I knew Paula for a small slice of her life, what turned out to be the final slice. She passed away October 19, 2007 while we were in India. I wish I had known her sooner. But though we walked together on this earth for a brief few years, her affect on my life will be eternal.
Written October 20, 2007
I think I first met Paula when she came to my house for a homemaking project we were doing with some ladies from church. I think we were making bath salts. She was so excited about what we were doing, and stayed late making her creations just right and chatting with all the women there. I remember her raving about the refreshments I’d served and scribbling down the recipes on scraps of paper she pulled from her purse.
I remember walking out with her to the driveway that day and her exclaiming about how beautiful my overgrown garden was. She loved the purple Wandering Jew pIant that grew like a weed and I couldn’t get rid of. I broke off a piece and told her to plant it in her garden and watch it grow like a weed for her. She did, and many months later I remember her showing me the results with delight. I felt a little cheated at that point, like I’d missed the joy of Wandering Jew, while all along Paula had been relishing it. Then I felt grateful to Paula for helping me appreciate and see the beauty in what was already there in my life. Paula always helped me see more beauty and nobility in the simple things of my life, in the world around me.
Thus began a short but meaningful relationship between us. I was assigned to be Paula’s visiting teacher with Rebecca. Rebecca and Paula were both animal lovers and Paula once brought out her pet tarantula spider for Rebecca to hold. Yikes! Paula loved all animals and treated them with such respect and reverence, like they were truly her friends. We had a pet duck while we lived in Leander named Martha. When we went on vacation, we couldn’t figure out who would be willing to babysit our needy duck. When we asked Paula, she was more than willing to do it. We left Martha with Paula several times, and she loved her like a grandchild. She took pictures of Martha and delighted in her splashing in the water or eating lettuce. I remember her showing us one of the photos she took, saying, “Look, she’s smiling!” We couldn’t see it, but I think Paula definitely could. She loved all living things, truly appreciating and empathizing with all of God’s creations.
Paula always made me feel like I was making her day by visiting her or giving her a ride, but it was she who brightened my day. Paula was nearly old enough to be my mother, and I felt like I could always talk to her that way, or perhaps even more comfortably because I knew she wouldn’t pass judgment or try to solve my problems for me. She would just listen. I had plenty of friends in Leander my own age with toddler and preschool children like mine, but I loved spending time with Paula, perhaps because she was so unlike me. So much older, so much wiser, so open and loving and forgiving. She had perspective, and as she would tell me stories about herself as a young mother and wife, the mistakes and successes she had, I learned so much about what matters and what doesn’t.
Once she asked me to come over and help her go through her clothes and clean out her closet. I got a babysitter for my kids and spent a wonderful afternoon with Paula seeing the many facets of her life kaleidoscope before me in her clothes. Every dress, every blouse had a story. This one Ted had bought her, so she could never get rid of it. This one she had bought from the Goodwill and had intended to make over into something different. This one she had worn to a special government event when Ted was a judge. This one she had worn to work. Some were flamboyant, some were practical. We tried clothes on, and she gave me a few that I oohed and aahed over. She didn’t get rid of too many clothes that day, but I got to know more about this woman I loved and admired and we spent a beautiful afternoon together sharing pieces of ourselves, rediscovering ourselves.
I loved Paula’s hair—gorgeous curly blonde hair. I have naturally curly hair too, but I could never get mine to look like that. Once I remember asking her how she made it look the way it did. She said with a laugh that she just never washed it! Bingo. I tried washing mine less often too, and it did a similar trick, but never quite the quirky curliness that Paula had.
I loved Paula’s purse. There were always all sorts of things in her purse, and she was constantly searching for her glasses or fishing out a scrap of paper or an old receipt to jot down a new idea, a recipe, or a quote she had heard. She was always interested in everything and everybody, always eager to learn something new and improve herself.
She had so many talents. I still have a beautiful beaded bookmark she made me, and I remember many beautiful items all over her house she had crafted herself. I watched her several times whip up a meat-and-potatoes dinner for her family, including the athletic, hungry Daniel, in no time. She could make houseplants grow like nobody I’d ever seen, I think perhaps because she talked to them! She was generous almost to a fault and was always willing to give of herself to everyone.
She was fiercely loyal to her children, and I always admired how she treated them like adults. She listened to everything they said and responded to them in a thoughtful, respectful manner. When I brought my three preschool and toddler boys to her house, she was always so attentive to them, always careful to keep them safe, and always willing to listen to and delight in their endless questions and stories. She was reflective about her children and mine, taking time to think about and articulate their special gifts and do what she could to help develop them.
Paula had the faith of a child, the heart of a child. She believed in God without a doubt and had a calm assurance about her when she faced trials because she knew that God was with her and would make it all okay in the end. She could see the small miracles in her life. When she prayed for something, she fully believed she would receive an answer, and then she would notice the answer come and share how in God’s own merciful way and time her prayer had been answered. We all pray for things, but how many of us take the time to wait for and notice the answers? She had her share of troubles and heartaches in her family and with her mortal body, maybe even more than her fair share, but she held on with all of her might to her eternal family. I love and admire her for that.
The last time I saw Paula was this summer when I came back to visit Leander. We had a girls’ night out at the local Mexican restaurant and we stayed up into the wee hours of the morning in the parking lot talking. Paula was excited about her new job as a pharmacist and talked with pride about Daniel’s scholarship, Echo’s passage into adulthood with a boyfriend and a job, Jackson’s hard work at school, and Ted’s success at work. She was eager to hear about my adventures away from Leander and I felt so embraced in her love and support after my long absence.
Paula had a great dry sense of humor that would sometimes catch me off guard. But she also had a nobility about her too, a sense of propriety that I think in part came from her generation that knew better how to respect people and do the right thing, not the selfish thing like my generation does so well. She sacrificed much for her family and much for her faith in God. May she be blessed and remembered for all that she was, for all that she did, for all that she felt, for all that she loved. I love you, Paula. I miss you.
Good news: I didn't die. I've regained the use of my hands and legs and gotten back to work. It's been ages since I've laid in bed all day and read a book . . . I read The Book Thief, and loved it. It had the same quality as The Invisible Wall with all its hopefulness in a small community during a war, but was better written, with lovable, colorful characters and the intriguing narrator--Death. "I am haunted by humans," Death says. Ooh. He's haunted by us because despite it all, so many of us never give up hope, and we cling to each other's stories to borrow hope that may be lacking in our own stories.
