By: Marlene Oxender
If someone had told me years ago that I’d become a writer, I would have believed them. My only question would’ve been what I’d be writing about. Everyone needs a subject.
Now I know the answer. Sorting through an estate leaves you with many thoughts about “things.” About history. About family. About the way things used to be.
As I was growing up in Edgerton, it seemed everyone knew everyone. And everyone lived in the same house they’d always lived in.
As an adult, my job as a home health nurse took me into homes, I was already familiar with. The best part was the opportunity to reconnect with family and friends.
Back in 2001, our friend Betty Wickerham, who lived two blocks from the house I grew up in, was a hospice patient. My parents knew that Betty’s health had been declining, and I was one of Betty’s home care nurses.
I remember going to my parents’ house for lunch after visiting Betty on a Saturday morning. In the conversation with Mom, she told me that Betty had taken care of me when I was a newborn. I was baby number nine in our family.
My older brothers and sisters helped Mom care for the younger siblings, and Betty came to our home to rock the newest baby.
My mom’s story was believable, and I can still hear her words, “Well, she held you.” There I was, decades later, finding out I was taking care of someone at the end of her life who had cared for me at the beginning of my life. I could picture her holding me.
Betty and her twin brother, “Bud,” were born prematurely in 1925. Both of them had poor vision, but Betty was legally blind. One thing I remember about her is the way she smiled nearly all the time.
She was quiet, but she had a beautiful singing voice and often sang at weddings. She taught herself to play the guitar and even recorded a song in Fort Wayne.
Within my mother’s collection of newspaper clippings was a story about Betty’s parents. I don’t think my mom wrote the article, but she saved it, and I decided to share it.
Conscious Is A Persistent Taskmaster
Mrs. Veda Wickerham received a delicate little gold-mounted red birthstone ring in her mailbox this past Saturday morning that might have quite a fascinating story to tell if it could talk.
Mrs. Wickerham had seen the ring before, 48 years ago! It had been stolen from her purse at a dance in a hall above what is now the Edgerton State Bank in 1923, and she had never had a clue as to its location or proprietorship since that time.
She and husband Leland were not yet married then, but were thinking about it and he had bought the ring for her as a gift.
It was too large to safely fit her finger and she carried it in her purse so as not to lose it. It was stolen while she was in the ladies’ room during that dance.
The ring was mailed in a small box on Friday from the Bryan post office, addressed to her husband, and contained a small note, shakily written and unsigned, asking “may I be forgiven.”
Mrs. Wickerham says the incident is wholly pleasing to her, although somewhat spooky, and that she is most happy to forgive the person who has had such guilt on his mind for so long even though she hasn’t the slightest idea who it would be.
You can’t blame her for wondering, however.
After I read this story, I agreed it makes you wonder. I wondered where the ring is now and if the note still exists. I wanted to ask a family member what they knew.
So, when I ran into Darcy Kimpel Carnahan at the grocery store, I told her I’d text a copy of the story to her. Darcy’s mother, Dolores, was a sister to Veda – making Darcy a niece.
Darcy contacted her cousin, Tony Wickerham, who remembered the incident. He knew that Veda had kept the ring in a little square box with cotton under it.
My mental picture of the person who’d returned the ring was that of an elderly man. A man asking for forgiveness in a “shakily written and unsigned” note.
He was young when he stole the ring and old when he returned it. Over the years, he’d had plenty of opportunities to review the story in his mind. Maybe he felt he’d lived through a plot twist: What he thought would bring happiness turned out to be an emotional burden he’d carried for 48 years.
The article described Veda’s ring as “delicate.” It was gold-mounted with a red stone. It was a jewel. A gem. Something that most of us would treasure. But the new owner would not be able to enjoy the ring he’d taken from another person – a person he knew by name.
Thus, the title of the article – “Conscious Is A Persistent Taskmaster.” “Conscious” means “aware of and responding to one’s surroundings.” “Persistent” means “continuing to exist or endure over a prolonged period.” And a taskmaster is “a person who imposes a harsh or onerous workload on someone.”
As the newspaper article pointed out, if the ring could talk, it might have a fascinating story to tell.
In turn, if the person who’d taken the ring could share his thoughts, it’d be interesting. He’d tell us that we sometimes make mistakes we won’t soon forget.
Mistakes that will cause us to search for ways to make amends and undo what we’ve done. In this case, returning the ring without revealing his name was the choice he’d made.
At the end of our lives, there are things that will matter. The way we gave to others – even if we’d done so anonymously. The forgiveness we asked for. The forgiveness we gave in return.
The lessons we learned. The guitars we played. The songs we sang. The young mothers we helped. The babies we rocked. And the care and love we left behind.
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Marlene Oxender is a writer, speaker, and author. She writes about growing up in the small town of Edgerton, her ten siblings, the memorabilia in her parents’ estate, and her late younger brother, Stevie Kimpel, who was born with Down syndrome. Her two recently published books, Picket Fences and Stevie, are available on Amazon. Marlene can be reached at mpoxender@gmail.com