6-4-2 — an Angels/Dodgers double play blog: OT: Goodnight, Doris

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Wednesday, August 04, 2004

OT: Goodnight, Doris

Her mother, by all accounts, wanted a boy. What they got was one of each, but they never let a year go by when they didn't let her know exactly what sex they would have preferred. Her fraternal twin was bright, somewhat reserved, with a wry sense of humor; later, he would graduate with a Phi Beta Kappa key and an undergraduate degree in architecture from the University of Kansas.

She was a wallflower in the worst way, which maybe contributed to her profoundly bad taste in men. Her first husband, a cheerful n'er-do-well, preferred the smoky comforts of the tavern, and the charms of other women, to his own home. He spawned at least one illegitimate son, so they say. He died, victim of his own vices, from an aneurysm that brought him down at 45.

She had two children by him, a boy and a girl; the boy she doted on, gave too much leash to, a fault that would come back to disappoint her after he became an adult. Her first husband sketchily employed when he was alive, they moved back and forth between Kansas and California during the 40's, finally settling in Costa Mesa. Even during the war he had a hard time keeping a job. After he died, she worked a series of secretarial jobs, while her brother, since moved to Saudi Arabia during the early days of the Arabian American Oil Co., sent money to keep them afloat.

She remarried, once, to a cruel, selfish man. Once, he took his stepdaughter's doll cradle and burned it. The marriage only lasted a couple years before she recanted her mistake to the courts, but for some perverse reason, she kept his last name.

Her children married, raised children of their own. My first memory was in her house, playing on the floor, waiting for my sister to come home from the hospital. As the years passed, she became reclusive, hermit-like; her entire social life was going to the coffee shop around the corner from her house. Her brother retired, moved to a house he designed and his father built only a few blocks away. His unexpected death from a surgeon's mistake (he was actually drunk when he operated) rocked her, driving her even further into her shell.

It's been a long slide. Slow motion death is perhaps even more ghoulish than other kinds; there's a reason people have "do not resuscitate" orders. It took her a long time, maybe a consequence of her vigorous gardening, even as late as a few years ago; she had more reserves than anyone really anticipated. For me, I'm relieved, now, and grateful that she's no longer in any pain. Hopefully, she's in a better place.

Goodnight, Grandma Doris.

// posted by Rob @ 9:58 PM link // 0 comments