Bittersweet memories jumped out of my closet today, while I sifted through neglected shelves of board games and sundry craft supplies. What should I find at the bottom of the pile, but a dusty old cardboard box, with a memory of Marilyn inside. During my time as a restaurant manager, I had amassed an impressive seasonal (summer) collection of young and beautiful international students. That first year, they came from France, Hungary and Lithuania. They filled in the gap for my need of extra staffing when the restaurant was at its busiest, and customers seemed to enjoy the international flavor of multiple cultures that waited on their tables. But for stability during high and low season, I also acquired some seasoned wait staff locals, who could be counted on for year-round help. Marilyn was an older woman with hardened features, who claimed a kinship with the Lakota nation. She had lived and worked in Estes Park for many years, and knew the business well. One of the great assets I found in hiring Marilyn, was that she knew how to blend hospitality with efficiency. She served as a knowledgeable mentor to my younger staff. Marilyn had once shown me photographs of her family, dating back to her pre-divorce years. She had, at one time, been the wife of a successful businessman, and the mother of four children. A divorce had shattered her family portrait. Her grown children continued to live nearby, but seldom chose to have contact with their mother, even on holidays. I would surmise that perhaps the relationships could have been described as ‘strained’. One day when we were both at work, Marilyn brought me an old cardboard box. She explained that she had been cleaning out her closet, and had found something that reminded her of me. She said that it needed a little repair here and there, but she hoped that maybe I could fix it, and that I would enjoy having it. Inside the box was a raggedly old clown marionette…a toy that Marilyn had once owned. She knew of my background in puppetry, and thought that I could give the doll a good home. The year that I decided to relinquish my role as restaurant manager, I went back to work in the gift shop. Marilyn continued to work under the new management, but she complained to me that the job no longer held the same joy for her; that team spirit was lacking. As the busy season drew to an end, Marilyn left her position in the restaurant and moved from Estes Park, down to LaPorte, Colorado, just outside of Fort Collins. But she frequently returned to the shop in Estes Park, just to say hello, and visit for a few minutes. She often came up to walk in the national park, and to keep her appointments with doctors for various health issues. One time I persuaded Marilyn to join my mother, myself and my youngest son on a trip to the Denver Zoo. That seemed a small gesture on my part, but Marilyn repeatedly told me that this was the best memory she had, all year. I watched Marilyn’s thin frame wear even thinner, until her form looked ghostly and gaunt. Still she came, always stopping in to greet me, and chat for a few minutes. One winter, I saw Marilyn walk into the gift shop and head towards the public restroom; but I never saw her leave. It seemed unusual that she was in the area, and even in the store, but had not stopped by and spoken to me, as usual. I believe now, that this was Marilyn’s last trip to Estes Park. Only a couple weeks later, we received a phone call, informing us that Marilyn was dead. She had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer just a couple weeks before. She had no medical insurance, and doctors offered her no hope for recovery. She knew of no options and no additional medical help. She was found by a neighbor, who heard the gunshot from the trailer where she lived in LaPort. Marilyn, I remember you with such great fondness. I, too, enjoyed that day at the zoo. It sits in a storehouse of memories that I have compiled. But my special memory was doubled. Thank you for the treasure in that cardboard box. It serves as a reminder to me of a time when our paths briefly crossed, yet were forever changed.
Posted on: Wed, 30 Oct 2013 21:03:14 +0000
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