Lavern Always Got the Last Laugh

Lavern Always Got the Last Laugh

I once worked for someone who said she “demanded” respect from her employees. I didn’t work for her very long.

Respect emerges of its own volition, elicited by folks of all ages and backgrounds, all ethnicities, faiths and genders. They are people who are sincere, highly capable and usually gifted with enduring character and a fantastic sense of humor. They “command” respect easily. People like Lavern Smith come to mind.

My first day on the job as public relations director at Wesley Manor Retirement Community can only be compared to a roller coaster ride through every emotion known to the human condition.

I was:

Happy to land a great job

Sad because my parents had died

Angry because, well, my parents had died

Hopeful because I love to work hard at something that matters

There was the usual anxiety that comes with unfamiliar territory and the fear of failure. But all of it melted away to a blissful sense of satisfaction when I met the residents, particularly Miss Lavern.

She rolled up to the front desk in her scooter and barked that she needed to see “Kristen.” I’m certain all of Forrest and Lamar Counties heard her. Subtlety found no common ground with Lavern.

“I’ve come to show you something,” she announced as she hobbled from her seat to the chair in my office. She plopped down a stack of papers featuring photos of crafts she’d made over the years. She tossed out an American flag pin made of beads and safety pins. By the time she was finished and staggered back to her electric ride, I knew that Lavern Smith was one of a kind. And I knew that I completely adored her.

Three of her friends, Esther, Madeline and Laura, patiently tolerated her loud interruptions when we discussed an upcoming train trip on Amtrak. She voiced clever ideas on how to raise money by making and selling crafts and raffling prizes. Lavern made us laugh, gave us reason to consider how very rich and wonderful and challenging life is. She suffered from polycystic kidney disease that forced her to spend hours in dialysis at least three days a week. Still, she persevered.

My daughter Katie knew she had to meet Miss Lavern. The two of them bonded instantly. She taught Katie in a very short time how to craft festive needlepoint notepad covers and jewelry from ordinary items. They discussed holiday décor and money-making ideas. Lavern, who never had children, told me that following her first visit with Katie, she received something no other kid had ever given her, a thank you note that made her cry. And so, Katie came away with the invaluable, the gift of friendship and gratitude.

There are friends at Wesley Manor the likes of which I cannot describe except to say they are angels. When Lavern passed away, she did so of her own accord. She chose not to continue the dialysis because her health had finally become too fragile and fragmented to do what she loved to do. Her friends showed up with cakes and cookies, moving boxes and smiles. Joyfully, fearlessly, Lavern accepted the end of life with the kind of courage and dignity only heroes fully understand.

Last week, Esther stopped by the front desk with one last Lavern tale. Shortly before she died, friends and family were packing her things for the move to her brother’s home. Lavern sold her TV to a friend upstairs and gave special instructions to her brother. Just days later after her memorial service, Lavern’s brother took all the friends to lunch—on Lavern’s dime.

“Isn’t that just like Lavern?” asked Esther. We all nodded, eyes brimming. Laughing out loud, calling the shots, and treating her friends to a good time…that was Lavern, a woman who commanded respect in life and in death. We will miss her dearly at Wesley Manor. Godspeed, sweetheart.

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