who gave her the news. She simply went ahead and did what she had to do, the way she did what she had to do her whole life.

We build statues of men who, under the gun, stand and fight when they could have run. We call them heroes for their valor, and we honor and respect them. Their images adorn our capitals and parks. Their life stories fill our history books. We even write songs about them. The bravery of men is legend.

Generations of women have stood and fought, too, but not in battle, though life sometimes can seem a battle. They have fought under the radar of history, attending to ordinary, everyday things for which there is little recognition, never mind reward. They have fought for patience and respect and equality. They have fought small-minded teachers and bloated bureaucracy and credit card companies and rules and regulations that are the roadblocks of life. They have fought for their husbands and their children and for their family's good name.

Mrs. McLean lived in the shadow of her husband and children. That's the way she wanted it. Her heroic moments were personal ones: "Helen, I need you to do this." "I want you to be here." "Move to Florida with me." "Mom, can you?" Her battlefields were measles and mumps and "Be nice to your sister," and "Don't talk like that." And, "Mom, don't tell Dad about the car." Her battle ribbons were first days of school and Christmases and the tooth fairy and parties and "Do I have any clean underwear?"

I knew her for 33 years and never heard her complain. She was the mother of my friend John and years ago, when all our children were small, I saw her at every holiday and birthday party. She had five children. One son moved to California with his wife. This must have made her sad. Her husband wanted her to move to Florida and she didn't want to. But he insisted, so she went. Another son went through a painful divorce. People must have hurt her, by commission, by omission. It's part of life. But she never complained, never said, "I can't stand it anymore," never let herself be dragged down by any of it.

She was lit from the inside. A warm smile softened her face.

After her husband died, she moved back to Walpole, but there was no "woe is me." Not then or later, when she got osteoporosis. Or after that when she got cancer for the first time.

Many years ago, when her fifth child, Chris, was born, there were no tests for Down syndrome. Mrs. McLean didn't even know Chris had Down syndrome until he was a few months old. People used to institutionalize children with Down syndrome. Mrs. McLean chose to love Chris and raise him the way she'd raised her other children. She didn't cling to him, or hover. She didn't fence him in or other people out with her fears. She accepted what was and if she fought a little harder for Chris, this, too, was with a smile.

Her other children watched her gentle strength and learned.

A hero has his moment in the sun, a moment he can look back to as proof that he is a hero. Heroes save lives. Women only nurture them and that's not as glamorous.

There will be no statue commemorating Mrs. McLean, no mention in a history book. But that doesn't mean that this good and selfless woman wasn't a hero. She was. She loved her family. And she lived that love.