Goodbye, Mrs. Young

 

(leftmost image from:  https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-6594737/Colorado-woman-1st-WWII-female-pilots-dies-96.html)

I first met Mrs. Young in 2008 at a women's retreat/workshop, at a remote ranch on the high plains of New Mexico.  Her face was a maze of deep-set wrinkles, her smile lines etched deeply into her skin.  She was towing an oxygen tank; macular degeneration had stolen away much of her vision, leaving her only broad impressions of shape and color.  She didn't let these small things stop her from enjoying life, and she served an important role at the workshop - those who needed a break from the larger group would come to sit in the sunshine with her for a spell.  She had a way of listening that helped you to sort through your dilemmas.

She also had a beef with AT&T - my then-employer.  The company had been sending her incorrect bills for some time, and she was most fed up with them.  When she found out where I worked, she pounced - "Can you get those idiots to set things right?"  (She had a way with words.)  I promised I'd try.

And try I did, over the next five years.  I escalated her cause multiple times, only to be told it couldn't be fixed because of some obscure regulatory issues.  I couldn't fix the larger issue, but I had little trouble getting through to the service center to manually adjust her bill each month.  I got to where I knew many of them, those months it took only a few minutes to get the corrected amount.

The amount was never consistent, so after I had the bill adjusted, I'd call her.  "Hello, Mrs. Young, this is Janice from Kansas City", I'd start each call - if I identified myself any other way, she had no idea who I was.  I'd give her the correct amount, and then we'd talk for fifteen minutes or so, trading news of the books we'd read, the people in our lives.  (She switched from AT&T to her local carrier about the same time I left the company - the new people never got her bill right either, she once told me with some relish...)

As I got to know her, my admiration grew.  She was one of the first women pilots in this country, one of the WASPS from WWII.  She raised five children on her own after her husband died, in a time when single mothers, even widows, were viewed with some suspicion.  She had little patience for bureaucracy or fools, and didn't hesitate to call a spade a spade.

I visited her several time over the years - we'd spend a few hours catching up over lunch.  Once, about five years ago, I picked her up at her place, and she started directing me to the restaurant.  About halfway there, I turned to her and said, "Do you have any idea how disconcerting it is to be taking directions from a blind woman?"  She howled with laughter.

I haven't been able to call her for the last few years; her hearing degenerated to the point where phone calls were just frustrating, so I switched to writing her letters instead.  Every once in a while, she'd call me to give me an update on her life - I had no problems hearing her, and she was unable to write letters.  it worked.

Dang, I will miss her.  She was one of my heroes.  She was a living example of how to not let the little things get you down - if I can learn to do it half as well as she did, I will have done well.

I hope she is able to breathe deeply, to run, to see once again the faces of those she loves.  I hope she is flying free in one of her beloved airplanes.  I hope she can peer over the side of the plane, laughing, to see us waving her onward into the sun.

Fly free, Mrs. Young. Be well...