My dear friend Joyce Payne died on Boxing Day, early in the morning. Such mixed feelings of love and sadness and gratitude. But mostly gratitude. Joyce was 91 years old, just a couple of months away from 92. She was born February 22, 1921.
I was thinking that I should buy a sympathy card for her children, but what I really wanted to do was give them a thank you card. Because truly, "thank you for sharing your mother with me!" is what I want to say. I love her dearly, and am so very grateful that she has been a part of my life for eight or nine years--not sure how long it has been, because it has been too short!
Joyce and I have walked to church together almost every Sunday for years--ever since her granddaughter Melissa moved away after living with Joyce for awhile, it has been our habit to walk to church together, interrupted occasionally when Shannon and Floyd G. would give her a ride if it was too icy or snowy. Joyce would usually sit with Shannon and Floyd in sacrament meeting once we got there, and then I would rejoin her for Sunday School and Relief Society, and then we would walk home together.
But a couple of years ago I became the primary chorister--and I totally love primary, so I have been happy to be there--and Shannon has taken over during all the meetings, and even started taking Joyce home for the past year or so. So all I got to do on Sundays was call Joyce in the morning, and walk TO church with her. It was kind of hard for me to share Joyce, because I really enjoyed spending that time walking and talking with her, but I am grateful that Shannon got a chance to do that, too.
Between Joyce not feeling well and conferences and such in October this year, we missed walking for a few weeks and finally (I think it was the last week in October), we walked to church together for the last time. It was really hard going for her. We had to stop and rest quite a few times, and once we got to church, it took her a long time to feel better. It had just been too hard, and I told Shannon, we can't do this anymore. Joyce needs to ride to church. If we asked her, she would say, "Oh, let's walk." She enjoyed living close enough to walk to church, after spending so many years in New York and Virginia, where the church was always a ways away--12 miles, I think she said. So, we decided that Shannon would just always plan to pick her up, and we wouldn't ask her! Because her spirit was willing (and wanting) to walk, but her flesh was, unfortunately, getting weak.
Connie W. came up to me after church that last day of walking and said, "Myrna, you can't have her walking to church anymore! It is just too hard on her!" See--so many people caring about Joyce and looking out for her. I assured Connie that walking to church was over for Joyce; Shannon and I had a new plan.
On Saturday, December 15, Diane (Joyce's home helper) had tried to call me, but I wasn't home. When I called her back, she said that she had needed to go to a granddaughter's dance recital, but she just didn't feel good about leaving Joyce alone; so she had called Shannon, who had gone over to spend time with Joyce.
I called Joyce on Sunday morning, December 16, as is my habit, and she told me she was "slow and pokey" and just not feeling up to going to church, which I already knew because Diane had told me that she and Joyce's son Keith thought Joyce should stay home. But as I was walking to church, I stopped in because I saw that Keith was there, so I knew that if Joyce was resting in bed, my ringing the doorbell wouldn't make her have to get up. Keith opened the door, and I went in. Joyce was up, but much more feeble than the last time I had seen her a week before. Keith said that the family had decided they needed more help for Joyce, to cover more hours of the day, and asked me to talk to Lysa about it. I told Keith to please call me if they needed any help.
And I was so grateful, because he did call me that afternoon! It was a snowy kind of day, and Keith couldn't get out of his place at Sundance very easily due to snowfall, so he asked me to go and check on his mom and help her with her dinner. So I went and let myself in through the garage, and called out to her--the house was completely dark--and found her in bed. She was awake, and said she was a bit hungry. So I went to find her some dinner in the fridge while she attended to bathroom duties. And then we sat together and talked while she ate. We told each other stories from our childhoods--we both grew up on farms, so we had that in common. And we read Christmas stories from the Ensign, and then talked some more. Four times in that evening, Joyce would ask me, "Who are you again? Are you Myrna?" That was not a good sign--it has been years since she has wondered who I was. She didn't always remember how many children I had, or where I grew up, but she always knew me. Still, we spent a happy two and a half hours together. I was worried about leaving Joyce alone, but she didn't want to go back to bed, so I said goodnight. Later, I drove past the house while out running an errand with my son, and the lights were all off, so I knew she had made it back to bed. In retrospect, I am SO grateful that Keith called me, and that I got to spend those precious hours with my dear friend!
I texted Lysa when I got home, and told her what Keith had asked me earlier (about needing more help for his mom), and told Lysa that I had seen on the calendar that Joyce had spent a couple of days in the hospital--December 11 through 13. And that our dear friend was doing less well.
I stopped by again on Monday (December 17) when I got home from work. Diane was there, and we had a nice visit, but Joyce was less alert than usual, though she was up sitting in her chair. Diane told me about the problem that had sent Joyce to the hospital. (Joyce had lost consciousness while at the Senior Centre playing bingo, and the paramedics transported her to the hospital. Her heart had stopped momentarily, but as I understand it, it started on its own.)
Diane suggested we take some pictures! What a great idea--all these years, and I have not thought to take pictures with Joyce!
I owe a big thank you to Diane for those pictures! Who knew that this would be the very last day that I would see Joyce when she was still feeling well enough to smile like that...see the light in her eyes and the happiness radiating from her? Lysa stopped by that night, too.
So, after two days of some pretty good visiting with Joyce, I imagined that she was feeling better, and didn't stop in for a couple of days. Silly me.
On Thursday (Dec. 20), Diane was calling around frantically to find someone to help. Joyce was so weak that one person taking her to the bathroom meant a hard job, and worry about Joyce falling. I didn't answer my phone (I was driving home from work), Lysa was just loading her harp to go and play for the Nutcracker, but the Bishop was on his way to a meeting, and he stopped in to help Diane with Joyce's needs. But she called me a bit later because she needed help again.
So, I ran right over, and spent an hour with Joyce and Diane. Poor sweet Joyce was so tired. Such a big change since Monday. Just sitting on the toilet was so hard for her. I was sitting on a chair in the bathtub on one side, and Diane in the room on the other side, and Joyce would lay her cheek on my hand, and I would stroke her hair. We finally got her back to the living room into her rocking chair, and propped her feet up. I went into the kitchen and got the beautiful bouquet that Bonnie had sent to her mom ready and into a vase, and took it out to show to Joyce. When Keith came, so there were two people to help get Joyce to bed, I decided to go home. I gave Joyce a hug and said, "I love you." She said, "I love you, too." And I am so grateful for that night, too, because those were the last words that Joyce and I said to each other.
When I stopped by on Saturday (December 21) Joyce was in bed, and Keith was getting ready to meet with hospice nurses, so I didn't stay very long. And on Sunday (December 22) Joyce was in bed, and while Keith tried to wake her up, she was just too tired. Opening your eyes can be such hard work, sometimes. So sad to see her lying in a hospital bed. So happy that she could still be in her own home, because that is what she wanted. I should have stopped in on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, but I saw lots of cars at Joyce's house, and didn't want to get in the way. So when the call came that she had died at 1:30 in the morning on the 26th, I was full of mixed feelings. Sad, because I loved her and will miss her. Happy, because her decline was actually pretty short, and pretty painless, and she was surrounded with people who love her.
And now the back story:
One day, I got a phone call from Kay Cates, who was at the time the Relief Society president of our ward. She told me that there was a sister in our ward who needed a visiting teacher. She said this sister needed a visit every week, at least. She asked me if I could do it. When she told me that the sister was Joyce Payne, what more could I say than "Of course!"
The phone call was actually an answer to prayer for me. I was lonely, and missing my own mother. Joyce reminded me of my mother. They both had four children. My mother lived in Canada, and had only one daughter who lived reasonably close by. Joyce, a native of Virginia, had moved to Utah in order to live close to one of her children, Keith, while the other three lived much further away. Kind of like my mother's family, with three of us thousands of miles away from her.
My mother had liver cancer and died in the Spring of 2003. I was too far away to be able to spend as much time as I would have liked to with her--her death came much faster than I thought it would. When I did go and spend time with my mother, I appreciated her neighbors SO MUCH. I appreciated all they did for her, when we, her children, were too far away to do these things for our mother ourselves.
So, as I was missing my mother, and feeling grateful for the kindnesses shown to her as she grew older and her life drew to a close, and wishing that I could pay it forward somehow...then came the call from Kay Cates.
I did not know Joyce well at the time, but I liked her. She was always happy, and always showed genuine interest in anyone she talked to. I am a little bit shy, and though I had wanted to get to know Joyce better, I hadn't known how to do it. As her visiting teacher, I had a reason to get to know her.
At first, it was difficult for me--I didn't know what to say to Joyce, and she had a hard time putting names and faces together, so it took her a few visits to remember my name. But once she knew who I was, we got along very well. I was very grateful to have her as a friend--I needed her just as much as she needed me. The move to Utah had been difficult for me, and as much as I have grown to love my neighbors since then, feeling accepted by them took a very long time. It was so nice, for me, to have a friend.
Joyce was a good friend. I could drop in for a few minutes, or stay for a longer visit. I was always welcome. She always asked about my family and cared about what was happening to them. I walked to church with her almost every Sunday, unless one of us was out of town. I called her almost every Sunday morning. I tried to take a walk with her a least once a week for the first few years of our friendship, until she had a health care attendant (mostly Diane) who walked with her. After that, I still walked with her occasionally. Sometimes the day was just too beautiful not to stop in and say "Do you want to go for a walk?" Usually, there was a big smile and "Let me just get my sweater!"
We would walk around the park, and Joyce liked to watch the children play. We would say hello to people we passed, and after we were past them, Joyce would say "Do you know who that was?" And sometimes I would say "Yes, that was so and so." And other times I would say, "No. Do you?" And she would say, "No...just being friendly, I guess." We would stop and talk to the horses if they were out in plain sight, too.
I appreciated Joyce so much because she had such an attitude of gratitude. She would say, "I've had a good life. I can't complain." She would recall growing up on the farm, without any of the modern conveniences that we now take for granted. "How do they think of all these things?" she would ask, referring to electricity and cars and planes, and "What will they think of next? Good thing it isn't up to me! I appreciate all the things they think of, but I don't have any great ideas!" Me neither!
Over the years, I learned all about her growing up years in Virginia. She told about falling from a tree, and since they were so far away from any doctor, her father fashioned a cast for her broken arm out of wood. She told about the fire that destroyed their family home, and about staying other places, and finally the new home (that was never quite as big and nice as the one that burned, but for which she was grateful.) About her dad putting the car up on blocks during the winter when it was too cold for the old engine. About the blankets they used in the sleigh in the winter that had pockets for the children to put their hands in. Three pairs of pockets for the three children. About school in the old school house. She told about visits with her grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins--both of her parents came from big families, and how she loved big family gatherings. About going off to Washington, D.C. for secretarial training. Working in the office at the FBI. About her girlfriend, and how they would play tennis. Meeting Rulon, who would become her husband.
She was proud of Rulon. Proud of the fact that he served a mission to Czechoslvakia. Proud of him for keeping his Czech up, and having the language skills that initially got him hired by the FBI. She was proud of Melissa and Dylan for their missionary service. She talked about the missionary who baptized her--how it was at a time when married men went on missions, and her missionary was married, and left a wife behind. (The same thing was true of my brother-in-law LeRon's father, who served a mission at about the same time.) "And that is very unusual" she would say, proud of her out-of-the-ordinary missionary.(And he and his wife attended Joyce's funeral.)
She told lots of stories about her children--and I felt that I knew all of them! (And I did get to know Sandi, Keith and Bonnie, for which I am grateful.) I saw their pictures every week, got the updates on any new pictures. Sometimes we sat together and looked at the pictures in her albums, and she would tell me about the people. I rejoiced with her over weddings and new babies, and sorrowed with her over losses.
Every baby born in the family delighted her, but she was especially excited about the twins--the first set to be born in her family that she knew of. And excited that one twin, Spencer, was named after her dad. She was also excited about Audrey, since that was her mother's name. Until she started fading away the last few years, she talked about Dusty's surfing career, and sometimes I watched some surfing on TV with her. (My surfer nephew is pretty impressed that I know Dusty Payne's grandma!)
Sometimes Joyce came with me to things like school plays that my children were in. Once, we went to the High School, and I was planning to pay for her ticket when she whipped out her wallet and paid for herself and for me and my daughter--"My treat" she said, totally surprising me. My son was on the BYU Folk Dance team, so we took Joyce with us (our treat!) to Christmas around the World. Joyce would walk all the way down the stairs in the Marriott Center, and she was very happy with the experience! Though I am sure these events quickly faded from her memory, I can remember them, and for this I am grateful.
The illness and death of her beloved granddaughter Sharon, from brain cancer, was a great sorrow that Joyce bore with grace. Though she was saddened that someone so young should suffer and be taken like that, she faced it with faith, and did not blame God or allow herself to get angry. (I was sad because I was in Canada when Sharon died and the funeral was over before I got home; I would have wanted to go and be a support to my friend in her time of sorrow.)
I got to attend Joyce's 85th birthday party and meet all the family, though I am sure they did not remember me, one of many of Joyce's new friends. Who knew that she would live to be nearly 92, and that I would get to be friends with her for a good long while? I missed her 90th birthday party, because I was at a conference for work, but my husband went to represent our family. I was really sorry to miss that milestone birthday!
Three stories about Joyce and getting lost:
1. One Sunday, I went to Joyce's so we could walk to church together--this was three or four years ago--and she was not ready. "You go on ahead," she said, "I don't like to make you late." Well, I had misgivings, but it was a nice sunny day with good weather. She would be fine. So I walked on ahead. And then she never came. The sacrament came and went--no Joyce. So I told Bruce I was going to walk back over to her house and look for her, thinking I might meet her on the way. But I didn't. I walked to her house, and the outside door was open, just a crack, not closed and locked as it usually was. I stuck my head inside and called, "Joyce!" No answer. I stepped inside and called to her again--no answer. I didn't want to go wandering through her house uninvited, so I walked back up to the church and talked to Bruce, and then to Sister Cates (it was when she was still the RS pres). So Bruce and Brother Cates went together, in case she had fallen down somewhere, so they could pick her up. They found her strolling along down the street parallel to the church, and walked with her to church. Bruce walked back over to her house to make sure the door was shut. It was. Where she was when I walked over and called to her...I have no clue. Just so relieved she was safe.
2. I went to the Relief Society room after Primary was over to pick Joyce up for the walk home, but instead, Jean T. said, "You don't need to walk her home today. I have invited her to dinner at my house, so she is coming with me." I said, "Oh, that's really nice!" I told them to have a good time and away they went in one direction, while I went the other. Awhile after I got home, Keith calls me, "Myrna, do you know where my mom is? I went to her house to pick her up and bring her to my house for Sunday dinner, but she isn't there." Luckily, I knew! Keith was a little surprised, because his mom "knows" she always goes to Sunday dinner at his house! (I have to smile as I type that, because often I would say "Are you going to Keith's for dinner today?" and she would say, "Oh, I don't know what they have planned for me. I guess I will know if they come and get me!")
3. The first Sunday of 2012 was mild and clear. Our meeting schedule had just changed to 1:00 pm. My daughter Nancy's ward was now meeting at 11:00 am, the time that we had met in 2011. I had not called Sister Payne yet that morning because we didn't meet until 1:00, and I didn't want to call her so far ahead that she would forget it was Sunday between my call and meeting time. About 5 minutes to 11:00, the phone rings, and it is Nancy. "Mom, Sister Payne is here at our ward. I talked to her, reminded her who I was, but she seems a little confused." I said I would get dressed (because I was being lazy that morning) and be there as soon as I could. In the meantime, Nancy saw that the Williamses, who are in our ward, were at her ward, too. So she steered Sister Payne to sit with them, since she had to worry about her two little girls while her husband was playing the organ. I got there and sat in the back with Nancy's in-laws, and could just see Sister Payne. After Sacrament meeting, we were all laughing together because she was confused--and no wonder, not only the Williamses, but also Roger J. were there, as well as Nancy who is a familiar face--there were just enough familiar faces to make it seem enough like her own ward. (For months after this, I always called her at ten, to be sure that she knew not to go to church at eleven!)
Sometimes I worried that Joyce would really get lost, but these small mix-ups were all that I knew of. Even when she was confused, Joyce kept her good humor.
Because Joyce was my friend, I became better friends with other people in our neighborhood like Shannon and Lysa, who also cared about Joyce. Our mutual concern for our dear elderly friend gave us a bond.
Diane and I were talking on the phone after Joyce's death, and we both felt that one of the hardest things about losing a friend like Joyce is that we lose so much more...like Joyce's family. Because we loved Joyce, and she loved her family, we came to love her family, too. Now how will we know about the cool things that Sandi is making (she is so talented at arts and crafts), or where Bonnie and Mike are off to on an adventure, or if one of the grandchildren has a new baby? It is weird, because they aren't our family, and yet we have gotten used to knowing how they are doing, and talking about their lives with Joyce.
I was grateful to be asked to conduct the music at Joyce's funeral. It was nice to collaborate with her grand-daughter-in-law, Jennifer (Audrey's mom) who played the organ. But it was also hard, because I was on the stand, and looking out at the sometimes tearful faces made me cry, too. Lysa was on the stand, too, because she played a harp solo.
I am just so grateful that this wonderful, gracious woman was a part of my life. I am so much a better person for having known her. Any service that I may have given to her was returned to me seven fold, because knowing her was such a blessing to me. I loved her dearly, and will miss our close association very much!
I was thinking that I should buy a sympathy card for her children, but what I really wanted to do was give them a thank you card. Because truly, "thank you for sharing your mother with me!" is what I want to say. I love her dearly, and am so very grateful that she has been a part of my life for eight or nine years--not sure how long it has been, because it has been too short!
Joyce and I have walked to church together almost every Sunday for years--ever since her granddaughter Melissa moved away after living with Joyce for awhile, it has been our habit to walk to church together, interrupted occasionally when Shannon and Floyd G. would give her a ride if it was too icy or snowy. Joyce would usually sit with Shannon and Floyd in sacrament meeting once we got there, and then I would rejoin her for Sunday School and Relief Society, and then we would walk home together.
But a couple of years ago I became the primary chorister--and I totally love primary, so I have been happy to be there--and Shannon has taken over during all the meetings, and even started taking Joyce home for the past year or so. So all I got to do on Sundays was call Joyce in the morning, and walk TO church with her. It was kind of hard for me to share Joyce, because I really enjoyed spending that time walking and talking with her, but I am grateful that Shannon got a chance to do that, too.
Between Joyce not feeling well and conferences and such in October this year, we missed walking for a few weeks and finally (I think it was the last week in October), we walked to church together for the last time. It was really hard going for her. We had to stop and rest quite a few times, and once we got to church, it took her a long time to feel better. It had just been too hard, and I told Shannon, we can't do this anymore. Joyce needs to ride to church. If we asked her, she would say, "Oh, let's walk." She enjoyed living close enough to walk to church, after spending so many years in New York and Virginia, where the church was always a ways away--12 miles, I think she said. So, we decided that Shannon would just always plan to pick her up, and we wouldn't ask her! Because her spirit was willing (and wanting) to walk, but her flesh was, unfortunately, getting weak.
Connie W. came up to me after church that last day of walking and said, "Myrna, you can't have her walking to church anymore! It is just too hard on her!" See--so many people caring about Joyce and looking out for her. I assured Connie that walking to church was over for Joyce; Shannon and I had a new plan.
On Saturday, December 15, Diane (Joyce's home helper) had tried to call me, but I wasn't home. When I called her back, she said that she had needed to go to a granddaughter's dance recital, but she just didn't feel good about leaving Joyce alone; so she had called Shannon, who had gone over to spend time with Joyce.
I called Joyce on Sunday morning, December 16, as is my habit, and she told me she was "slow and pokey" and just not feeling up to going to church, which I already knew because Diane had told me that she and Joyce's son Keith thought Joyce should stay home. But as I was walking to church, I stopped in because I saw that Keith was there, so I knew that if Joyce was resting in bed, my ringing the doorbell wouldn't make her have to get up. Keith opened the door, and I went in. Joyce was up, but much more feeble than the last time I had seen her a week before. Keith said that the family had decided they needed more help for Joyce, to cover more hours of the day, and asked me to talk to Lysa about it. I told Keith to please call me if they needed any help.
And I was so grateful, because he did call me that afternoon! It was a snowy kind of day, and Keith couldn't get out of his place at Sundance very easily due to snowfall, so he asked me to go and check on his mom and help her with her dinner. So I went and let myself in through the garage, and called out to her--the house was completely dark--and found her in bed. She was awake, and said she was a bit hungry. So I went to find her some dinner in the fridge while she attended to bathroom duties. And then we sat together and talked while she ate. We told each other stories from our childhoods--we both grew up on farms, so we had that in common. And we read Christmas stories from the Ensign, and then talked some more. Four times in that evening, Joyce would ask me, "Who are you again? Are you Myrna?" That was not a good sign--it has been years since she has wondered who I was. She didn't always remember how many children I had, or where I grew up, but she always knew me. Still, we spent a happy two and a half hours together. I was worried about leaving Joyce alone, but she didn't want to go back to bed, so I said goodnight. Later, I drove past the house while out running an errand with my son, and the lights were all off, so I knew she had made it back to bed. In retrospect, I am SO grateful that Keith called me, and that I got to spend those precious hours with my dear friend!
I texted Lysa when I got home, and told her what Keith had asked me earlier (about needing more help for his mom), and told Lysa that I had seen on the calendar that Joyce had spent a couple of days in the hospital--December 11 through 13. And that our dear friend was doing less well.
I stopped by again on Monday (December 17) when I got home from work. Diane was there, and we had a nice visit, but Joyce was less alert than usual, though she was up sitting in her chair. Diane told me about the problem that had sent Joyce to the hospital. (Joyce had lost consciousness while at the Senior Centre playing bingo, and the paramedics transported her to the hospital. Her heart had stopped momentarily, but as I understand it, it started on its own.)
Diane suggested we take some pictures! What a great idea--all these years, and I have not thought to take pictures with Joyce!
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| Here we are, with the magnifying glass, ready to read. |
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| And reading successfully! |
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| Smiling for the camera. |
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| My beautiful friend Joyce. |
So, after two days of some pretty good visiting with Joyce, I imagined that she was feeling better, and didn't stop in for a couple of days. Silly me.
On Thursday (Dec. 20), Diane was calling around frantically to find someone to help. Joyce was so weak that one person taking her to the bathroom meant a hard job, and worry about Joyce falling. I didn't answer my phone (I was driving home from work), Lysa was just loading her harp to go and play for the Nutcracker, but the Bishop was on his way to a meeting, and he stopped in to help Diane with Joyce's needs. But she called me a bit later because she needed help again.
So, I ran right over, and spent an hour with Joyce and Diane. Poor sweet Joyce was so tired. Such a big change since Monday. Just sitting on the toilet was so hard for her. I was sitting on a chair in the bathtub on one side, and Diane in the room on the other side, and Joyce would lay her cheek on my hand, and I would stroke her hair. We finally got her back to the living room into her rocking chair, and propped her feet up. I went into the kitchen and got the beautiful bouquet that Bonnie had sent to her mom ready and into a vase, and took it out to show to Joyce. When Keith came, so there were two people to help get Joyce to bed, I decided to go home. I gave Joyce a hug and said, "I love you." She said, "I love you, too." And I am so grateful for that night, too, because those were the last words that Joyce and I said to each other.
When I stopped by on Saturday (December 21) Joyce was in bed, and Keith was getting ready to meet with hospice nurses, so I didn't stay very long. And on Sunday (December 22) Joyce was in bed, and while Keith tried to wake her up, she was just too tired. Opening your eyes can be such hard work, sometimes. So sad to see her lying in a hospital bed. So happy that she could still be in her own home, because that is what she wanted. I should have stopped in on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, but I saw lots of cars at Joyce's house, and didn't want to get in the way. So when the call came that she had died at 1:30 in the morning on the 26th, I was full of mixed feelings. Sad, because I loved her and will miss her. Happy, because her decline was actually pretty short, and pretty painless, and she was surrounded with people who love her.
And now the back story:
One day, I got a phone call from Kay Cates, who was at the time the Relief Society president of our ward. She told me that there was a sister in our ward who needed a visiting teacher. She said this sister needed a visit every week, at least. She asked me if I could do it. When she told me that the sister was Joyce Payne, what more could I say than "Of course!"
The phone call was actually an answer to prayer for me. I was lonely, and missing my own mother. Joyce reminded me of my mother. They both had four children. My mother lived in Canada, and had only one daughter who lived reasonably close by. Joyce, a native of Virginia, had moved to Utah in order to live close to one of her children, Keith, while the other three lived much further away. Kind of like my mother's family, with three of us thousands of miles away from her.
My mother had liver cancer and died in the Spring of 2003. I was too far away to be able to spend as much time as I would have liked to with her--her death came much faster than I thought it would. When I did go and spend time with my mother, I appreciated her neighbors SO MUCH. I appreciated all they did for her, when we, her children, were too far away to do these things for our mother ourselves.
So, as I was missing my mother, and feeling grateful for the kindnesses shown to her as she grew older and her life drew to a close, and wishing that I could pay it forward somehow...then came the call from Kay Cates.
I did not know Joyce well at the time, but I liked her. She was always happy, and always showed genuine interest in anyone she talked to. I am a little bit shy, and though I had wanted to get to know Joyce better, I hadn't known how to do it. As her visiting teacher, I had a reason to get to know her.
At first, it was difficult for me--I didn't know what to say to Joyce, and she had a hard time putting names and faces together, so it took her a few visits to remember my name. But once she knew who I was, we got along very well. I was very grateful to have her as a friend--I needed her just as much as she needed me. The move to Utah had been difficult for me, and as much as I have grown to love my neighbors since then, feeling accepted by them took a very long time. It was so nice, for me, to have a friend.
Joyce was a good friend. I could drop in for a few minutes, or stay for a longer visit. I was always welcome. She always asked about my family and cared about what was happening to them. I walked to church with her almost every Sunday, unless one of us was out of town. I called her almost every Sunday morning. I tried to take a walk with her a least once a week for the first few years of our friendship, until she had a health care attendant (mostly Diane) who walked with her. After that, I still walked with her occasionally. Sometimes the day was just too beautiful not to stop in and say "Do you want to go for a walk?" Usually, there was a big smile and "Let me just get my sweater!"
We would walk around the park, and Joyce liked to watch the children play. We would say hello to people we passed, and after we were past them, Joyce would say "Do you know who that was?" And sometimes I would say "Yes, that was so and so." And other times I would say, "No. Do you?" And she would say, "No...just being friendly, I guess." We would stop and talk to the horses if they were out in plain sight, too.
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| Joyce swinging in the park, 20 June 2011 (photo by Diane Singleton) |
Over the years, I learned all about her growing up years in Virginia. She told about falling from a tree, and since they were so far away from any doctor, her father fashioned a cast for her broken arm out of wood. She told about the fire that destroyed their family home, and about staying other places, and finally the new home (that was never quite as big and nice as the one that burned, but for which she was grateful.) About her dad putting the car up on blocks during the winter when it was too cold for the old engine. About the blankets they used in the sleigh in the winter that had pockets for the children to put their hands in. Three pairs of pockets for the three children. About school in the old school house. She told about visits with her grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins--both of her parents came from big families, and how she loved big family gatherings. About going off to Washington, D.C. for secretarial training. Working in the office at the FBI. About her girlfriend, and how they would play tennis. Meeting Rulon, who would become her husband.
She was proud of Rulon. Proud of the fact that he served a mission to Czechoslvakia. Proud of him for keeping his Czech up, and having the language skills that initially got him hired by the FBI. She was proud of Melissa and Dylan for their missionary service. She talked about the missionary who baptized her--how it was at a time when married men went on missions, and her missionary was married, and left a wife behind. (The same thing was true of my brother-in-law LeRon's father, who served a mission at about the same time.) "And that is very unusual" she would say, proud of her out-of-the-ordinary missionary.(And he and his wife attended Joyce's funeral.)
She told lots of stories about her children--and I felt that I knew all of them! (And I did get to know Sandi, Keith and Bonnie, for which I am grateful.) I saw their pictures every week, got the updates on any new pictures. Sometimes we sat together and looked at the pictures in her albums, and she would tell me about the people. I rejoiced with her over weddings and new babies, and sorrowed with her over losses.
Every baby born in the family delighted her, but she was especially excited about the twins--the first set to be born in her family that she knew of. And excited that one twin, Spencer, was named after her dad. She was also excited about Audrey, since that was her mother's name. Until she started fading away the last few years, she talked about Dusty's surfing career, and sometimes I watched some surfing on TV with her. (My surfer nephew is pretty impressed that I know Dusty Payne's grandma!)
Sometimes Joyce came with me to things like school plays that my children were in. Once, we went to the High School, and I was planning to pay for her ticket when she whipped out her wallet and paid for herself and for me and my daughter--"My treat" she said, totally surprising me. My son was on the BYU Folk Dance team, so we took Joyce with us (our treat!) to Christmas around the World. Joyce would walk all the way down the stairs in the Marriott Center, and she was very happy with the experience! Though I am sure these events quickly faded from her memory, I can remember them, and for this I am grateful.
The illness and death of her beloved granddaughter Sharon, from brain cancer, was a great sorrow that Joyce bore with grace. Though she was saddened that someone so young should suffer and be taken like that, she faced it with faith, and did not blame God or allow herself to get angry. (I was sad because I was in Canada when Sharon died and the funeral was over before I got home; I would have wanted to go and be a support to my friend in her time of sorrow.)
I got to attend Joyce's 85th birthday party and meet all the family, though I am sure they did not remember me, one of many of Joyce's new friends. Who knew that she would live to be nearly 92, and that I would get to be friends with her for a good long while? I missed her 90th birthday party, because I was at a conference for work, but my husband went to represent our family. I was really sorry to miss that milestone birthday!
Three stories about Joyce and getting lost:
1. One Sunday, I went to Joyce's so we could walk to church together--this was three or four years ago--and she was not ready. "You go on ahead," she said, "I don't like to make you late." Well, I had misgivings, but it was a nice sunny day with good weather. She would be fine. So I walked on ahead. And then she never came. The sacrament came and went--no Joyce. So I told Bruce I was going to walk back over to her house and look for her, thinking I might meet her on the way. But I didn't. I walked to her house, and the outside door was open, just a crack, not closed and locked as it usually was. I stuck my head inside and called, "Joyce!" No answer. I stepped inside and called to her again--no answer. I didn't want to go wandering through her house uninvited, so I walked back up to the church and talked to Bruce, and then to Sister Cates (it was when she was still the RS pres). So Bruce and Brother Cates went together, in case she had fallen down somewhere, so they could pick her up. They found her strolling along down the street parallel to the church, and walked with her to church. Bruce walked back over to her house to make sure the door was shut. It was. Where she was when I walked over and called to her...I have no clue. Just so relieved she was safe.
2. I went to the Relief Society room after Primary was over to pick Joyce up for the walk home, but instead, Jean T. said, "You don't need to walk her home today. I have invited her to dinner at my house, so she is coming with me." I said, "Oh, that's really nice!" I told them to have a good time and away they went in one direction, while I went the other. Awhile after I got home, Keith calls me, "Myrna, do you know where my mom is? I went to her house to pick her up and bring her to my house for Sunday dinner, but she isn't there." Luckily, I knew! Keith was a little surprised, because his mom "knows" she always goes to Sunday dinner at his house! (I have to smile as I type that, because often I would say "Are you going to Keith's for dinner today?" and she would say, "Oh, I don't know what they have planned for me. I guess I will know if they come and get me!")
3. The first Sunday of 2012 was mild and clear. Our meeting schedule had just changed to 1:00 pm. My daughter Nancy's ward was now meeting at 11:00 am, the time that we had met in 2011. I had not called Sister Payne yet that morning because we didn't meet until 1:00, and I didn't want to call her so far ahead that she would forget it was Sunday between my call and meeting time. About 5 minutes to 11:00, the phone rings, and it is Nancy. "Mom, Sister Payne is here at our ward. I talked to her, reminded her who I was, but she seems a little confused." I said I would get dressed (because I was being lazy that morning) and be there as soon as I could. In the meantime, Nancy saw that the Williamses, who are in our ward, were at her ward, too. So she steered Sister Payne to sit with them, since she had to worry about her two little girls while her husband was playing the organ. I got there and sat in the back with Nancy's in-laws, and could just see Sister Payne. After Sacrament meeting, we were all laughing together because she was confused--and no wonder, not only the Williamses, but also Roger J. were there, as well as Nancy who is a familiar face--there were just enough familiar faces to make it seem enough like her own ward. (For months after this, I always called her at ten, to be sure that she knew not to go to church at eleven!)
Sometimes I worried that Joyce would really get lost, but these small mix-ups were all that I knew of. Even when she was confused, Joyce kept her good humor.
Because Joyce was my friend, I became better friends with other people in our neighborhood like Shannon and Lysa, who also cared about Joyce. Our mutual concern for our dear elderly friend gave us a bond.
Diane and I were talking on the phone after Joyce's death, and we both felt that one of the hardest things about losing a friend like Joyce is that we lose so much more...like Joyce's family. Because we loved Joyce, and she loved her family, we came to love her family, too. Now how will we know about the cool things that Sandi is making (she is so talented at arts and crafts), or where Bonnie and Mike are off to on an adventure, or if one of the grandchildren has a new baby? It is weird, because they aren't our family, and yet we have gotten used to knowing how they are doing, and talking about their lives with Joyce.
I was grateful to be asked to conduct the music at Joyce's funeral. It was nice to collaborate with her grand-daughter-in-law, Jennifer (Audrey's mom) who played the organ. But it was also hard, because I was on the stand, and looking out at the sometimes tearful faces made me cry, too. Lysa was on the stand, too, because she played a harp solo.
I am just so grateful that this wonderful, gracious woman was a part of my life. I am so much a better person for having known her. Any service that I may have given to her was returned to me seven fold, because knowing her was such a blessing to me. I loved her dearly, and will miss our close association very much!
