When I was sixteen, my family moved from California to the Midwest. This was a difficult move for me as I faced my senior year in a small town in Northwest Indiana. Most of my friends were at least twice my age for I had difficulty identifying with the other juniors and seniors at my high school. I was different, they were different and life just seemed brutally unfair.

My first month in La Porte, I met a woman named Ernestine Roberta Bayer, who was the sister of my first boss. Such a huge name for a such a petite lady. We all called her Bobbie, the name fit her sarcastic wit and lonely life perfectly. And she was lonely but not totally by choice. Bobbie suffered severely from Rheumatoid Arthritis. Her hands were already terribly deformed when we met, she had to be only about 38-years old. She had great difficulty walking and there were times when her acerbic character appeared grumpy and stand-offish. Though really, she ached for romance and to live a normal, happy life. 

I think it helped her to push others away instead of having them get too close or look at her deformities for too long or ask too many questions. And through it all, she was incredibly gifted artistically. With bent and misshapen hands, she could still create beautiful little crafts, painting, crochet, cross stitch and dolls. She made dolls that looked like famous people. Like the President's wives or queens or Eliza Doolittle, Scarlett O'Hara etc. They were all hand-crafted, requiring tedious, little, pin-pointed applications of jewels or glitter or the making of tiny replicas of well-remembered dresses or outfits worn by these famous women. I marveled at her ability, especially given her handicap.

I wouldn't let her push me away; she tried. I was fascinated by her crusty attitude and spunky air. She never minced words or felt sorry for herself, not out loud anyway. She plugged along day in and day out, never complaining unless one of her cats got out or wouldn't come out from under the couch to say hello. I would often show up at her place around lunch time, bringing lunch for both of us or she would make sandwiches and we would plant our butts in front of the television to watch our stories. She was good people and I learned a lot about survival from her.

I had planned on visiting Bobbie while I was in Indiana last week but she was very ill having just been transferred to an acute care facility about an hour outside of La Porte; she was heavily sedated and would have been unaware of my presence. She passed away the day after I left. Her brand was indelible. The impact her survival had on my life altered who I became as an adult.
And her disability never stopped her ability.

Rest in quiet Peace, my sweet friend..., thanks for the life lesson.

© by rayannethorn