Wilma Dykeman's last days with her mother
Part One
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.
Wednesday, September 18, 1991
At nursing home: Mother looked at me as her back pained her and said, “I’ve lost my independence, haven’t I?”
Irony of the crippled, aging men sitting on bright autumn Saturday afternoon and watching college football game.
Irony of the lost minds and bodies gathered in “activity” room while peppy visitors briefly sing hymns of cheer and other-world promises.
After her fall and back pain, Mother looked up at me and said, “What did I do wrong?”
“Are you Wilma? My little Wilma? Are you sure? Do you love me?”
“Will I die tonight?”
Hall outside Mother’s room a parade ground of life, of humanity. Thin, drawn-up little black woman yelling, “Pó-lice. Pó-lice.” You wonder where she’s come from.
At hospital: “We’re going to the 4th of July.”
The poems recited through blur of Haldol.
Wednesday, December 11, 1991
The night Mother went into the hospital with pneumonia, she would call out names, etc. Once in dead of night she suddenly shouted “Rory.” Then several times mentioned Aunt Maude [her older sister]. Next day after medication asked when “Mama” would be here. I told her Mama wouldn’t be coming. She said, “There’s no one to look after us then, is there?”
Asked several times “What is there to be scared of?”
The high temperature had sent her, during the night, into that frenzied hollering: “Pl-e-ease!” And people’s names. And, “Well, let’s do-o-o it! Let’s go now.” After colon surgery she had been wild all night, calling for a handkerchief, “I need it. Why won’t you get me a handkerchief? There are plenty of handkerchiefs.” And about bears: “The little be-ars. Be-a-ars!” etc. And wanting her checkbook: “I need it. I need it! Get it for me. Hugh [a nephew] will bring it to me. I’ll get Hugh to do it.”
In hospital for pneumonia began to talk about Miss Meath. “She’s friendly with us now, isn’t she? Have we seen her in past few days?” etc.
(I’m so tired and sleepy writing this, after being sleepless last night.)
Mother asked, “What are we doing tonight?” I told her we were staying at the hospital to get her well. She asked, “What kind of well?”
“Am I suffering?”
Mother rouses and asks, “How is Dyke?” Later says apropos of nothing, but probably still on her earlier conversation, “He was a pretty child, wasn’t he? Wasn’t he?” Urgently. Later, “Will Dyke and Rory come tonight?”