What we have once enjoyed, we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes part of us. – Helen Keller, American author, lecturer (1880-1968)
Missing someone is sadness wrapped in the blessing of having known them. – Hallmark
Last week I got a note from The Dispatch, a woman asked to speak to me. The woman left her phone number. It led to the daughter of a family friend named Carolyn. Carolyn passed away over a decade ago, Ginny was trying to make contact. She had moved back to the homeplace where she was going through her mother’s books, cards, letters and all the knick-knacks Carolyn collected. Ginny was looking for a column I had written just after Carolyn died in December of 2012. Ginny had the date of the column; I had the column. I thought I’d share some excerpts because Ginny’s mother was a remarkable woman.
“Can you take care of the chickens overnight?” Carolyn asked. “You’ve gotta be kidding. I don’t know anything about chickens.” “All you do is put them in the chicken house. They’ll go in.” “What if they don’t?” “They will, haven’t you ever heard ‘going to bed with the chickens?’”
I’ve never known anyone with a harder life, nor anyone who counted her blessings more than Carolyn. Carolyn had a fairytale marriage that went south long after it should have. Together they begat five children who often became estranged or formed varying alliances with one another. Once I agreed with Carolyn to pray for a restored relationship with the children. Not long after most of the children moved in with her. Carolyn laughed and said, “Perhaps we should be careful what we pray for.”
While rolling some fencing around the barn Carolyn almost cut her foot off. Ever after she dragged the foot slightly but never complained. Nor did she complain when she lost sight in one eye. “Doctor said I might get it back and I might not, but that’s ok. I get the TV remote, and the telephone mixed up,” she said.
I asked Carolyn if she’d take a few days a week to run my mother around. Mom could no longer drive, and I had to go to work. “Do errands, grocery, or just ride around and get ice cream.” “Rambling,” Carolyn called it. Carolyn was family. Mom passed away, and I started taking Carolyn to church with me. In time Carolyn’s heart started to decline. The doctor got her a vest to monitor her heart, but she took it off cause it was uncomfortable.
One day I slipped into the hospital room where Carolyn was sleeping. ‘Bout half an hour later she opened one eye, “How long have you been sitting there?” “Not long.”
We sat in the dark and shared memories; she said she missed Mom. She talked about being tired and how she wasn’t going to get any better. I couldn’t argue, so I said, “Just do your best.”
After 73 years, Carolyn’s heart plum gave out. Five days before Christmas we had her memorial service. Carolyn had done her best, not just that day but every day.
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Quality, in-depth journalism is essential to a healthy community. The Dispatch brings you the most complete reporting and insightful commentary in the Golden Triangle, but we need your help to continue our efforts. In the past week, our reporters have posted 34 articles to cdispatch.com. Please consider subscribing to our website for only $2.30 per week to help support local journalism and our community.
You can help your community
Quality, in-depth journalism is essential to a healthy community. The Dispatch brings you the most complete reporting and insightful commentary in the Golden Triangle, but we need your help to continue our efforts. In the past week, our reporters have posted 34 articles to cdispatch.com. Please consider subscribing to our website for only $2.30 per week to help support local journalism and our community.
