Who is Virginia? To most of you, she will mean little. To me, she was my mother. She died, after years of struggle with Multiple Sclerosis, Post-Polio, and kidney failure, passing quietly late Thursday night, the 12th of June, in St Vincent's Hospital in Portland.
As so often happens, you only learn some facts about your parents when they have passed. I knew that my parents, both pharmacists, worked in multiple ways to help others - volunteering as pharmacists in health clinics in the disadvantaged areas of town (often working until 2am on days when they had to open the family pharmacy in Multnomah at 7am), and working with various non-profit childrens homes. But one story, newly heard from my sister-in-law, stands out in my mind.
In between Multnomah (where the pharmacy was) and Hillsdale, there was a section of low-income housing. Before meeting my brother, my sis-in-law was friends with one of the boys living there. His mom was as single mother, struggling to make ends meet as so many have for so long.
And she became ill. Very ill. She came down with pneumonia.
They had no medical insurance, no benefits, and little ability to absorb the costs of medicine, medical care, and even the necessities of life that she was too ill to take care of. But, one afternoon, someone knocked on the door.
It was my mom.
She came with medicines, sundries, food, and necessities for the family. In between taking care of our family (with three boys) and working with dad at the pharmacy, she came over, helped, cared for the woman, cleaned, and otherwise did whatever was necessary to help them through this difficult time, until she recovered and was able to take care of herself and her family. She did it with no thought of recompense, no thought of personal glory, no thought other than to help another person in need.
That was my mother. That was my family.
I was going to write more, but at the memorial, my niece Thyrza talked about her grandmother, and said quite eloquently what I wanted to say. Here she is:
I have no memory of my grandmother when she was healthy. And even the memories of her walking unassisted are the vague memories of a child. Yet to me, she was one of the strongest people I knew.
That one person in my family that I was always able to connect with, no matter how much time we spent apart
I knew her intuitively - through the stories of things she had done before I was born; through spending time with her; and by the things we did together.
I am told I share many qualities in common with my grandmother. And while I don't exactly know why people tell me I'm like her, I do know that we shared common interests. An example of this would be a relationship that only she and I knew about. It benefited a quality about each of us that anyone who has ever known either of us knows about.
My Great Great Aunt Eleanor, Virginia's Aunt, wrote in her diary that she knew Virginia had visited because the candy bowl would be empty by the time she left. However, even before knowing this particular story, we were silent partners in crime.
Oh yes, my Grandmother's irresistible desire for sweets was passed on directly through the genetic chain to me. And when I was younger, this near addiction to sugar got me into trouble pretty much wherever I went. Every place... save one.
When I was younger Grandmother always had some kind of candy in a bowl or jar near her. It was irresistible... and so I would steal it without even asking. I knew she could see me doing it. And she let me. And I never got in trouble for it.
This relationship however, extended both ways.
One of the first things I can remember about Grandma is that she was always on a special diet. And, even in knowing this, when holidays or family celebrations came around, we would sit together, hovering near a bowl of easily snitchable sweets... and I would watch the master at work.
She would sit in a way that didn't really attract attention. Then she would carefully look left...right...behind her... scanning the room carefully to make sure that Grandpa was distracted. Then she would reach over, her hand sneaking across the table like a snake... Then the hand struck, and she would snitch a candy and pop it into her mouth.
She would steal it.
And I would let her. And she never once got in trouble for it.
Sweets were hardly the only common interest we shared. Both of us had a love and passion for animals. We would sit and speak for what it seemed like hours about the animals in our lives, past and present.
And one day, while I was in the stage of childhood where every question seems to start with ‘what if', I asked her what kind of a pet she would like to have, aside from her cat 'Killer'. She looked up at me with an almost sad childlike expression, and raised an eyebrow at me before replying "A boa constrictor" She replied "But Sherman won't let me have one."
"When I was younger, I could have gotten a Lion" She continued "But my mother didn't let me have that either."
She was not the cookie baking, sweet-hearted grandma that pinched your cheek and adored everything you did no matter what it was. She listened to me, challenged me... and even the last time I spoke to her - to tell her I had passed the West-B teacher's exams with flying colors - I got the reply I had always gotten from her.
"Good Enough." She replied in a proud, happy tone.
It said, in so many words, "I love you, I'm proud of you, I'm happy for your success... now go off and do better."
My fondest memory of her however, is when she was not even there.
You see, there is a pharmaceutical school at my collage. And one day while I was waiting at the bus stop, I overheard a group of Muslim girls talking.
It's not all that uncommon to see women on my campus wearing the traditional clothing of their religious culture. And some of these girls are so covered up, you can only see their eyes. They were talking about how very hard it was to continue with getting their pharmaceutical degree, with all this pressure from their families to get married, and the discrimination they were fighting against on many fronts.
You see, these young women want to become pharmacists, so they can return to the middle east and offer their skills in a place they not only love, but to people who very much need their skills.
I felt compelled then, to speak of my own grandmother to these young women. I told them how my grandmother graduated, at 16, from high school, entered college, and graduated with a degree in pharmacy, all at a time when the educational system - the culture at colleges and universities - generally made things difficult for women who wanted a career in the hard sciences. I told them how she had to take organic chemistry TWICE in order to pass the class, because her first professor refused to pass her, just because she was a woman.
Nobody in their right mind would want to take that class once, let alone twice.
These women were quiet when I told them, and said little as we parted ways, and I didn't know what an impact the story had on them until one of them approached me a while later and told me she was motivated by my grandmothers story.
She had just received her bachelor's degree in pharmacy, and was accepted at the University of Washington to get her masters and eventually her doctorate. And she wanted to thank me for my grandmother's inspiration.
At that moment, I had realized how very easy it is to take something for granted when it is always available to you. The fact is, I've never once been told I could not do something because I was a woman. The doors to every educational field have always been open to me. And it was only then, I realized that without people like my grandmother, this freedom would never have been possible.
I would like to take this opportunity for all of us to remember her for that. A woman who loved sports, the outdoors, fishing, and the sciences, at a time when the cultural expectation of women was very different. Without her, and many gutsy women like her, millions of women across the world would still be facing the kind of discrimination my grandmother had to fight against.
And think about the women of this generation in other parts of the world, who can use their stories, examples and inspiration as motivation for change.
It is a legacy. A legacy I hope everyone, especially all the young women out there who take their education for granted, will never forget. The world will thankfully never be the same.
In conclusion, I would like to tell you of another story that I am sure she wouldn't have minded me sharing with you today. Next Wednesday is the 25th of June, and twenty two years ago it was a rather eventful day for my family.
On that day, at 11:35PM, a mere half an hour before the 26th, I was born. An "almost" birthday present you could say, to my Grandmother.
I have always thought about my birthday as being ‘our' birthday. And believe me, this has hit me rather hard.
We are now celebrating her life, when I was expecting to share another birthday with my "birthday buddy".
I won't lie. this hurts more deeply than anything I have ever experienced before. But more than that... I think that this year, I have received the best of birthday presents - the gift of twenty two years with her that I might not have had, except through her determination, willpower... the incredibly strong woman my grandmother was... And especially through the devotion, skill and time my Grandfather devoted to her.
They both gave me the time to get to know her, love her... connect with her... time she may not otherwise have had to spend. For that time - and to be standing here today sharing these stories about her - I am eternally grateful. It is a gift that can never be repaid
Thank you
Inspiration comes in big ways - in heroic actions, lifetimes dedicated to righting wrongs, sacrifices that change the world. It also comes in smaller ways - quieter, personal ways that change the lives of one or two people at a time.
Virginia was an inspiration.
Virginia Myrl Watkins Hess. My mother. I celebrate her life, I honor her life, and I love her. Be well, whatever may happen after death, mom.