Joyce Collins, 1929-2007

My grandmother was born on July 25, 1929 to Harry and Grace Boynton in the middle of the cornfields of Iowa. Those who know their history might recognize this was only a few months before the great stock market crash of the same year and the beginning of the Great Depression. As a result, when her brother, Jack, was born a couple of years later, the family had to make some rather difficult choices.

Joyce was sent to live with her Aunt Irene ("Gog") and Uncle ("Poppy") Harold. It is believed that Gog had up to twenty miscarriages during the course of her life and, in fact, had lost two sets of twins. Naturally, she was left without the ability to have children. Gog and Poppy took Joyce in and raised her as their own. Many, myself included, believe my grandmother got the better end of this deal than Jack who stayed with their natural parents. Gog and Poppy were extremely caring and nurturing individuals. And gave her the best life possible during this arduous time in American history.

***

In the early 1950's, Joyce met Dean Collins. They were married for approximately twenty-five years and had two children: Mike, my father, and Tracy, my aunt. Dean left her for what would become his second wife, and while my father was a grown man, Tracy was still a young girl. So, my grandmother became of one of the millions of single mothers during the middle of her life.

Up until July 15th of this year, Tracy had spent every day of her life, minus the occasional vacation and six week marriage, with Joyce. Knowing that life was tough enough for a self-described, "chubby teenage girl," Joyce spent every penny she made on Tracy. Accordingly, Tracy always had the best clothes, make-up, and music of any girl in her school. It was something she gladly did, because as grandma herself admitted, her daughter was the only reason she didn't kill herself after Dean left.

***

Joyce spent much of her life as a book-keeper. But as computers pushed out hand-written ledgers and adding machines, my grandmother decided it was time for career change. She became a in-home care-giver for the infirmed and elderly. By all accounts, this was a profession she should have picked up at early age because all of her clients loved her. Even as her life and health deteriorated, she kept working, giving selflessly when she should have been sipping pina colodas on a beach somewhere.

Part of the reason she never retired was because in 1999 she gained a client very close to her heart: Tracy. My aunt was diagnosed as having MS and my grandmother was the obvious choice to be her caregiver.

But Joyce also worked because she had no other choice. Like millions of Americans, my grandmother was consumed by debt, paying off credit cards with credit cards, taking out as many loans as possible, etc. She had to work to save herself and Tracy.

And never once did she complain or ask for help. In fact, I always got a birthday card with a check. She had survived Dean and she seemed bound and determined to get through this.

***

On July 15, 2007, Tracy called Joyce to check where she was. My grandmother replied that she was out running some errands for Tracy, but would be back in less than twenty minutes. Shortly thereafter, they said they loved each other and hung up.

The coroner believes that my grandmother had an aneurysm, causing her to slump over in her seat and hit a tree head-on with the car. Beginning last year, she started having mini-strokes. The doctors were unwilling to operate because of her age. So, it was thought her time might be limited, but no one expected this. She deserved better.

***

It was widely believed that she never loved again after Dean. But at her funeral, one of the mourners approached me, and identified herself as the daughter of a man I simply knew as Bud. He was ex-CIA, for real. The only thing anyone knew was that he was one of four men sent to the Phillippines in the 1960's, and he was the only one who returned alive. But Bud met my grandmother, long after this was past, and they developed a deep and meaningul friendship. Bud had numerous marriages, and whenever they broke-up, he turned to her.

Bud got cancer and passed away in July of last year. Everyone knew this. What no one knew was that he had asked Joyce to marry him two months prior to that. Her response: "You wouldn't marry me for all of these years, It's too late now." That was her.

***

For various reasons, I really didn't know my grandmother until college. But I loved her. And I hurt in a way now I never would have expected. Life will go on. It'll just be a little less complete.

"I don't think there's any point in being Irish if you don't know that the world is going to break your heart eventually."

--- Pat Moynihan, upon learning of JFK's death.