Advertisement “When you see now how you young people are trained,” I read her words back to her, “you shake your head.”
When she heard those words, Edythe, who turns 101 years old Oct. 9, worried readers wouldn’t like to hear her words about young people today. But I assured her that anybody who reads about her would easily love her.
Edythe then leaned in and clarified what she’d wanted to say about training nurses.
“Your compassion means so much,” she said softly, then rubbed her fingers together, implying we’re thinking too much about money these days, which I didn’t argue with.
Those words about compassion, like many others she spoke to me that afternoon, reached a depth in me hard to convey.
Edythe has lived more than three of my lifetimes.
During her century on earth, she never knew her father, who died when she was a baby; grew up with no electricity, no running water and no telephone; had to walk outside to the outhouse as a child in Sparta, Wis.; birthed two sons; had three miscarriages, which she said “weren’t pleasant”; as a nurse, once took care of a drunk man she feared would jump over the hospital chapel’s balcony and get killed on her watch; and, last week, wore a cross around her neck with a pink jewel in the center.
Her husband, James, died in 2002, and when I asked her to describe her love for James, she paused for some moments, then spoke one word: admiration.
I’d gone to interview not just Edythe, but also her friend, Dorothy Brownell, who turned 100 years old Aug. 29.
Edythe had supervised Dorothy when Dorothy was a nursing student about 80 years ago. In recent years, the two became reacquainted at St. Joseph’s Rehab Center.
But on Wednesday, Dorothy wasn’t feeling well, so after I interviewed Edythe, we went to Dorothy’s room, where she lay in bed.
“God love you,” Edythe said as she leaned her face close to the face of Dorothy, who has limited vision. “You need to hurry up and get out of bed so we can go dancing.”
Dorothy was quiet.
Edythe held her face next to Dorothy’s for a while, then kissed her hand.
“I’ll come back, Dorothy. I love you.”
I then held Dorothy’s hand and introduced myself, but wasn’t sure what to do next.
She asked for water, so I held her cup and guided a straw into her mouth.
Edythe rubbed my back, and then we left the room.
It’s interesting how young and old people offer different gifts to each other. I showed Edythe the Internet. She, like my grandmothers, showed me how to be gentle with humans.
And when I asked her what makes her happy these days, her answer reminded me that happiness is a simple thing, or as she said, it’s “knowing that the children are near. And knowing that I can help a few people.
“I’m not as strong as I would like to be but you do what you can day by day and be thankful for it, isn’t that right?”
