by Cheryl Carson

Although it may be common for some in the “twilight years” to lose their sense of purpose, a loss of youthfulness may not necessarily have to mean a loss of usefulnesss. This is the story of two women who reached out and touched one another’s lives, bridging an age difference of seventy-two-and-a-half years.

February 13, 2010, the day of Sybil’s funeral.

I am the mother of Merrie Carson, age 17, who is a server of meals at The Charleston Assisted Living Center in Cedar Hills, Utah. I could not sleep this early morning, feeling a desire to write of Sybil and how she touched the life of our daughter. And perhaps—just perhaps—how Merrie touched the life of Sybil.

Elegant. Regal. Beautiful. Vibrant. Kind. Gracious. Loving. These are words that Merrie would use to describe Sybil. In her journal, Merrie wrote: “Sybil is a resident at The Charleston. She is just about the loveliest lady I ever met. She is so sweet, and she and I have grown very close. She is like a grandma to me.”  

Merrie has a beautiful singing voice and has performed many times for the residents of The Charleston, accompanied by her father on the piano. Sybil was always there in the audience, appreciating and applauding her young friend.

Months before, Merrie had come home from work and had described in detail this beautiful woman she had come to know. Sybil had invited her to her lovely apartment, and Merrie described it to me in great detail, even to the edges of the closet shelves that were trimmed with lace—and her beautiful suits and other items of clothing hanging in the closet, a perfectly organized pastel rainbow of colors.

After one of Merrie’s performances, we, her parents, were invited to Sybil’s apartment to see what Merrie had been talking about. It was all true. Everywhere one looked, there was delicate beauty and feminine elegance beyond my ability to describe. Again at Christmastime we went. Exquisite before, her room had now become a fairyland. Sybil gently touched the exquisite decorations on the tree, happily recalling how they had all been handmade by her and her daughters in years past.

Merrie visited Sybil many times in her apartment. Once it was for Merrie to show Sybil some dresses to be considered for a special dance coming up at school. Sybil was always impeccably dressed, and Merrie valued her opinion. Another time, Sybil invited Merrie to try on some of her own clothing. Perhaps because Merrie had also been involved in dance and was immersed in her love for drama, they shared many things in common. And always there was Merrie’s singing that Sybil loved so much. Indeed, Sybil had asked Merrie to sing at her upcoming 90-year birthday celebration ten days hence.

Then, this week, Merrie sadly told us what she later recorded in her journal: “I was at work Sunday night, and I found out that Sybil had had a stroke and was in a coma. I went into her room to see her, and she looked so angelic, lying there on her pink satin pillow with her white hair curly and perfect around her beautiful face…. People who are in comas are usually still able to hear, so I told her I love her and sang ‘Think of Me’ to her one more time, because it is her favorite song.”

            Think of me, think of me fondly when we’ve said good-bye.
            Remember me every so often, promise me you’ll try.
            On that day, that not so distant day, when you are far away and free,
            If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me. . . .

           Think of me, please say you’ll think of me whatever else you choose to do.
            There will never be a day when I won’t think of you.
            Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their seasons, so do we. . .
            But please promise me that sometimes you will think of me.

                                                “Think of Me”?excerpt from The Phantom of the Opera

Merrie hoped and prayed for Sybil’s recovery, but the coma continued and deepened as the end drew near. On Thursday when Merrie arrived home from work at the assisted living center, I inquired as to how Sybil was doing. Merrie’s simple and solemn response was, “She is with Heavenly Father now….”

That night, February 11, Merrie wrote in her journal: “I just realized that today is my half birthday. . . My dear, sweet Sybil died this morning. She was one of the most amazing people I have ever known. I love her very much and I will miss her.”

Tonight is the Sweetheart Ball at Merrie’s school, preceded by the “day date” with their group. Sybil’s daughter expressed a wish that Merrie sing at the funeral, or at least at the graveside, but understood that Merrie had all-day commitments she felt she could not break. I’m sure that Merrie will enjoy the experiences and the memories of the day and the evening at the Sweatheart Ball with her special friend. But I am even more certain that Merrie’s thoughts will return—this day and always—to memories of the sweet heart of her dear friend Sybil.