Whatever He Says

Mention her name and the stories begin; told in affectionate tones, with respect and laughter. Those who didn’t know her before she died five years ago, try to get a sense of who she was. For at such moments there are only two groups; those who knew Evelyn and those who didn’t. And everyone wishes they had. I wonder; will a mention of my name have this effect five years after I’m gone? It would be nice if it did but I doubt it. Twice this week her name has come up, and she has been on my mind as well. Perhaps because it’s Christmas, and at Christmas we think of old friends. So tonight I share an Evelyn story: It was Christmas Eve—Miah’s first Christmas working at her new job with the agency that supported Evelyn and her housemates with developmental disabilities. Miah loved her job, but on this particular night she was downhearted. At her last job she had worked over Christmas, which would have meant that she got this one off. But she had changed jobs and here she was again,...

Not knowing its significance to me, she gave it almost as an aside during a meeting at my office. "Miah asked me to give this to you," she said, placing it in my hands. I immediately gasped in recognition of something I considered a treasure. "Do you know what this is?" I asked, and she said that she did. Taped onto it was a small piece of notepaper decorated with hearts and a little picture of a girl feeding squirrels and birds. The note said, "Joanne, Please give this to Belinda, Thanks, Miah." It's hard to find the words to express what I felt, but it was as if it had been guided to the next pair of hands that were to hold it in trust; and a heart that would keep a memory alive. It was just a leather pouch, but to me it was about whose the pouch it had been. It was made ruggedly out of one piece of tan leather, folded and stitched together on both sides with flat, thin, strips of off-white leather. The flap was secured ...

In my Daily Light of July 30, is a note that says simply, "Evelyn's Home going 2003." Today, August 9, there are more notes in the margin and I know that this was the day we all gathered to say goodbye. On those dates and in between, those of us who knew and loved her experienced a roller-coaster of emotions. I remember the call that told me she had gone--this fire-cracker, survivor of a woman who had lately lost the spark that we all thought would never die. I felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach and I had to be alone--had to leave the crowd of company that was in our home at the time and find a quiet place. I went out into our garden room--a glass enclosed porch that looks out onto lawns and flower beds--and sat down. It was evening, but the heat of the day hadn't dissipated--it hung in the air. And I remembered her. She who had led all of us a merry chase and who would look at me , head tilted, peering up with one eye closed, and ask, "Am I d...