“I Made My Own Yeses”

A friend of mine’s mother passed away a few weeks ago. Elizabeth Dolcimo Strunk lived a full life and would have been 92 this week. I was struck when I heard the news, since I remember talking to her once about death and how old we thought we would be when we died. It may have been a bit of a game, but, uncannily, she predicted her exact age.

I had gotten to know “Liz” in college. My friend lived close to campus, so we would drive out to the house in his 1965 Impala that had water damage, rust, and an exposed gear box on the floor that he would have to reach into to shift gears. That made for interesting times in the middle of winter in Pennsylvania. At the house, we would help out by doing things like fixing a ceiling fan or cleaning out the shed. We would also do our laundry. A visit from college kids isn’t official until laundry gets done. Then we would sit down for a homecooked, Italian meal and great conversation.

Liz wanted to know about college life. My friend and I were in a service fraternity, so she heard about the antics that went on but also the community projects we were involved in. She was deeply interested in our studies. With her analytical mind and quick wit, I thought she would have made a great litigator. She liked the idea. Then she would tell us about her life growing up, dating as a young woman, her marriage, bringing up three boys, and what it was like entering the workforce without much formal education. She liked the attention, but she also went beyond the details of stories to their larger meaning, eventually landing on questions of meaning and purpose.

One time in particular as we sat at the kitchen table talking and my friend was repairing a window, she poured us both a glass of wine. She told me about the early struggles in her marriage and how at one point she had to fend for herself and her three boys on her own. She had little money, no support, and few prospects for work.

“You hear it all the time, but it truly was a struggle to put food on the table and pay for electricity,” she told me. “We ate a lot of spinach and broccoli rabe for dinner back then. But, I’ll tell you, that does something to you. You learn either to make it or die. I had three kids depending on me, so I was determined to get through it.”

After being rejected for jobs and constantly hearing “no,” she decided to do something about it. “I made my own yeses,” she said, which is a phrase that has stayed with me ever since. She couldn’t afford to wait around for opportunities to come her way, so she created them. She also did not let prejudice in one form or another stand in her way. She didn’t complain about it, but neither did she accept it as the final word. That word would come, as we discussed in the kitchen, from God.

Liz wasn’t a religious person, not in a formal sense, being too much of a rebel. She might have preferred to be called a “freethinker,” which is fair. I am familiar with the trait, since my friend has acquired it in spades. But she had a certain sensibility that led her in that direction. I think she would have had faith if she could have counted on God not to tell her “no.” That, ironically, is the essence of faith. But she had other things in abundance: goodness, honesty, and an ability to laugh while creating all those “yeses.”

It takes a large personality to create opportunities, one that isn’t timid or weak but courageous enough to follow a vision no matter what others do or say to oppose you. In that sense, Liz Strunk reminds me of my daughter, who is struggling to maintain her voice and make her own yeses but faces similar kinds of obstacles, systemic and personal. I am sorry they never met. They seem like kindred spirits, having little patience for the absurdities of life and hoping that others stand up for themselves rather than stand down.

As the Eucharistic prayer goes, may you rest, Liz, in a place of “refreshing coolness, light, and peace.”

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Image credits: feature and red dress by Jon Tyson; photo of author and Liz Strunk; notepad by Nik; red “Hell Yeah” by Igor Omilaev; green “Oh Oui” by Peter Burdon. Want more? Go to Robert Brancatelli. The Brancatelli Blog is a member of The Free Media Alliance, which promotes “alternatives to software, culture, and hardware monopolies.” This post is dedicated to the memory of Liz Strunk.