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Just stuff I thought of while getting a little exercise. |
| Last December I received word that a long time friend of mine had passed away. Sadly, due to a few serious complications, I knew I would not be able to fly from New Hampshire to Oregon to attend her funeral. What made me even sadder though was, at the same time, I happened to hear an old song from our past. The song was "You Don't Know Me" sung by Jerry Vale in 1956, written by Eddy Arnold with Cindy Walker. It had come down from the top of the charts but was still played often in 1958-61. Background: In 1958, my dad had to go to work before I had to be at the high school, so to avoid school bus traffic, he'd drop me off a block away and I'd walk. Some days it was cold so I'd warm up at the wall heater by the front west doorway. Donna came from home through that door and we'd meet. But her boyfriend, Harold Bailey, would show up every morning too. We'd talk about everything until the bell rang. I'd watch her walk away with Harold and wish it was me. She was in my English class in the afternoon. After class, we'd talk until Harold showed up again. Some time in our Junior year though, she changed boyfriends to Stanley Sweet. But, it was still the same role for me. Except one time, Stan was busy so I walked her home. Boy did I hear from Stan about that! We both pleaded "Best Friends" to Stan. It wasn't until 20 years later, at the 1981 reunion, that Stan forgave me. I was always the one left behind. Donna was on her third husbands by then (it wasn't Stan). I had often mused: If I'd known when she left her first, would I have had a chance? The words of Vale's song haunted me. But, by 1981, I was married and had 3 kids. She was married to Tom (a surprise to me), had 4 kids, and at that time seemed content. So any advances would have been way out of place. I say, "We respected our marriages." Of course, feelings are feelings, and Mary MacGregor's recording of "Torn Between Two Lovers" (1976) made it very clear. We can only be friends. On a 1986 cross-country road trip, and two class reunions after, I brought my wife, Ferne, to Oregon. We went for picnics, restaurants, class stuff, and once Donna made us a Lasagna dinner at her Grape Street home. Later, on several birthday calls, Ferne talked to her just as much as I did. They got along just fine. Well... why wouldn't they, they both had ME! Eulogy So last December 5th, after a lot of false starts I wrote a Eulogy. I emailed it to Donna's daughter Daisy. Dear Daisy, I'd like to celebrate and honor the life of an incredible woman, your mother, Donna —a woman of independence, dedication, and endless compassion. To me, she was not only my best friend for over 66 years, but more like an older sister. Donna and I met in 1958, in our high school sophomore English class. Even as teenagers, her brilliance and sharpness were clear —she was the one who could take a story, pull it apart, and put it back together better than it was before. That talent would serve her well later as a reporter, but back then, it was her wit and insight that drew me to her. From that first class, our bond grew deeper than friendship; it became family. After graduation in 1961, unavoidable life choices and responsibilities separated us for a couple decades. Her through several marriages, me working the Apollo Moon program. We rekindled our post-adolescent friendship at the 20-years reunion sharing stories and laughter like no time at all had passed. I remember, after that reunion in particular, I took Donna for a short flight around the valley in a two-seat Cessna. As we flew over the Applegate hills, I noticed little white sheds scattered among the trees. When I pointed them out, Donna, with her characteristic dry humor and twinkle in her eye, said, "Oh, that's where everybody grows their pot." It was still illegal at the time, but she delivered the line with such perfect timing that I still laugh when I recall it. Donna's talents extended far beyond her humor. She was an excellent editor —not just for grammar or structure, but for life itself. She had a way of cutting through the superfluous to get to what mattered most. When I began writing my endless memoir, it was Donna who helped me shape the first draft. She wasn’t just my editor; she was my emotional anchor, giving me the endurance to relive and write about my daughter's tragic experience. She believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself, and her guidance made my words—and my life—better. What I’ll miss most are our marathon phone calls. We’d talk for hours on birthdays and whenever life demanded it—about kids, ambitions, careers, rockets, lovers, politics, religion, water heaters, writing, working, health, and the trials of aging. Donna had this rare ability to make even the most mundane topics feel important and connected. She cared deeply about people and she showed it. Donna was fiercely independent, dedicated to her craft and her loved ones, and nurturing in a way that made everyone who knew her feel safe and seen. She gave her heart freely and fully, and my world is dimmer without her in it. Donna, you were my sister in spirit, my trusted confidante, and my lifelong friend. I will miss you more than words can ever say. Rest in peace, dear Donna, knowing you left an indelible mark on all of us. Thank you. Don |
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