Namesake

July 19, 2010 at 6:37 pm (Lanscape of Loss, Lila Stories, Markers, My Bonnie, Pure Love)
Tags: Bonnie Lijane Salasin, bridal shower, granddaughters, grandmother's heritage, ILL Golf Tournament, Lila Jane Salasin, namesake

“Bonnie Lijane”

On the night we prepared for my younger sister’s wedding shower, I found myself heartsick for my mother who had been among my closest friends.  Ten years ago this summer, we lost her to cancer at at the age of 57.  My sister Bonnie, the bride, is her namesake.

My sister was also given the middle name of our late paternal grandmother, Lila Jane, who we lost to an accident the summer before Bonnie was born.

Last night after Bonnie’s shower, my father joined us, and shared a revealing story connected to his mother’s death. In the telling, I could sense pride outweighing the embarrassment and frustration he’s felt about his mother due to her dominating personality which came out in full force when she was drinking.

At 5 foot 9, Lila was a formidable woman, even sober–beautiful, bold and big-boned like her father, Amos Burrows, who was a sailor.  Lila  loved a party, but she also had a severe side that intimidated her four sons–and each of their trembling wives–while her granddaughters adored her.

Coincidentally (or serendipitously), my baby sister Bonnie’s bridal shower fell into the lap of the anniversary of Lila’s death–which we hadn’t known until Lila’s only daughter, our Aunt Barbara, called to tell us just a few days ago.

There had been more than a little controversy among Bonnie’s bridesmaids over picking a mutually convenient day.   Ultimately, the six of us (all  sisters) deferred to what worked best for the bride to be.  In retrospect, it appears that Lila had her hand in it as well.  Lila’s hand has always been in many things.

That there could be a story about my grandmother that I haven’t heard is intriguing–especially given the fateful turn it took in her life.  As my father began the telling, he attracted a circle of Lila’s grown granddaughters eager to hear about their Nana.

“She was at black tie party,” my father began, “Something to do with the hospital… and she was introduced to the CEO of a large bank.“

“Oh, I don’t like your bank,” she said, without explanation, just as my grandfather, the Chief of Staff, reached across to shake the man’s hand.

“Do you have an account with us, Mrs. Salasin?” the CEO asked, taken aback by her affront.

“I would never have an account there,” Lila said, with a clip.

“Would you mind telling me why?” the CEO asked, uncomfortably.

“You host an annual golf tournament, correct?” Lila asked, baiting this man further.

“Yes,” he answered, baffled.

“Well, that tournament has never had a woman official,” she said.   (Lila and her friends were big golfers.)

“Is that’s true?”  the CEO asked.

“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true,” Lila replied sharply.

My father smiles at this point in the story–looking around at his captive audience of  daughters and neices–every bit as bold and as beautiful as Lila (though not all as tall.)  We smile too when he tells us that the CEO called the very next day to follow up on the conversation.

“Mrs. Salasin, I made some inquiries and you’re are right,” the man began. “We have never had a woman official at our golf tournament.”

“Yes,” Lila replied, impatiently.

“We’d like to invite you to be our first,”  he said.

When my father shares Lila’s reply,  we  granddaughters laugh, turning toward each other with knowing glances.

“I’ll think about it,” Lila said.  “Call me back in a week.”

Needless to say, our bold grandmother did become the very first woman official for the ILL Golf Tournament, and though he was originally embarrassed by his wife’s boldness, my grandfather saw fit to pass this story on to his oldest son, who saw fit to share it with all of us on the evening of her namesake’s shower.

Lila Jane Salasin, 32.

It was thirty-two years ago, on this exact date, that Lila headed out with her 3 dearest friends for her fourth year as an official at the ILL Tournament.  The women were giddy with excitement, but Lila insisted they stop in to see the newest baby in the house, my aunt Chrissy’s week-old son, Alan.

Chrissy, was my mother’s sister, but Lila invited her and her husband and their new baby to live with her because they didn’t have another place to go.  “I have this big empty house,” Lila said,  “You can have the apartment over the garage.”

Before heading out for the tournament, the women oohed and aahed over the baby and Lila told my aunt with a broad sweeping gesture, “The whole house is yours. We’ll be gone all day.  Enjoy!”

But the house didn’t remain empty, because soon it was unexpectedly filled with family upon the news of the accident.

Funny that we should be unexpectedly gathering on this same day, thirty-two years later for another occasion.  A happy one.

Even funnier still, is that the caterer for this event is none other than the baby Lila kissed goodbye on her last day on this Earth.

Though she left of us way too early, Lila lives.  She lives on in the spirit and smiles and boldness of her children–and their children–and their children–and she lives on in her namesake, whom she never met, and whose bridal shower uplifts this day in the lives of all those who love her.

Kelly Salasin

July 18, 2010, Cape May County

For more on the loss of Lila, including details of “the accident” that took her life and the life of her  friends, click here.