By: Marlene Oxender
One of the greeting cards in my gratitude journal is a card I’d received from my friend Cassie Baden. She was a phone buddy of mine, and I miss her and her encouraging ways.
Although Cassie’s hands were crippled with rheumatoid, she managed to write beautiful, inspiring words in the cards she’d send to her friends. She passed away at the age of 76 on her birthday back in September of 2018.
In the card she’d given me, she told me how proud she was of how I live my life with passion. She also told me that I grieve with passion, and she encouraged me to take all my energy for good health and point it in a positive direction.
Her written message of encouragement ended with “May the joy in your life be multiplied and enjoyed by all who know you! Love and hugs, Cassie.”
Cassie’s love for reading was apparent as she spoke of her wonderful circle of friends who attended book club with her and the books she’d been reading.
There were times she’d tell me what the characters in the books were up to, and I learned of many great authors through Cassie’s stories about stories.
Cassie was twenty years older than I, and I valued her opinion and wit. She had a crazy way of knowing when to call, what to say, and honestly, what to give to someone.
I remember the day I met Cassie and her family. I was working as a registered nurse in home health, and I was Cassie’s admitting nurse.
Cassie and her husband were raising their granddaughter, Cassidy, who was four years old at the time. It was a summer day, and Cassidy was dressed in a red polka-dot swimsuit while she chased a toad that was loose in their home.
I often referred to Cassie and her husband Larry as “Grandma and Grandpa Baden.” I have a clear memory of Grandpa Baden’s hands in the air as he described his attempt at organizing the chaos in their home, which made Cassie and me laugh.
Years later, I signed up to be in the Big Sisters program, and Cassidy became my Little Sister. It felt good to be reunited on a formal basis, and it was just the beginning of what would end up being a long-standing family friendship.
Cassidy and I became shopping buddies, and we spent many Saturdays together. We often took an afternoon break and found a restaurant that served our favorite desserts – something I’d not done with my own daughters as they were growing up.
When I took Cassidy home after our outings, I always visited with Grandma and Grandpa Baden for a short while. In one of our conversations, Cassie told me that her father was a talented artist, but he didn’t have a steady income. She and her family were homeless at one time and lived in a tent in a wooded area.
It was after Cassie passed away that I saw photos of her family’s makeshift home in the woods. When we say we cannot imagine what an outdoor kitchen would look like – the photo confirms it – we could not have imagined it.
Cassie was a woman who appreciated the little things in life. The little things that are really the big things. She liked to give gifts to others. She made phone calls. She sent cards and care packages. She prayed for her friends. She needed only to think of others and instinctively found ways to give to them.
Cassie was there for me through many seasons of my life. She was there when my daughters entered college. She was there for the bridal showers.
She was there on their wedding days. She was there – waiting on phone calls when our grandchildren were born.
Years ago, I was at home during the afternoon of my December birthday, cleaning the living room. As I dusted the items on top of a tall piece of furniture we fondly refer to as “The Grandma Cupboard,” I rearranged things a bit, but it wasn’t coming together as I wanted.
There was a bare spot between Grandma’s ceramic pitcher and Grandpa’s violin. It needed one more item before it’d look right.
I walked through the other rooms in my home, looking for something that would fit the bill. Something light in color. A little taller. Then I’d be finished.
That’s when the doorbell rang. Grandpa Baden was standing on our porch with my birthday gift in his arms. He and Cassie were out and about running errands. I could see Cassie in the front passenger seat of the car, and she smiled and waved at me as I stood at the door.
I went back to the living room and opened the box. It was a cookie jar. It was light in color. It was a little taller.
It was as if I’d wished upon a star. All I did was think about what I wanted. Then the doorbell rang. A gift was placed in my hands.
I unwrapped it to find the item I’d been searching for, and I placed it where it was meant to be – between Grandma’s pitcher and Grandpa’s violin.
My cookie jar will always remind me of the little family I’d become friends with and the many ways Cassie looked out for others. The life she’d created and the obstacles she’d overcome were what made her so beautiful.
Her little fingerprints of kindness can never be wiped away, and she inspired others to live as she lived. To give as she gave.
My birthday gift cookie jar may always be empty of cookies, but my heart is full of gratitude for having been a friend of Cassie and for the extraordinary love she showed to me, to her family, and to her wonderful circle of friends.
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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
