When we lived in Florida from August 1994 to July 1998, while we were in graduate school, we met Virginia Dorsey, the woman who lived in the apartment next to ours.
She was a widow. Her husband had passed about 30 years before we met her. She had grown up in upstate New York, and her sister Florine still lived in Buffalo. Florine would come visit each year when winter was at its worst in New York, but sunny and warm in Florida.
Virginia became something like an adopted grandmother to our little family. We were far from home, and she was willing to take us in. Some of the most meaningful relationships in life are quiet, ordinary, and temporary, but they still shape how you live. This was one of those relationships.
.jpeg) |
| Virginia P. Dorsey June 29, 1908 - September 25, 1997 Photo 1995 |
I remember the first time I shook her hand. She was small, frail, and bent forward at the shoulders. I thought I was giving a normal handshake, but I squeezed too hard. After that, whenever she offered her hand, I would take her fingers more gently.
Not long after we met, she asked if I would pick up her mail each day and gave me a key to her mailbox and apartment. For more than three years, I checked on her each day after getting her mail. Usually, I would just take it in and be on my way. She liked to talk, so I had to be careful not to get pulled into a longer visit when I needed to get home.
She had a friend named Ed who came by to check on her about every 10 days or so.
As we got to know her, we invited her into our lives to attend birthday parties, Easter dinner, and other important events. In return, she invited us into her home to watch Florida State football games and other television programs she did not want to watch alone.
While she usually had Ed drive her to run errands, there were times when he was not available, and I would take her to the grocery store or help her with other errands. Once, she asked me to take her to “Books a Thousand.” I never corrected her that it was Books-A-Million.
She also liked to go through the drive-thru at “Chick a fil” to get a chicken sandwich for lunch.
Virginia introduced us to two birthday traditions from her family.
She only put three candles on her birthday cake to represent the past, the present, and the future.
The second tradition is one we still practice. After singing Happy Birthday and blowing out the candles, the person celebrating takes the knife and makes the first cut in the cake, but does not pull the knife out. Then the person with the next upcoming birthday makes a wish and pulls the knife out.
.jpeg) |
| Virginia's 86th Birthday Party |
One day, when all of us (Jamie, Tanner, Annette, and me) were visiting Virginia, Tanner, who was about three years old, was sitting in her wooden rocking chair. He started rocking back and forth, having a great time. Then the motion got bigger and bigger until the chair tipped forward. He fell out, and the chair came down on top of him.
Fortunately, he was not hurt. He was just surprised, shaken up, and crying. Virginia was more shaken than he was.
Virginia passed away on September 25, 1997. Annette and I attended her funeral and graveside service. It was Annette’s first time attending a Catholic funeral. The Latin ceremony was interesting, and there were not many people there.
What remains of Virginia shows up in small ways.
We still have several Matchbox cars she gave to Jamie and Tanner.
When Jamie and Tanner were little, they played a game they called “farmer and wife.” They used a Fisher Price farm set along with a small dump truck that had a person about the same size as the Fisher Price figures. These became two couples: “farmer and wife” and “Ed and Carol.” The “Ed” in that game was named after Virginia’s friend.
Looking back, she was not really our grandmother, and we were not really her family. But for a few years, we shared life together in a way that mattered.
.jpeg) |
| Virginia P. Dorsey Death: 25 Sep 1997 |
.jpeg)