Do you read the obituaries? I do. I could read them every day on-line but I prefer to wait and read them in the paper that I can hold. I was inspired by a book, “The Dead Beat” by Marilyn Johnson, to see each as a final biography, the “telling” of a life, written, sometimes by a professional, sometimes by the funeral home, sometimes by a loved one and even written by the deceased. I feel that those who have passed deserve our attention in this one literary description of their lives.
And this week, I smiled.
I am smiling because I read Beverly’s obituary in the paper this morning. I am smiling because, at 100, she had lived a useful, fulfilling, even joyous life, a life to be emulated. Beverly Bolton was a friend, but alas, as is so often the case, as time and contact drifted, so did our friendship. Beyond the birthday (we shared the same birthday) and Christmas cards we exchanged, our contact frittered away.
Beverly Bolton was someone you listened to. I would talk with her every day when I worked at the Samaritan Center. Beverly sat at the greeter’s desk at the foot of the staircase and answered the phone for St. Paul’s Episcopal Cathedral. She also made decisions about who she would allow to enter the building. She didn’t drive because of a problem hip and mobility was a problem for her, but her strength of mind and character made her perfect for this particular job. As I said, you listened to Bev. She spoke with authority and didn’t suffer fools.
I am smiling thinking about our many conversations about our cats. I had one at the time and she had three. She was my authority when it came to cat care. But, even more important, when I was under treatment for breast cancer and was so very sick from one of the treatments, she became my advocate, making arrangements for me to meet with a nurse practitioner immediately.
Her resources that enabled her to help in this area were based on her many years of work at Hematology Oncology Associates, where the staff and doctors held her in high esteem. Mention her name at HOA and smiles would abound. She was remembered and loved.
Wherever she went, her simple honesty and work ethic charmed people. That was and is an exceptional talent. There was one Beverly, one way of interacting with the world and its vagaries, one based on her abiding commitment to her faith.
I am smiling because Beverly always accepted the many ways that people can be. While she spoke with assurance and belief, she always was aware of and acknowledged that people came in many packages and that goodness and kindness were not the possession of only one group.
Bev lived, hold your breath, in the Skyline Apartments. She had lived there since it was the upscale apartment complex in Syracuse. When I would come to pick her up for a lunch date, this woman, 20 years my senior, would tell me to stay in my car and to keep the doors locked until she came out. She wasn’t afraid, but she was concerned for her friends. I don’t know how she managed, but she was determined that the “riff-raff” that had taken over the once-classy address would not drive her out.
If you went to lunch with Bev at whatever variation of the old Poseidon restaurant that was operating across the street from her home, you were treated royally. A customer of that restaurant for so many years, the entire staff knew and loved her. I don’t know of anyone who can boast of that honor.
I am smiling because Bev had so many friends, accumulated from her years on earth, from her work life, her church affiliation and random people like me that she picked up along the way.
I am smiling because Bev was true to herself and her beliefs and set a standard for the rest of us. If there are ways to make friends in heaven, she will be making them in her own way.
I am thinking of Beverly Bolton as I write this and wishing to give all of those who knew and loved her, the warmth that my memory of her creates. I know that the writer of her obituary did a good job, but in the final analysis, it’s hard to capture a person’s life, their contributions … the ripples, the waves created in the lives of others around them, the little and the big things that have meaning for those left to mourn, the hole in the world left by their passing.
Still, sometimes a life can be captured in a smile.
