More than Obituaries from A Local Paper
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| Ted de Grazia fresco formerly seen in The Chapel |
Everyday I skim most of the newspaper except for the comics
and the obituaries. With the comics, I
look for a laugh or a bit of wry wisdom tucked into the images or
dialogues. With the obituaries, I look
for the faces of those who have recently died—or sometimes an obituary repost
as memoriam. I know that photos are
costly, especially when they are in color.
For my parents, I wrote a simple text with no photo. They wouldn’t have wanted the expense, so I
honored their practicality. But both my
in-laws had photos and long texts which mirrored the dramatic ways they lived
their lives compared to my parents’ common-sense frugality.
So maybe I look at the pictures wistfully, wondering who
wrote the text and selected the photo that sums up an entire life. Did siblings argue and deliberate over every
word and selection as in my husband’s family?
Or did a friend or one child step up to the task just to get it done, as
in my family. My sister didn’t sit by
either of my parent’s deathbed, didn’t deal with the paperwork and arrangements
and didn’t attend my mom’s stone placement or my dad’s nearby military funeral. But, as the eldest, I had the job of doing it
all. When it was done, I was thankful it
was simple and didn’t have the complexities of too many cooks in the kitchen,
or too many children trying to direct their parents’ denouement.
Thus, I selected these two following obituaries because of a)
photos that were posted by their names and b) the terseness of their
stories. I wanted more for them (and
maybe from them), so I took bits of truth from their actual obituaries and wove
in my imagined mystery of their lives.
***
I.
Gaye
Jordan Dixon
Gaye
gazed at her face in the mirror before pinning the cream-colored hat on her
auburn hair. “My nose”, she considered
for the millionth time, is a bit too round for anyone—except Bill—to call me
pretty. But my nose’s length fits my
face and balances the curve of my definitive eyebrows. I
like my smile. I just need to remember
to smile more, especially today.” Gaye dotted both lips with her newly purchased
Helene Curtis cinnamon-red lipstick. The
silver earrings, something borrowed from her Aunt Meg, poked out beneath her
curls and the new hat. “There”, she thought, “Aunt Meg’s earrings are the final
touch, making me the glowing bride of Hershaw, Virginia. “
Gaye
gaily (yes, today the word today fit her like her hat) swirled around her
apartment, before leaving to meet Bill. She
was no traditional bride; the war had broken many traditional behaviors which
Aunt Meg reminded her often. “Well,
Auntie, times have changed and I am changing, too” was Gaye’s frequent
response. Her job as manager for the Navy’s
on base grocery store was a big leap after high school and working at the A&P.
As she walked up the concrete steps to City Hall, her navy jacket with silver
buttons informed strangers whom she passed that here was a woman who walked to the
tune of her own bugle.
Bill was
already in the lobby, waiting for her entrance.
Gaye knew the quickened click, click of her leather pumps against the
marble floor mirrored the accelerated pace of her heart. Oh, how she loved him and he was so handsome
today. He didn’t often wear his full
Navy uniform when off duty, but today was an exception. They were finally formalizing their “matched
pair” status. They were both children of the depression and brought up with the
Methodist values of hard work and duty.
They weren’t youngsters and were frugal with their salaries. And she knew that Bill had been fidgeting
about this day for over a year. He was
tired of trying to keep their shared nights a secret from both families and
Gaye agreed that pretending they weren’t already sleeping most nights together was
getting complicated. Particularly, Aunt
Meg had a sixth sense about Gaye’s social life and Bill’s Navy Pharmacy
Supervisor didn’t approve of any fooling around of his staff. “He runs a tight
ship on land and sea and thinks all of his staff should toe the line just as he
does,” Bill often complained. But, once
they were married, they could let go of pretenses and Bill would move into Gaye’s
two-bedroom apartment.
As she
walked down the hall, sunlight piercing the tiled floor, Gaye pictured the
years ahead of them, once the war was over.
Maybe a couple of kids. Raise
them in the mountains out west, open a lumber mill like his dad had done in
Virginia. Sure, there would be
challenges, but they’d face them together.
After the war, no challenge could beat them.
Even, she
thought, in our later years, with the kids grown, she figured they’d find ways
to be unretired and stay busy, happy. With
Bill’s strong constitution, matched by Gaye’s intelligence and will power, they
would stroll into the western sunset with smiles on their faces, arms entwined.
***
In the local
paper announcing Gaye’s death, I saw the photo of the two of them, probably on
their wedding day. Gaye died about six
months after Bill, so her time alone in the sunset was blessedly brief.
II.
Ginny
Dobbs
Ginny and Tom had a dream and, after
the depression was over, ran a motel in Tucson called Dream House. They brought
it cheap and it had seen better days in the 1920s when Tucson had its first
burst of growth when the train tracks were opened. Back
in the 1940s, their Dream House pulled in a steady stream of day trippers along
Miracle Mile. A few babies were born on
the bed sheets Ginny washed and a few lovers hid behind the window curtains she
sewed and pressed.
When the freeway was built in the
early 1960s, the motel income faded along with the bed sheets and curtains, so
Ginny and Tom turned to other enterprises and ran them smart. Tucson was a growing town and working folks
had cars that needed frequent repairs. When repairs couldn’t keep cars running, the
cars needed to end up somewhere, so Ginny and Tom opened a wrecking yard
stocked with broken vehicles, odd pieces of concrete, and multi-colored spooled
wire.
Gifted with a mind for figures and
facts as well as a bouncy smile and sparkling eyes, Ginny could warm the hearts
of disgruntled customers. To sweeten the
mood often experienced at a wrecking yard, she sold freshly baked goods on the
side. Irish soda bread was one of her specialties. After Tom died, Ginny kept occupied with
cooking, sewing, and tending their grandchildren. Never one to be idle, when her kids took over
the family business, she became an admissions clerk at St. Mary’s Hospital. Ginny lived a life of ninety-four years.
***
As I looked at her newspaper photo,
taken some time in her mid-life, she is wearing a dark dress and smiling
broadly at the camera. I consider that Ginny
was probably not a remarkable woman in the larger sphere of life, but her face
in the obituary column photo pulled me toward the details of the pearls in her
ears and pearl strand around her neck.
Maybe Tom had given her that jewelry set for an anniversary gift. Such a gift would have been precious to her
for decades.
I can envision the scene after
Ginny’s last heaving breath in hospice care--with a resigned shrug, her
daughter puts the treasured pearls in a green velvet jewelry box. She covers the box with one of Ginny’s
pressed handkerchiefs and shuts the drawer.
The hospice nurse closes Ginny’s eyes and wraps a blanket up to her
chin. Ginny is no
longer able to see the blooming yellow mesquite tree outside her window.
