Wilma Dykeman's last days with her mother
Part Two
Wilma Dykeman's mother, Bonnie Cole Dykeman, died at the age of 95 on January 19, 1992. Bonnie was the longest love of Wilma's life, accompanying Wilma in body and soul from Wilma's birth in 1920 through her own husband's death in 1934; through Wilma's wedding in 1940 to James R. Stokely, Jr. - a wonderful marriage that would last for over 36 years; through James's sudden death by heart attack in 1977; and through another two decades of her daughter's career. After Bonnie broke her hip, Wilma assumed the role of primary caregiver and closed the loop on an unshakeable bond between two human beings.
What follows is an ordinary obituary in the local newspaper, followed by the extraordinary account of a gifted writer trying to write her way out of overwhelming grief at her mother's deathbed. The family has kept this account private until now. It is an example of the power of the written word.
Monday, January 20, 1992 – notice in the Asheville Citizen-Times
Bonnie Cole Dykeman, 95, of Lynn Cove Road, died Sunday.
Born in Barnardsville, she was the daughter of the late Loretta Ballard and William A. Cole and was the wife of Willard J. Dykeman, who died 1934. She was a homemaker and founder of the Beaverdam Valley Garden Club and a member of the Colonial Literary Club. During WWII she served in the [Signal Intelligence Service cryptography operations] in Arlington Hall, Virginia.
Surviving are a daughter, Wilma Dykeman Stokely of Asheville and Newport, Tenn.; a brother, Otis K. Cole of Asheville; two grandsons [Dykeman “Dyke” Cole Stokely and James Rorex “Rory” Stokely III]; and two great-grandchildren.
Services will be 1 p.m. Tuesday at Beaverdam Baptist Church.
The family will receive friends 7 to 9 p.m. Monday at Morris Funeral Home, Merrimon Avenue.
Memorials may be made to Berea College in Berea, Ky.
Saturday,December 14, 1991
Mother rambling in her conversation:
“Be sure and keep the walls and everything open so the air can come in. I used to go out and just play bareheaded. Wasn’t it nice for that man (Dr. Reynolds) to come and see us? He got right down to the nitty-gritty. Didn’t act like he was talking to some woman in a lace dress. We’ll have some apples and grapes and pears, I like those pears. What about fish? Crumble a little cornbread up in the soup the way we used to do. Then we can take a nice long walk up in the woods…
“(Had been talking about her car – a yellow 1965 Mustang.) I bet somebody would like that car. Ask that woman there (the nurse) about making a trade. She could make something on that…We have some nice neighbors here…When we first moved to Beaverdam we knew the Joyners. They took care of whatever they had…You need to see a doctor. Your eyes are red. You look tired…Mama doesn’t come to see me much. But it’s too hot. She can’t stand the heat.
“Mama would like to have Janie May [Janie May Jones Stokely, Wilma's mother-in-law, who died in 1965] down to visit but I don’t guess that would work out. I’d like to have a big dish of cold cucumbers with salt and vinegar and pepper, soaked right crisp so they’d be snappy when you bite into them. I’m going to start working toward that. Have Janie May and her sister Townie and Elizabeth – wouldn’t she be good? I like her, law yes she works around her house. Have cucumbers sliced and right salty. I’ll go to the market and get some little spring onions. It’s the right kind of vegetables that count. I don’t know whether we could fix a big platter of cabbage or not. I could work a week and get everything ready and they’d like that. They’re vegetable people. Oh mercy yes, tomatoes. They like vegetables, not big fancy things. Then what about a pie, or cake? If we could get some good apples, make a good old-fashioned apple pie. That’s what we’ll do. I’m going to start tomorrow morning and get the apples that are just right and make 4 or 5 pies to just have on the table. I’m not too good on a lot of the cakes, but I’ll bet a kind of big pound cake would be good. Yessir, I’m going to start tomorrow on the foundations of this. Wear some of those cute aprons. Have some sliced onions, red and green peppers sticking up around the table. Great big platters – sometimes there’s sliced meat. Let’s go in the market there. I can make better bread than cornsticks almost now. Wait till a hot day. Let’s make out a list of the people. Have our hair fixed and little bows pinned right in the top of our hair. And then a great big dish of apples cooked. Everybody likes apples.
Saturday, January 18, 1992
Death did not deal with her gently. It stretched her on the rack of pain in the daytime and anxiety at night. Something she had never known before – fear – became her constant companion. At the end death pared her down to the bone. All fat and dross gone. Skin a poor wrinkled covering. Skeleton emerging like paths in a winter woods stripped bare of kindly foliage.
Sunday,January 19, 1992
Written as I sat with her, stroked her, hugged her, till morning 12:30 a.m.