Edna

Meeting Edna in October of 2015 was little more than a one-sided exchange.

I knocked on her door at approximately 2:20 PM one Wednesday afternoon to deliver the weekly medicine packet that the pharmacist had just finished preparing. I was warned ahead of time that she could be "difficult."

She opened her door, looking down at me as I stood on her doorstep and snarled, "well, now that you are finally here, you may as well come in."

Then, as she walked slowly toward her living room chair, she turned around while pointing to the throw rug in the foyer, "just close the door, and wait there, I'll get you a check."

So much for first impressions.

With each passing week that ice block between us would thaw a little more.

We went on to become good friends. I would learn so many interesting things about her that I felt like her loyal student, or the son that she never had, and offered to help with whatever she might need, weekday or weekend, day or night.

And I meant it.

My wife and I, along with several of Edna's nearly life long friends from her her working life and church were committed to helping her spend her final years in her own home. While we were not without limitations, it seemed that there was just a natural flow during any given time frame in which everything that needed to happen, would happen.

There was one friend, Linda, who was almost always good to go when it was time for Edna's weekly visit with her hairdresser Mary Lou. I'd get the call, of course, it was windy, snowing, or raining.

Another friend, Laurel, would take her to church on Sundays and wait in the parking lot for her without ever stepping a foot inside. No questions asked.

Another friend, Colleen would help organize the bills and keep an eye out for any scam that may have found its way from an unsolicited phone call to a written check that made it to the mailbox.

My wife, another Linda, and I would soon take over with the many necessary doctor visits, hospital stays, grocery runs and the bi-weekly trips to one hole-in-the wall or another in our quest for Cedar Rapids' best Americana diner and dive scene.

Edna loved it, and they loved her, too. Every waiter, every owner, every other patron. Love.

Edna wass a survivor's survivor.

Hospice, check.

She had end-of-life care several times in the seven years that I've know her, and a few more well before.

Hospitalizations, check.

It was like Cheers where everyone knew her name. Underlying conditions seemed to be her middle name. Edna had her own network within the network it seemed. She had loyal and caring social workers, nurses who became her friends, and the young doctors she would help (whether they would realize it or not) understand the fantastic phenomenon of aging.

Each time she would take it in stride, and she would call me to let me know she was "sprung." We'd go have breakfast or lunch and share a laugh or two while we'd seriously discuss the "lessons learned."

With the exception of my wife and Colleen, I was (or am) the young guy.

What started as an awkward doorstep exchange in October of 2015 would grow to become a friendship that I will never, ever, forget.

And then there was this pandemic. Edna was always susceptible to pneumonia and other bronchial conditions. I also have some serious underlying conditions that prompted my early retirememt in 2015.

I went from being a successful manufacturing manager to being a part-time "Medicine Man," and I couldn't be happier.

As I look back now, it's not the money, it's not the prestige, it's not chasing that dream, it's not settling for less, it's not the best car, the best clothes, or any of the bullshit that gets squished in the fastlane.

It's life, man, it's life.

If there is anything that makes me proud to be who I am, it's being blessed just enough to touch a life like Edna's.

As these years went on, we learned so much from each other that we'll carry that in our souls until we walk again through the clouds.

There will always be things in life that aren't what they seem.

First impressions are just that, and in the case where you might walk away shaking your head, it's important to remember that all it was was a start.

A start.

A start that opened the doorway to memories like these and finding out that Edna published her own book, was a long time member of our local writer's club, modeled hats and clothing for a prominent downtown department store, and so much more.

In addition to the pandemic, on August 10th, 2020, our city was devastated by a derecho with 140 mph sustained winds for thirty-nine minutes. Edna lost every tree in her yard, and her power was out for nearly two weeks.

My wife and I lost our roof and all the second floor ceilings. Still we came together like a Beatles song, and said "Hello In There" every day, just like John Prine, or my mother, would have wanted.

In 2007, I learned a lot while taken care of my mother (as referred to in the video link below).

Fair Use Intended. I do not own the copyright to the song below.

We lost Edna on July 21, 2021, seven weeks after her 93rd birthday.

I am so proud of the fact that we crossed paths and we went on to become the best of friends.

My promise to myself for 2022 and beyond is to be the best helper that I can be. It's a simple promise that I definitely intend to keep.

Currently, I've been helping a few more folks in the neighborhood, including my friend Char.

She's 90.

I'm a few years shy of 70. It's the little things that truly do matter.

Hope you enjoy the video links, you might say they've helped me be the man that I am today.

Fair Use intended. I do not own the copyrights to the songs.