Edith at Grandson's Wedding
She’s 91. Her
birthday occurred two days after she’d gone home. Home to be with Bob, and with God.
In minutes, Edith’s shell will find its final resting place,
in a cemetery in Slippery Rock, Pennsylvania.
Slippery Rock’s claim to fame is Joe Namath – Broadway Joe. And though Edith’s fame didn’t eclipse Joe’s,
she rocked.
She was both graceful and gracious. “She
could have been the queen,” one of her friends told me.
She wore beautiful dresses beautifully. Her makeup was perfect, her hair stylishly
coiffed. And on Sundays, and at weddings,
she slid her small feet into high heels and, true to form, elegantly carried
on.
Pretty High Heels, Always in Her Wardrobe
Each morning she prayed for each member of her family. They counted on those prayers. Each night she and her daughter shared a
goodnight phone call.
Friends knew her as godly and kind. So did strangers.
She and Bob had a life-long love affair. I can’t help but think that was fueled in
part by Edith’s sense of adventure.
Several decades ago they travelled, often on the spur of the moment,
around the country in their motor home. Trips
began with only the sketchiest of plans regarding their destination.
When their three grown daughters, alarmed at their parents’
vagabond ways, asked how they would be able to contact her, Edith simply said, “Call
the state police and give them our license number.”
They say she was stubborn.
But I’m willing to bet that strong will was a good thing when her first
little girl was born while Bob was away in World War II.
No doubt it helped during the five years she spent living
alone in Florida following Bob’s death.
Her Family, Before Baby Alani Came
When she finally moved to be near her oldest daughter, she
remained independent, even after several serious bouts with ill health.
Edith at Great-Grandson Rickson's First Birthday Party, Dressed to Celebrate His Place of Birth, the Marshall Islands
Just three weeks ago she’d made another trip to the hospital
via the emergency squad, and by the end of the week, death seemed
imminent. But Edith rallied, grasped
life by the hand again and held on.
Just five days before her death she told me she’d been
gradually regaining some strength, and had done a load of laundry that
day.
We talked that night about travel. Her first remark to me was to ask how my trip
had gone over the summer. She was sharp
and curious, interested and interesting.
We shared memories of places we’d been out West, her favorite
destination.
We shared the blessings of our lives, our families in
particular.
We also shared our feelings about death. We’d both lost our fear of death, and looked
forward to what awaits us on the other side.
That was Saturday evening.
On Tuesday morning, she fell. On
Wednesday morning she had a massive stroke.
I visited her bedside that night. She was unconscious, had stopped responding
with a squeeze of her hand earlier that day.
She was wearing a white nightgown with delicate embroidery
and tiny tucks on the bodice. I laughed
and told her daughter, my friend, that if I fell ill in bed, they’d find me
wearing a ratty old tee shirt. Edith had
style. Always.
She slipped the surly bonds of earth early the next
evening.
Last night, I passed up the knit nightshirts; instead I took
out a silky peach gown.
This Sunday, I’m thinking I may wear my five inch heels to
church. After all, I won’t have to dance
in them.
Edith will, though.
In her high heels, she’ll be dancing along the streets of heaven, and
there will be joy.
High Flight
By John Gillespie
Magee, Jr.
Oh! I have slipped the surly
bonds of earth,
And danced the skies on
laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined
the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, --and done a
hundred things
You have not dreamed of --Wheeled
and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind
along, and flung
My eager craft through footless
halls of air...
Up, up the long, delirious,
burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept
heights with easy grace
Where never lark or even eagle
flew --
And, while with silent lifting
mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of
space,
Put out my hand, and touched the
face of God.
