I
met Jodie 5 ½ years ago after moving to Cambridge and into a new church
congregation. I was assigned as a visiting teacher to Jodie. When my
companion, Megan, and I visited the first time, I had a hard time
understanding what Jodie was saying; she talked very fast and had a
thick Boston accent, although if you asked her, it was a “Sum-muh-vull”
accent - not Boston. A few years later, my assignment changed but we
stayed close friends - exchanging dinners, having playdates, and
engaging in some of the most spiritual discussions of my life.
Jodie
was a proud resident of Somerville for almost her entire life. She
moved a few houses across the Somerville-Medford town line for a few
years, but never considered herself a Medford resident. She showed me
the street she grew up on and she talked about how all the young kids
moving in called it “the ‘ville” now, how Davis Square was hardly
recognizable, and how gentrified it was becoming. She loved the
grittiness of Somerville, the diversity of the people, and the general
busy-ness of the crowded city.
She
was a lot like Somerville: always a busybody, rarely able to sit still,
all action, constantly chattering but never wasting time chatting about
dull or meaningless things. Jodie was one of the most honest people I
have ever known. She never asked “how are you?” without really meaning
it. She sometimes told me I looked tired, but she also gave the best
compliments.
Jodie
always had a hard time with organized religion, but never flailed in
her relationship with Jesus Christ. She told me she had a rough
upbringing, but then turned her life around and dedicated it to Christ
more than a decade ago. She talked to God the way most people talk to
each other. Sometimes she praised him, sometimes she begged him for
whatever it was she wanted, and sometimes she was so mad at him that she
fought with him.
Jodie
often left lengthy voicemails on my phone. Here is a snippet from one
that lasted 2 minutes, 11 seconds in October: “Hi Emily, it’s Jodie. I
am feeling better. I had the worst week of my life last week. Every bad
thing that could happen happened. But I endured and I did not curse God.
But I prayed because I was too afraid I would curse Him. But we talked
about it and He’s cool….”
Sometimes
she attended the Mormon church with me. She loved taking the sacrament,
bringing her granddaughter, and livening up Sunday School classes with
her honest commentary. She had no problems calling out a whole
congregation for not reading from the scriptures enough or not helping
the poor enough. She was honest and big-hearted, and she expected
everyone who called themselves a Christian to do the same.
She
sometimes attended the Catholic Church because it was so close to her
house. She enjoyed the music and the rituals. She even liked confession.
Even when she attended the Catholic church, she always said she knew
the Mormon church was the true church. But she still paid tithing at
both.
Our
church puts on a wreathmaking activity every year around Christmastime
and Jodie owned this event. She loved the live Christmas music, the
spiritual message, and socializing with women while making a wreath. She
always brought about a dozen friends and never missed it. She attended
this in December between stints at the hospital and made a huge bushy
wreath with a gigantic bow on it. It was about half the size of her
front door.
Jodie
always had crazy things happening to her. She called them her “God
winks” - times when she knew God was looking out for her. In December,
she posted on Facebook that she wanted a free Christmas tree. An hour
later, a friend of hers pulled up with a free tree. He said he was
walking near Davis Square, had just read her post, and a man randomly
offered him a free Christmas tree. It was perfect.
Another
time, she saw there was an Aerosmith concert nearby and convinced a
friend to take her even though they didn’t have tickets. They
sweet-talked an usher and made it into the concert. When she found dimes
on the ground, she said they were signs from her husband, who passed
away suddenly a few years before we met. She loved him and talked about
him often. Sometimes she would hear a song on the radio and swear that
he had sent it to her at that moment.
Jodie
worked as a housecleaner for a living. She worked hard and was proud of
it. She bragged about how spotless the bathrooms were once she was
finished with them. She worked up until a few months ago when the
physical stress of her job caught up with her. Jodie never had a lot of
money, but never considered herself poor either. She always contributed
to food drives and toy drives, and always bought me and my kids
Christmas presents even when I told her it wasn’t necessary. Bruce
cherishes a shark tooth that she gave to him. Phoebe has a whole
collection of playdough and coloring books. Oliver got some finger
puppets. I have a few pieces of clothing she gave me, including a purple
sweater that she said would look good with my red hair.
Jodie
always looked out for the underdogs. She collected coats and warm
clothing for the homeless. A few weeks ago, she said she couldn’t sleep
because she kept thinking about the homeless sleeping outside on such a
cold night. She was a frequent volunteer at the Ruby Rogers shelter in
Union Square; she served food and chatted with the homeless like they
were her siblings. Being a widow herself, she was always mindful of
others in her situation and comforted several women who lost spouses.
She
babysat my kids a few times, sometimes on short notice. One time she
watched Bruce, Phoebe and Oliver while Scott and I attended a work
dinner. I hadn’t left Oliver with anyone except family and he was still
breastfed exclusively, so I was really worried about leaving him for a
few hours. I texted Jodie in the middle of dinner, “How are the kids?”
She didn’t reply, and I tried not to stress out and enjoy the night. We
never texted, so I wondered if she even had texting on her phone. Two
days later, she finally replied, “WHO ARE YOU AND WHY DO YOU WANT TO
KNOW?” Turns out that she had gotten a new phone, didn’t have my contact
info in it yet, and got the text much later than I’d sent it. Jodie
will be one fiercely protective guardian angel.
Jodie
loved all my kids, but she had a special spot for Oliver. When I was
pregnant with him and trying to come up with a name, she asked, “Have
you thought about the name Oliver?” Except that she said it,
“Oh-liv-ahhh.” I loved the way she said it and the name stuck.
Jodie
has two grown kids about my age and a handful of grandchildren. She
loved spending time with her family and loved cooking big meals with
them. Jodie was about 4’10” and maybe 75 pounds after a Thanksgiving
dinner. She was Italian and loved food, but she was such a busybody it
never showed on her frame. Jodie always raved about the food I brought
her, and I think I may have brought her more just because she praised it
so much. She told me I needed to open a restaurant because I was
shortchanging the world by not sharing this food with the general
public. I told her she needed to try my mom and grandma’s cooking. She
liked trying new foods, but also had a few favorites. Carrot cake may
have been her number one choice, so I made her a big one every year on
her birthday.
Jodie
had some chronic health problems, but never told people how serious
they were until it was too late. She didn’t want to be remembered as a
sick person, and so she carried on as usual until she absolutely could
not. When she was put on hospice care, she went to a respite center for a
few days. She came home from that and complained about how there was
nothing to do there: “You just lay there and watch TV! There’s not even a
garden to walk in or activities or anything!” When Jodie finished her
work here, she died on Thursday, February 5, with her children at her
bedside. I played Aerosmith in her honor, and I imagine she is having
quite the party with her husband right about now.
Labels: cake, church
