Saying Good-bye to Wilda

"There is no duty we so much underrate as the duty of being happy" - Robert Louis Stevenson

I am ironing my clothes carefully this morning.  I've chosen my brand new button down shirt and an orange sweater (courtesy of Banana Republic and my sister's great Christmas generosity) because orange is one of my Grandmother's favorite colors.  Last night, at the flower shop, done with all of my other work, I created an arrangement of white daisies (more correctly marguerites), small orange spray roses, beautiful peach gerber daisies (more correctly gerberia I believe), and small dark orange gerber daisies (of the likes I've never seen) because we didn't have any carnations at all or any super fresh chrysanthemums, which are also her favorites.  It is the last arrangement I will have the privilege of making her.

I am taking such great care because I am heading down to Palm Springs in a couple of hours with my brother, and my sister in law, to what is possibly the last visit to the matriarch of our family, Wilda McGaha.

I am crying now in hopes that I won't cry so much later.  Grams doesn't cry.  She is 88 years old and has a tremor in her hands that she's battled for almost forty years.  She has emphysema, and a failed kidney, and arthritis, other things I can't spell and now she has acute leukemia.  Suddenly, bam, out of nowhere.  First they gave her two days (as of the night before yesterday), now at home she's rallying a little, but no one knows.  At Christmas she ate little but cracked witty jokes, as is her way.

So we are going today to possibly say good-bye.  Probably for me, I do not have another day off until Sunday.

The irony of it all is that it is Papa, her husband (who has been on hospice now for over the six months they give you to live when you're accepted into the program), we thought we'd already said good-by to.  But he is happily still with us, still delighted to wake up each day and be with the woman of his dreams, the vivacious Wilda. 

A beautiful child in the requisite bob haircut who looks at us from family photos with even features, clear blue eyes, a serene expression and a dimple that hide the maverick and will of iron that lurks behind.  This strength will save Wilda and keep well her when at five her mother is struck first with a nervous break-down over the railroad strike (her husband worked on the railroad) and then rises from her bed a cripple when arthritis attacks her knee while she is down.  The depression starts.  Wilda is sent to live with family in the country.  She learns to be a farm-girl and has to gather eggs and a myriad of other chores that such young children used to be responsible for.

And when she can return home months later she must be the quick feet and arms her mother can no longer be.  Her mother's knee is forever bent and she must wear special shoes to allow her to walk, one a platform.  So Wilda must cook and clean and keep house.  But Wilda thrives.  She becomes an athlete, a dancer, and a high-diver when an uncle creates a lake for locals to swim away their depression blues in.  She is a gorgeous girl, a star basketball player who catches the eye of her young high-school coach and to date she hides under the dashboard of his car when they drive by those who would disapprove.

But it was a different time, and a young handsome high-school teacher with a college education and good intentions is a catch when the world is in the grips of economic despair.  Wilda, who must also work, goes to beauty college after high school, and from then on she will almost always earn her own keep. 

Later, when her beloved young husband Ralph dies from complications after one of the first open heart surgeries, she will gather up her two small children and her parents and head west to California like so many others after the war looking for a new life.  They will settle first in Compton, then in Long Beach, and Wilda will buy a house and support everyone by working two jobs, one of which is for the Bullock's department store in downtown Los Angeles.  She rides the red car to get there.  She dates and breaks hearts.  She is stunning in the elegance in the era.  She marries a man often away at sea (Long Beach is a navy town), but it's best as he loves Wilda but doesn't like her children too much.  Eventually she decides she needs lets him go. 

The stress of her job at a bank, where she does her own work and that of her boss, has her eating baby food and coming down with migraines (sick headaches as her mother Nana calls them).  But one day, persuaded against her will to go out on a blind double date at the officer's club, Wilda goes and meets Fred.  They have a lovely time dancing.  Wilda loves to dance.  Fred is good company, and good to his own mother.  Wilda decides to try love again and this time it sticks. 

They are a pair through thick and thin.  They epitomize the Protestant work ethic, but they play hard too and love to have fun.  They win dance trophies and are the "go to" people for their families.  They wear matching outfits because Fred is very color blind and Wilda picks out all of their outfits.  Wilda is an ace shopper.  She has it down to an art and a science.  Which is good as they have children with growing families and they both have elderly mothers who they take care of financially and emotionally, seeing to their needs.

But Wilda will not be shopping anymore now.  That time is over.  So I will dress with care today because she likes a sharp dresser.  And I will wear one of the little bracelets she gave me a couple of holidays ago (all apparel gifts came with matching accessories, so you were ready to go).  And I will do my best today to think about celebrating a life rather than the sadness of loss, or how my mother will deal with the loss of  her dear dear mother.