Our Dodie

She was 97 long years old. Lucille French, but everyone knew her as Dodie. I knew her as the planet’s spunkiest, feistiest, most absolutely hysterical great grandmother. I just wish I’d known her more.

For most, if not all of my life, she’d lived in Virginia. I’d only spent time with her on a handful of occasions. But those memories stuck. One visit had us rolling on the floor and holding our guts (not uncommon when in the presence of Dodie). She was telling us about some new medication her doctor had put her on. “It’s that purple one. Ya know, the purple pill? Isn’t that for sex?” (OMG, did Alyse just write that in her blog?! GASP!!) To which we explained between bursts of laughter, “No, Dodie, we’re pretty sure you mean Nexium. That’s definitely not for sex.”

I may keep a blog, but my dad’s the real writer. Yesterday, as he struggled with how he would make urgent (and ultimately unsuccessful travel arrangements due to VA’s declared state of emergency) to see his precious grandmother one final time, he wrote this:

“I love you my Dodie. How does a grandson put in words the effect and the affection of a dear grandmother as she passes at 97?

A Radio City Rockette who caught the eye of Astaire, later to be denied a movie roll by her parents. A mover and shaker in AVON Corporation, with the guts to march into the president’s office, insisting on the first management position to be given to a woman. A faithful wife and mother of three boys. A staunch conservative, rallying the seniors in assisted living to form a republican club… even into her 90’s. How many through the early years, were the weeks away, just the three of us, Dodie, Gramps and I. Then… at the age of 11, the summer in Vermont.

There, literally clinging to our guns and our religion, we watched the Republican National Convention on the old black and white. Much that would come to define me was birthed that summer… an appreciation for musical “ear” training, a hunger for the discovery of French family genealogy, common sense conservatism and compassion for the poor and less fortunate. Endless hours would be spent entertaining Dodie on the Hammond organ, as I sang Beatles songs donning one of her wigs and a pair of big sunglasses. There I stole my first cigarette, harvested a bushel of frog legs and learned that while my grandparents had an easy enough time making money, they had a hard time giving it away without an annual dose of IRS interrogation.

Many years later, I would venture back to that country home in West Wardsboro with my children. This time, welcomed by new owners, we would enjoy a full tour… from the pond to the snake pit, from my old bedroom to the shower where I was embarrassed by Gramps (some stories don’t bear repeating). Dodie’s life, however, does bear repeating, and there will be ample opportunity to enjoy that in the days to come.

As her feisty spunky amazing self is ushered heavenward, we will love on her memory as we have loved on her presence these many years. While her body lay failing, heart tired, hands week and breath faint… this grandson reaches with all that our God has given, in years and in tears, in joy and in certainty that we will meet again. I love you my Dodie, and I will miss you until then. – André”

Dodie died around 7pm last night, having gone rapidly downhill after the stroke she suffered the week before. After I heard the news, my dad sent me the following text. “Hi sweetie… She requested to go out glamorously, so in a stunning red sweater, bright lipstick, makeup and hair done, she graduated. :)” Just like our Dodie.

It has been a sad week. But now we rejoice in the absolute fact that Dodie is with her Savior who she loved so much. And we can be sure He’s laughing both at her, and very, very near her. :)