My friend, Irene Bates Dunjohn, a member of the greatest generation led an extraordinary life. She was an accomplished and remarkable woman who passed from this earth last February.
A memorial service was scheduled for September 16. Afterward her ashes were to be sent to their final resting place at Arlington National Cemetery. Irene's stepdaughters were flying over from the United Kingdom to attend.
Unfortunately due to the high rate of Covid cases here in Florida the service had to be cancelled. But anyone blessed enough to have had Irene in their lives will treasure her memory for a lifetime.
I met Irene at a luncheon shortly after my father's death. We both arrived early and seated ourselves at different tables, alone. The host put us together.
Irene was hearing impaired as was my father although not to that extent.
My dad was deaf as the proverbial post, but refused to get a hearing aid. I was literally forced to scream the words whenever I spoke to him. And still, he could barely make out a word I said! My natural speaking voice became blaring!
When I met Irene, I was one of the few people she could actually understand. This is how we first clicked and bonded.
Irene and I quickly became close friends and went places together enjoying a variety of activities. However I needed to do a balancing act in public. It required speaking loud enough for Irene to understand, yet quietly so as not to disturb others.
This was not always possible and sometimes proved embarrassing.
One time in particular at a restaurant I was complaining about those male enhancement ads that were constantly popping up in my email. "Can't they see that Dianne is a feminine name?" I said. "And I don't own that particular organ. They needn't tell me how to enlarge my penis!"
"Your what?" Irene asked curiously.
"My penis!" I shouted back. --Every head in the restaurant turned and stared at me. My complexion probably turned every shade of red imaginable.
We both laughed about it afterward.
In retrospect, Irene was a genuine stormy weather friend! She was there for me always and me for her. We were an integral part of each other's lives until she moved back to the U.K. to get married. I was happy for her, yet sad at the same time.
I've always felt that true family are the ones we choose to have in our lives, rather than those forced upon us by blood or marriage.
After the death of her second husband Kenneth, Irene moved back to Vero Beach. By this time, sadly, age was taking its toll.
A talented writer, Irene long had an idea for a novel with characters loosely based on experiences during her younger years in New York City. However Irene didn't write fiction, so she asked me to ghostwrite it.
Our novel is titled: SEED OF DECEIT and forever links us together of which I am proud!
No comments:
Post a Comment