Dorothy
My friend Dorothy died at 8pm last Wednesday. She was old and falling apart and ready for it and I was ready to let her go but now I’m thinking of the things that will never happen again. No more going to Dorothy’s place to eat lunch and play word games while telling outrageous jokes. Though I’m not sure Dorothy heard so well towards the end. Her mind was clear but her sight was going and so was her hearing. She was in a wheelchair with no reason to wear shoes anymore. She was locked more and more inside her head and couldn’t read the books she loved.
She was born so many years ago in Hong Kong where her father was an official of some sort. She used to talk about her “amah”, the lady who looked after her as a child. She finished growing up in Southport and was a nurse in Brisbane during the second world war. She made me write a book review once, because she recommended a book called Tell Morning This by Kylie Tennant and I begged her to loan it to me. I think she was disappointed with my thoughts, at least a little, in that I missed some of the things she saw. But it was about girls and American soldiers in Sydney during the second world war and I guess she had more insight than a post-war child like me.
She married Reg who drew neat little pictures of places they travelled to. They had three children. I don’t recall ever meeting Edward, or at least not till the funeral. I met Robert a few times but I know Posy best. She looked after her mum and hosted those wonderful lunches. Dorothy was the mother of a dynasty; a family tree grew from her and she lived to see her great-grandchildren. One great-great-grandchild was born before she died but she was in Scotland and Dorothy never met her except by photo. When I had troubles with my family, Dorothy was there for me. She invited me to join her family on Boxing Day. She wondered how my family could reject a person like me. Along with other friends I was lucky to be one of her ‘sci-fi’ daughters.
Dorothy loved books and travel. We bonded over the Darkover books but there were so many other books I read because Dorothy recommended them. Sometimes I even read Dorothy’s copy. I’d never have known about all the David Weber books, or read Anne Bishop’s stories about The Others if Dorothy hadn’t told me about them. Often, she’d pass me books because she thought I might like to read them.
Of her travel stories I only remember one, when she visited a mansion and felt such a welcome. She was told she was greeted by the ghost of one of the former residents, who always greets people he likes. She really liked that.
I was sitting in my car, parked at the place overlooking Lion Island and the Broken Bay heads. Lots of sparrows fly around the area. I’ve tried to take photos so many times, but they never stay perched in one place for long so I usually don’t manage to get the phone camera focussed. This time, for the first time ever, a sparrow perched on the driver’s side mirror and sat there looking at me. Dorothy came into my mind. I hope she is happy and free somewhere outside my experience.