Three Goodbyes

The Duke Chapel was full in 10 minutes from the time the doors were open. I struggled to
save a seat for my husband who was involved in an important planning meeting regarding a possible Global Health collaboration. I watched the people file in, especially the VIP’s. Some I knew, some I recognized. Several children piled in with me and the other “general admission” persons.

I saw more “general admission” persons being directed to Page Auditorium, as there were no more seats. I had securely selected the next to last row so that John could find
me. Right across from me sat former Mayor Howard Lee, the first African American Mayor (Chapel Hill) in North Carolina. He is a great great man of courage and conviction. I let my recollections of John Hope Franklin and Aurelia Whittington Franklin settle over me as the cool of the Chapel caused us to forget the blazing heat outside.

I remembered dad’s memorial service there in the Duke Chapel, and how a smaller but still large crowd walked in. I remember Joe escorting John Hope along with the History Department to their assigned seats in the front of the Chapel. I remembered how happy my mother was that John Hope and dad’s friendship brought her an enduring friendship with Aurelia many years earlier and how sad it was for her to lose that friendship to Aurelia’s Alzheimer’s disease. I remember my dad’s undying love for his younger “twin”, and his happiness when all the negotiations worked out and John Hope and Aurelia determined to return to Durham, John Hope to teach at Duke and Aurelia to join LINKS, a service agency that has not only been a great opportunity for friendship but has completed service projects of great worth all over the world, including my beloved Tanzania.

The waves of memory that passed over me were more the personal ones within the context of
these two great people. My daughter’s visit to the Franklin’s house to interview John Hope about his life for her 7^th or 8^th grade school history project, the way John Hope treated her with respect and dignity as if she were one of his own students, and even though Aurelia was
suffering from the early stages of her disease, she graciously welcomed Kate and me to her home, and sat with us as Kate asked her questions.

I loved my wonderful ride on the airplane with John Hope and our conversations about nearly ever issue that could possibly be discussed. There were serious conversations and funny ones. John Hope had that funny comedian side that just made you hold your belly! There were other meetings, but the crowning one was Chrissy’s performance of Syringa Tree as a birthday gift to me and John Hope coming with my brother Rick and sister-in-law Kay and his congratulations for her moving performance. Every time after the performance that I saw him, he would ask how she was doing, and tell me, “give her time, she will make it one day in whatever she endeavors to do.”

I also remember my mother showing me a beautiful simple vase that Whitt and Karen had
given mother and dad, and their profound gratefulness for this thoughtfulness.

I listened to the speeches, many of the stories I knew, some were new. Of course, everyone knew about John Hope's passion for orchids, and one sorrow I had was that he was unable to cure my over watered dying orchid that he sent when my father died.

I let the beauty of the Fisk Singers roll over me and let all those memories wash over me. I was totally surprised by the way in which former President Clinton captured the essence of John Hope with his comments about John Hope being a happy/angry man and an angry happy man. John Hope’s speeches always had a component of hard work, dedication to scholarship
and sacrifice. Hard goals to follow, but definitely a shared belief between the “twins”.

In no way diminishing the greatness of John Hope and Aurelia Whittington Franklin’s celebration, is my goodbye to my beloved golden retriever Cody. Miss Cody B. was assisted into death on Wednesday by her fabulous vet Jim. The hospital staff said their goodbyes to her, and John and I held her as a very peaceful death occurred. My last memory will be a picture of her
lying there looking just like a puppy. That is not a bad memory.

Cody’s uniqueness was measured in her capacity to defend, to be loyal, to be sneaky, but as all golden’s to love. We all knew that she probably wasn’t a pure breed, even though she had the best papers you could hope for. Her black tongue and rowboat look as she walked along in
front or behind were dead give aways for the insertion of some other type. Indeed, her ferociousness if Kayak (her “step-brother”) were threatened, or she perceived that one of the family was being challenged were always startling, yet, her totally gentle nature that
increased over time were seemingly contradictory. Her loyalty is not unusual for a golden retriever, and she certainly could make friends with anyone, but she always leaned against one of
our combined family members and looked at us soulfully as if to say, “don’t leave me.” Cody had a love for travel and adventure. Racing off into the mountain in search of cowpies, dead animals in which to roll, and other wonderful sites and smells was a triumph to her, even when she came back stinking and coated with some disgusting mess.

She was a water dog (another less golden characteristic) and would leap into any body of water available. Casually leading us to a pool of water on the fitness trail and suddenly hurling herself into it, lying in the stream that flowed down the mountain and into the drain pipe, finding that one puddle on our walks to tramp through in delight and even swimming in the Watauga Lake just like the rowboat that characterized her appearance was always a surprise and resulted in dramatic shaking of her long blonde fluffy hair. She even loved lying in a kiddie pool that we occasionally set up for her in the mountains. Just like a child, she would climb in, climb out, climb in, climb out until the pool was ridiculously dirty. She didn’t care.

We always said that it was Cody who lured Kayak into his
dastardly deeds, like eating pagers, electrical wires and racing off, because
she was smarter and more cunning, and always looked contrite as if to say, “I’m
sorry but Kayak is not.” After Kayak died, Cody found new life and probably
relief at no longer having to defend him.
She relaxed on her walks, loved to go to the Latina Taquiera on the
corner where the lunch crowd loved her and wanted to feed her snacks. “No” I said vehemently as Cody wagged
her tail and moved ever closer to the delicious looking food. People would stop us to chat, to ask
how old she was, to exclaim over her sweetness and beauty and comment that she
certainly did not look 13. Cody
agreed with all of this.

Cody worked hard at the end. She tried to get well, she continued to love, to wag, and to
cuddle, even when it was clear that we could not keep her, and she probably knew
that, too.

So, so similar to John Hope and Aurelia, yet so different,
Cody worked hard, she had her own scholarship and job-to protect Kayak, to love
us, to keep the family together, and to quest for more life, more freedom, more
knowledge of the world. How she
will be missed.