In honor of my mother’s birthday, a post from a few years back.
Mother and Sally exchanged Christmas Cards for over seventy-five years. For most of those seventy-five years, they lived four hours from each other and could have easily visited, but I didn’t meet Sally until Mother’s ninetieth birthday.
They grew up in the same small town in New England. They were the same age, went to the same schools and the same church. And … both moved far from that small town after high school graduation. But those are the only things they had in common. Teenage Mother liked to party but did well enough in school to earn a scholarship while Teenage Sally apparently never rocked the boat. While my mother was at college, Sally met a soldier returning from the war with only one hand, married him and left for the West Coast.
Sally’s husband worked for the Post Office until his death. They bought a house just south of San Francisco where they raised three children. After his death, the oldest daughter moved in down the street to take care of Sally. According to the daughter, Sally’s children all did well and produced equally successful children.
In December 2019, after baking Christmas cookies for her neighbors, Sally sat down at the kitchen table and died. I can’t imagine a more pleasant way to go.
Mother somehow graduated from college although to hear her reminisce about those days it’s hard to understand how. She started her career in Hartford Connecticut, about thirty miles from where she’d grown up, and soon got married. My father spent about seven years trying to survive in the corporate world … jumping from company to company all over the states. And Mother went along with him having children and attempting to be a housewife. After they settled in Reno Nevada, Mother gave up the charade. She divorced my father and went out and got the career she’d always wanted.
For some reason through all of the turmoil — and it was turmoil — Mother always looked forward to Sally’s Christmas Cards. I imagine they contained a synopsis of Sally’s year. Or perhaps they just contained holiday greetings. None survived the final move she took.
I finally met Sally during the year that Mother lived with us. Her daughter contacted me and we got the two ladies together, coincidentally on Mother’s 90th birthday. They sat together mostly in silence, affectionately touching and gazing into each other’s eyes and when the restaurant closed to prepare for the dinner rush, there were tears. On all our faces.
Christmas 2019 Mother called to tell me she had not received a card from Sally. She said something must have happened because Sally would never forget to send a Christmas card. Since both ladies were now approaching 94, I thought perhaps Sally’s mental state was slipping and so I contacted her daughter and heard about the Christmas cookies.
Telling Mother that Sally had died was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
Mother died in August 2020. I wish she’d exhausted herself making cookies and sat down to die, but it was during the pandemic. Residents of her assisted living facility were basically prisoners in the their rooms with only remote entertainment which I’m sure exasperated the decline of many of them. I played her music from the 30s and 40s on my iPhone, read aloud from a book, and played solitaire until finally in the morning her spirit escaped. She just didn’t want to go through another Christmas without getting a card from Sally. From what I know, the two ladies probably wouldn’t have enjoyed going on a cruise together but they anchored each other to this world. Some old friends are like that.
Saying nothing in particular 
What a beautiful friendship. It shows that there are many ways to be special in someone else’s life.
Thanks Dan. That’s so true.
La tercer edad de nuestras vidas. Aquí es donde se vuelve tan diferente, tan difícil, pero con mucha dignidad . Amor. Duque (My maid told me I should write this sentiment, but in Spanish, since the topic is near and dear to most Mexicans: the final third.)
Please thank your maid …. well said.
> In December 2019, after baking Christmas cookies for her neighbors, Sally sat down at the kitchen table and died.
What a great first line for a novel.
Anchored each other in this world, better than drifting aimlessly? Maybe dragging an anchor provides the best compromise?
Thanks Mole – I think it kind of defines Sally. Mother would have given the neighbors store bought cookies!
Both heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time.
Thanks Hetty!
Wow! What a great story to share. Love the pictures! Love the title, “The Anchor”. We are in Tahoe – got here this evening. Jodie and family joining us tomorrow for six days of hiking, biking (not me), sewing, cards, rummikub, Jr. Monopoly, Legos, etc. Ender came home from school talking about the turkeys the president pardoned and asked that we not eat a turkey. I asked Max what he wanted for Thanksgiving dinner and he said, “A Pop Tart, Lolli!” So, no big cooking day for me… YEAH! For the last few months I have been spending Sunday mornings sewing with Evelyn. I am attempting to help her make her last two quilts (one for her sister, one for her daughter). She picked one of the hardest patterns I have ever worked on and she has changed her mind three times on what quilt she actually wants to make…. after, of course, my putting in 150+ hours of time at home getting her projects organized/cut. Last week she talked about a fourth possibility. Evelyn has Supernuclear palsy and can no longer focus to read directions; great difficulty threading the machine and needle; can’t wind the bobbin; can’t get in and out of her chair without help. She continually falls. She chokes on her saliva 2-3 times each sewing visit. Life expectancy after diagnosis is eight years. Evelyn has been dealing with it for over ten years. Most days I come home loving that ‘one more time’ but there are days I struggle to get my wits about me. I think of you helping Carol and love you so much for who you are. Hope you and Joel are doing well. Perhaps we can do the Napa lunch in December? Love you.Mary Alice
Thanks Mary Alice. So sorry to hear about Evelyn and it is very difficult when someone wants that last piece to be perfect but you don’t know how much time they’ll have. We cut it very close but I’m glad she got to see those first rave reviews and get all the congrats from her hundreds of friends. That made all the stress worth it.
75, how impressive is that!
They knew each other for 85 years – her grandmother lived across the street from Mother. It is amazing.
It sure is.
This is such a touching post. I certainly don’t have any girl friends like this. My mom is very close to her one sister.
I don’t have any friends who go back that far either although I do hear from a few people I haven’t seen for a while each Christmas. It’s always painful when those cards stop coming.
Yes, I am going to be facing this with my mom’s family soon. She is significantly younger and she is 83.
Oh! This is so sad but beautiful too 💜
Thanks Willow.
Dear Jan, this is such a moving story and so incredibly written. You paint the picture of each of them so well, depth in their individual characters; and wrap up two long lives in a succinct and poignant reunion. The ending is so moving…so life. You, my friend, are an excellent writer.
Thanks Jet. That’s so sweet of you to say.
Even though many years had passed in which they never saw one another, it’s great that they finally had a get-together. .
It was a special day.
Ahh, what a story! I’m so glad to hear that you got them together. ❤ Peace to both of them.
Thank you Manja!
Thank you for sharing their story. It’s amazing they kept in touch all of those years.
I’m glad you enjoyed it!
Thank you for this wondrously beautiful story, JT! Thank you!
I’m glad you liked it!
Friendships take on many variations. Your mother and Sally were meant to keep in touch, but live entirely different lives. Amazing really, and inspiring.
Thank you Ally.
Sally had a good death, and it sounds like your mother passed in peace. Some links are never broken. ❤️
Sally was always the dependable person in my mother’s life. She wasn’t trusting of relationships.
This is a beautiful narrative, JT.
Thank you!