I lost a dear friend recently. Her given name can never be used; her husband ,Walter, disliked it intensely and renamed her Sally. She was 94 years old when she passed.
Sally and I go back 24 years. She was always the designated driver when my daughter Amy or I had a doctor’s appointment. I have seizure disorder and have never driven, and now I have dementia, but the memories of Sally are as fresh as if they happened yesterday.
When we first met, Sally seemed to be the prim, proper church lady who was assigned to every church. Her husband, Walter, would sit by her side each Sunday morning beaming with love for his precious wife. When Walter died, Sally’s focus was being with him again. She dreamed of a magical reunion with him in the heaven she so vehemently believed in.
Sally had a few driving mishaps with Amy and me. We were traveling down Broadway, and she looked at me and said, “Will you just look at the back of my hair? They didn’t comb it the way I wanted!”
So my little Sally promptly turns her head and shows me the problem. Mind you, she was behind the wheel of her car, and we ended up on the sidewalk of a local eating establishment. At this time as I was overweight I said to her, “Sally, please don’t let my obituary read, ‘Local plus-sized woman killed in traffic accident after plunging through the door of all-you-can-eat restaurant!’”
When I helped my friend Bobbie at a local flower shop, Sally would bring us little surprises each week. We have fond memories of her orange, Tang-flavored candy. One day she was making her delivery to us and we heard a loud crunch and the squeal of brakes. The things on the display shelves tumbled to the ground, and Bobbie and I looked at each other and said simultaneously, “Sally’s here!”
On a Friday night, Sally came to our home and wanted to see my husband, Jim. She asked him to come out to the car and give it a look-see. She had a few dents, and she wasn’t sure how they had gotten there. She had a firm belief that people were hitting her car in parking lots.
Sally was a bright light in my life. I am so blessed for these memories. To Wayne and Norma and family, I am so sorry for your loss and so thankful that I can recall each moment with clarity. What a precious gift.
