FIRST PERSON
but Evelyn moved to Pueblo, Colorado. Despite the miles between them, the women sustained their friendship.
When Mary died in 2014 — she was the oldest of the three redheads and the last to pass (Kate died in 1992, Mom in 2006) — I wanted to place a small memento on the three headstones to symbolize their lifelong friendship. The three, after all, are just a stone’s throw away from one another in Mifflin Township Cemetery in Gahanna.
I also wanted to celebrate their reunion in heaven. I could easily envision the three redheads eating ice cream and licking their plates (a story for another time). I searched high and low for a memento but couldn’t find what I wanted, so I gave up.
Three years later, just this past September, I was at a craft show when I came across a vendor selling stones in many shapes, sizes and painted colors, with words engraved on them.
The first stone I noticed was a 3-inch oval that said “friends” — exactly what I’d been looking for years earlier.
As I was picking up three stones, I had an epiphany (sent from my mom, I’m positive): Buy four and take one to Evelyn in Pueblo.
As it happened, my husband and I had been planning our first vacation — just the two of us — in 25 years, the first since we became parents. Our plans called for flying into Denver and driving through Pueblo on
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So I bought four stones and went home to research where Evelyn Poteet (her married name) was buried. Since Mom had passed, I’d lost track of her. I did Google search after Google search but couldn’t find an obituary for Evelyn anywhere.
When I removed “obit” from the search, though, her name came up.
I got out Mom’s address book (yes, the sentimental fool in me has kept it, to read my mom’s handwriting). Evelyn’s address remained the same, so I called the phone number. When a man answered, I explained that I was trying to reach the Poteet residence.
“Jim Poteet speaking,” he said.
I almost responded, “You’re still alive?”
Instead, I explained who I was, and he asked guarantee is granted.
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me to hold a minute.
I could hear mumbling and rustling before he told me: “I have you on speaker phone. Say who you are again, so Evelyn can hear you.”I could barely speak through my tears of pure joy.
When I finished, Evelyn exclaimed, “Well, as I live and breathe!”
Needless to say, my husband and I stopped in Pueblo. I gave Evelyn her stone and photographs of the three headstones marking the graves of her lifelong friends. She held my hand the entire time.
Evelyn celebrated her 100th birthday on Jan. 24, and Jim is 90. They’re both sharp as tacks and live in the house they built after they got married.
Thank you, Mom, for the nudge. It’s so nice to know that you’re still watching over me, making sure that I do the right thing.