Don't Forget the Old Ones

Whew! Today we got everything packed that needs to go into boxes except for the few kitchen, bathroom, and linen items we will pack up the night of March 26^th for the movers to pick up on the 27^th. I plan to spend the rest of this week planning out future legs of our road trip. Next week is reserved for house cleaning and more road trip preparation.

Today I made a phone call that was difficult for me to make. NB is a friend of our family. We have known her since Joe moved into the house in 1993. Thirty years. NB’s mom lived next door to us and the two of them worked at our wedding reception to get hot food on the table and cleaned the kitchen at the end of the day. We always appreciated their help and they both loved our daughter, Megan to pieces. NB had her own piece of property in the Woodland countryside and raised goats, may have had a few cows at different times, chickens, and horses. She came into town every weekday morning though to dress for work at her UC Davis job and have a cup of coffee with her mom. And every morning she would leave a quarter in a small porcelain basket for Megan.

It was a ritual from the time Megan was two years old until she started school (and maybe beyond). After NB’s mom passed away her mom’s house sold, NB no longer came to town every morning. We stayed in touch though and saw each other at least once a month. A number of years ago now, their barns burnt down when three separate fires converged on their property. The fire was caused by PG&E wires meeting up with trees and brush. Joe, Megan, Lauren and I went out for a day and used magnetic sweepers around the property to pick up nails before the new barns could be rebuilt. At the end of the day we were covered in black ash and there were three 55-gallon drums full of nails from the burnt barns. It made us feel less powerless to be able to help NB in some small way. She lost animals in the fire and she loved all of her animals. She was feeling devastated by the losses – not that she would say anything about feelings. It is not her style.

NB’s dad died on her fifth birthday. He was in a plane accident. Hard enough to lose your dad at that age and on your birthday made it even more difficult. NB’s mom raised NB and her younger brother as a single mom. NB is fiercely independent and dare I say a bit head strong. Like her mom, she loves Joe and often gave him straw from the goat bedding for his garden. I knew when Joe was going out to the farm it was going to be a couple of hours of visiting. NB’s husband, until his retirement about 10 years ago, was a real cowboy on a working ranch in Yolo County.

I know this is a lot of background. Back to the beginning. It was a tough phone call to make to her today as we have not talked in about 6 years. She still had kept up with Joe until COVID-19 struck. The reason this call was tough is because I did something crappy six years ago. I stood NB up for a lunch date. She did not call me while at the restaurant and ask me where in the heck I was. Nope. She would not have even thought to do that. This was back when I thought I could remember everything and so I didn’t write down the luncheon.  Instead she called me a day or so after and told me how she sat at Applebee’s for 2 hours before realizing I was a no-show. I worked across the street from Applebee’s at the time. I could have walked and been there in 5 minutes. 

When she did call me a day or so later and told me she was upset. I did apologize. It was not enough though. I asked to reschedule, she refused. She would still call me once in a while to ask Joe to pick up the straw. When I tried to engage her in further conversation, she would have to go take care of something on the farm. I felt I had wronged her and she would never forgive me. It became easier for me to stop trying to call her and when she gave up raising goats, she stopped calling us all together.

Okay, I know! It was a tough call to make today. She answered her mobile phone and I identified myself,

Me: “Hi, N, this is Beth Coehlo.”

Her: “Beth, who?”

Me: “Beth Coehlo”

Her: “Do I know you?”

            For a moment I was worried she had dementia.

Me: “Joe Coehlo’s wife, Beth.”

Her: “Oh. Joe’s Beth! It is so good to hear from you.”

I told her about our upcoming move to Minnesota. She had not known that Megan moved there two years ago. She was excited for us and said, “Joe will love having his garden there! Probably a good time to get out of California.”

We ended up having a nice chat for about 8-10 minutes. About the maximum time NB will stay on the phone. She asked me to write to her once in a while and to send pictures of the grandbabies so she can see them. She does not, “do the computer thing.”

And I will write to her. She left my baby girl a quarter 5 days a week for years. It made them both happy. I feel relieved that I made the phone call. I would hate for one day to wake up and discover it was too late to have made the connection with her one more time.