No Drop-Out

Last night I received news from my sister that I had been expecting for the last month—news of the death of Edna Duebber, a dear family friend. Recently my sister had visited Edna in the nursing center of her retirement home and Edna’s sister looked quizzically at her and said, “Now how did you know Edna?” It is a little hard to explain, and certainly provides evidence of how a friendship can take root and thrive. You see, Edna kind of dropped into our lives about 20 years ago and quickly became a fixture in family celebrations. As I remember the story, Edna had had a nodding acquaintanceship with my mother at Frisch’s, one of my mother’s watering holes (or coffee-ing holes, to be more exact). But my mother was never really one for a nodding acquaintanceship when one could sit down and inquire about the other’s life. So my mother found out that Edna was a widow, a rather lonely widow after the death of her beloved Walt. My mother wrote Edna a letter, and somehow from that letter spawned an admiration and gratitude from Edna for my mother. My mother invited Edna over to her table, no doubt the A-list table at Frisch’s, and then Edna just kind of dropped into our family.

At that time we all became acquainted with Edna we had, in the last few years, lost the grandmothers in our family, and it became such a wonderful treat for Edna to invite our family over for a meal, or a birthday, in that grand grand-motherly tradition. Oh, we loved going over to her lovely home with the immaculate yard and the groaning table filled with mouth-watering dishes. In short order, we discovered that Edna loved to cook for people, and our family, growing now to include new member Steve, obliged Edna, since we loved to eat, especially her dinners!

But Edna became more than just a purveyor of mashed potatoes and roasted meats and beautiful pies—she became the kind of family friend you call when there is sadness and crisis. Edna became a fixture at hospitals and retirement homes. Edna maintained her home she had shared with Walt for over 50 years, but she had a heart for people suffering and wanted to take them flowers, cards, or meals.

As time went on, each of us in the family spent personal and communal time with Edna. We learned much about her life. In so many ways, Edna is the embodiment of the American Dream of the second half of the 20th century. Not just the tract house in the suburbs, but the ups and downs of suburban and family life, rebounding from the grim 1930s Depression, celebrating the expansion of American cities, the unbridled prosperity of the 1950s, a working woman in the 1970s. I loved talking to Edna about her life—and she eagerly filled us in. She told us of the desperate times of the 1930s, all the daughters in the family having to work to help the family survive the Depression. She confided to me more than once, “You know I had to drop out of school in the 1930s to help support the family. But I never dropped out of life!” I can see that characteristic flash in her eyes as she spoke about her life, her good health, her zeal for living. Even when she described the family chicken-plucking business, every story had her sounding like a Rosie the Riveter!

Edna was born in 1917. I loved thinking about that and that she was born in the same year as John F. Kennedy as well Leonard Bernstein. When she married Walt in 1939 they couldn’t decide where to go on their honeymoon. She wanted a big trip, and they debated going east to the World’s Fair in Flushing Meadows, in New York, but instead the newlyweds opted for a cross-country trip out west instead. She loved recounting those exciting days on the honeymoon trip—“We tried to see the world Johnny! There we were—two young kids—seeing the West.” And like with almost every story she told, she relived the enthusiasm and energy of her youth with style.

Over the years Edna became a fixture at family dinners, church solos, dance and piano recitals, funerals, anything where she could join our family and act as the surrogate grandmother. At one point she visited my grandfather in the nursing home of a retirement village (the very one where she would exit the stage of life) several times a week, offering companionship and friendship. Edna practically kept Hallmark in business in the years we have known her—I have a collection of cards ranging from Easter to birthdays to just hello cards. Edna never faltered in the holiday greeting department.

As with any member of a family, we may have taken Edna for granted from time to time. Some days she was just too perky, or it was out of your way to drive over and pick up another pie…I mean think about it—not bad indictments on a life if the perkiness/spunk factor is so high, or you may not have room in the refrigerator for another pie!

Edna was always dressed as if her day included a party. Her favorite shade was purple, and she had enough variations on lavenders and violets to beat any champion clothes horse. Edna cleaned her house as if she were the matron in a 1950s sit-com, and I caught her mowing her grass in a lavender outfit complete with pearls! Finally, around age 90 she let a son or grandson mow her grass for her.

For over a decade Edna joined my father for the breakfast ritual at the diner. Four days a week, they spent breakfast together in the company of the other breakfast bunch. The men may be discussing politics or sports, and Edna was usually in on another discussion, but no matter, everything got solved by the time the fourth cup of coffee was downed.

When Emma and Jack were born, in 1998 and 2002, respectively, Edna couldn’t have been happier to be in their lives. She loved making cakes, for showers and birthdays, and she could keep up with whatever theme each child desired for the birthday extravaganza. On Halloween, it was to Edna’s street that they trooped for the rite of trick or treating, and Edna was always excited to buy another present.

Edna bought a portable pool for her perfect back yard, and so there are many pictures of the children enjoying a summer swim in Edna’s back yard. Edna would create a luncheon, “no trouble at all,” and we would sit in the shade of her perfect backyard and relish those seemingly mundane summer treats. One of my favorite memories is watching Edna play softball with Jack—when she was 90—throwing the ball to Jack, and excitedly cheering his batting.

Eventually arthritis took a hold of Edna and her dinners ceased. Well, not exactly. She may not have been able to make the whole meal, but she would bring in LaRosa’s or City Barbecue—anything for a chance to invite us over and celebrate something. But I will always cherish my favorite meal of hers, those succulent Autumn Harvest Pork Chops. These would be the pork chops of your dreams…

So today as I think about the blessings I have known, I count our friendship with Edna as a distinct pleasure. She loved to go out to lunch, out shopping, anything to be out and about in the world. Only in the last year was she slowed down when her sons decided it was time she should give up the car.

As I said, it was not just the good times when Edna showed up. Edna was there when someone was in the hospital, or when we worried about the next turn in life. She was there with a hug, actually a ferocious hug, and a smile, sometime a little gloom and doom thought, but mostly there to help smooth over the bumps in life. Then there would come the laugh. Edna had a laugh that was like a giant tickle. Even in her 90s you could hear the school-girl coquettish laugh that drifted back to the 1920s and 30s.

A month ago I called my sister from Boston and lo and behold she was visiting Edna at that moment. I had seen Edna, of course, while home at Christmas, but had worried about her since she had suddenly gone from her vibrant self to a woman more like what we think of nonagenarians. I got to talk to Edna, and the astonishment in her voice that we got to talk again, and I could remind her of the loving moments we had shared in our 20-year friendship. “I’ll see you in heaven, Johnny,” she said as we said good-bye.

Edna held on longer than her family expected—I don’t think they know about her “grit,” her stamina and her ability to weather almost anything—but last night when I got the call, I sighed for the loss of a dear friend. Of course, I know, not many get into our 95th year on earth, so that is itself astonishing. Edna never became cynical—more than once in the last year, if we went out, she would exclaim, “This was the best day of my life!” How wonderful that she could have so many “best days” to warm her heart.

What’s left when all is said and done about a life? About a friendship? What is the legacy?

I guess with Edna it is the exclamation of joy about life. Whether she was greeting you in LaRosa’s with her characteristic, “What a surprise to see you people here!” (“Really Edna? We have been meeting you here for Sunday lunch for years,” we might have said…) or the waving adieu at the door of her pristine home, or the applause at the children playing the piano, or the proffering of a gift of her favorite fancy Fawn candy, or the thrill at hearing my voice on the phone from the Middle East, it was just a re-iteration and re-invigoration of how, indeed, Edna never “dropped out of life.”