Part Three: Source Material

By: Christine Sweeney

This is part of a three-part series on the writer’s grandmother. Part One Part Two

“We need someone to write the obituary, soon. It’s due tomorrow if it will make the paper this week,” they told me. Death isn’t going anywhere, but there are deadlines. There are lifetimes to be captured within a 24 hour turnaround.

“She was a beloved wife, she was a mother, she was a sister. She baked and liked cats. She moved for her husband’s career. She is survived by her daughter, her son, her grandchildren, her great grandchildren.”

See? I can write an obituary. It’s easy. There is a formula. It’s like MadLibs. For women: (State relationship to everyone else); (list hobbies from 20 years ago); (list the people who will miss her). For men: (State story of birth); (note educational institutions); (list jobs held); (state ships built, or cities visited); (mention how much his wife adored him). There is a formula designed for a 24-hour turnaround. Fill in the blanks.

But what about all the material? A lifetime of material, the longer the better. The quips, the postcards, the snapshots. The arguments. That’s good material right there. Material for a film or a short story or a TikTok or an obituary. What’s the genre? Who is the audience? Do you want to make them laugh or cry or both?

Catherine Elizabeth Mediate Divens’ life was a love story. When life is grounded in love, the rest is a matter of framing. Catherine framed her life in contentment, rolling through the joys and sorrows, setbacks and surprises that life brought her. Catherine lived a life of care and contentment from maintaining and mending; planting and pruning; stitching and starching; marinating and rising; balancing and managing; listening and advising. Too often, this maintenance of plants and people; pets and copper pots is overlooked. But the contentment that came from caring for what life gave her illuminated Catherine.

Who is the heroine? Where did she come from and why was she like that? Why did she gravitate towards the little ones? The youngest ones? Why did she shift into a thick Italian accent when she told stories?

Born May 17, 1932, in Wall, Pennsylvania, the youngest of five children (siblings: Jenny, Carmella, Helen, and Frank) of Santo Antonio and Elena Mediate, Catherine came into a community of Southern Italians, Slovaks, Scots, and Swedes who found themselves transplanted to Western Pennsylvania. Sundays were spent at mass, surrounded by big families and homemade pasta. “My father was always the sharpest dressed. Everyone knew him because of his straw hat and suit, and he grew the best tomatoes,” she recounted. 

Good. Good. Alright, so there’s the backstory. Could use some work, but let’s move on. Who did she know? Who did she love? Who loved her? Where’s the romance?

From this small community, she was grounded in friendship, with her girlfriends Wilma, Mary Grace, and especially Shirley, who would one day be her sister-in-law. Her big brother, Frank’s pal Art, would be the love of her life.

“Would you like a bite of my hotdog?” the tall gangly blonde boy asked her as they strolled through the local carnival, as the legend goes. A hotdog would be the first of a lifetime of meals they would share. 

Prior to meeting Catherine, Art went off to the war to serve in the Pacific on submarines. He returned after the war, meeting Catherine who was studying to be a nurse. Though he continued his service in the Navy, he returned home many times to see Catherine. Their romance bloomed while he was away, sending letters to each other with the occasional phone call. When the letters trailed off, she assumed he lost interest “oh well.” That’s why it took her by surprise when he called one day to propose. Neither his mother nor her parents were pleased, as she was young and still in nursing school. But her father relented when he realized his stubborn youngest daughter was determined to marry this young man. She made a good choice. Her parents adored Art as the years went by. 

Ok. I see the love story. But it’s not even halfway through the story and we’ve already had the “meet-cute.” We’ve already gotten to “happily ever after.” Where is the tension? Where’s the conflict? A good story needs conflict.

What came next was a shared life of trust, admiration, closeness, and distance as Art and Catherine moved across the country and traveled the world. The two never left one another’s side when they were in the same place, but often Art’s job took him away. Catherine quickly learned the importance of growing friendships wherever she landed. Inviting new neighbors over for food and conversation. The communities she grew supported her when her Art was away, and they had big shoes to fill.

So the central conflict is travel? Being apart? That’s not very exciting. The couple stays together?

Catherine gave birth to Cynthia Marie, and later Arthur “Bud” William. Long before blogging and Facebook posts, as a young mother often far away from her family, she looked to books and neighborly advice to understand the ins and outs of creating a transient home and raising a family. Her ravenous appetite for new recipes, cleaning tips, and origin stories made her the family encyclopedia and historian. She had a knack for knowing the difference between what she could and could not control. Moving around, she opted for a shiny new trailer, rather than Navy housing “I’d rather keep my own space clean than live in strangers’ houses,” she’d say. Fair enough.

She criss-crossed the country with her husband and two young children in their “tiny house.” Following retirement from the Navy, Catherine and Art eventually settled into a home in Miami and then later outside Washington, DC. Finally able to establish a home for the long haul, Catherine quickly formed a network based on her interests. She co-authored and published a cookbook, bringing her conversational recipes into print for posterity. She and Art watched their teenagers grow into adults, as Cynthia followed her father’s legacy into the Navy, serving as a nurse and Buddy into a career of building ships for the Navy. A talented seamstress, she designed and stitched white silk, satin, and lace wedding gowns, Christening gowns, and First Communion dresses. She pulled all-nighters on road trips to help her kids move or finish her granddaughters’ prom dresses.

So she was content? She accepted and used her natural talents? Where’s the hunger and rage and conflict?

Catherine’s commitment to her children and grandchildren allowed them to pursue their dreams. From epidemiology to engineering; winemaking to cupcake baking; tugboat driving to education; and nursing to academia, the love she planted grew a thriving family tree.

She loved and was loved by Art, and they were married for nearly 60 years before he passed away. And crucially, she knew she was loved. She understood the rarity of understanding and being understood by another. She knew what it meant to spend a lifetime adoring and being adored; fighting and patching things up. She knew that love is maintenance and care, and a bit of luck in finding the person who is up to the challenge.

Her final months were defined by her family’s commitment to showing her love by this definition. Her daughter Cindy, a retired Navy nurse and full-time nursing advocate managed her mother’s care to bring her comfort and peace. Her son Bud, a successful business owner and shipbuilder shared stories and serenaded her on the guitar, playing her and Art’s song, Red Sails in the Sunset as she drifted away. Her seven grandchildren and seven great-grandchildren flew in and out from across the world to be with her when they could and video-called with her when they couldn’t.

But who was this Catherine? What kind of person was she?

Catherine was a conversationalist. She was the person you wanted to sit next to in a room full of strangers. She always had the intel and a story to tell. Rarely was there an awkward silence if you sat next to Catherine. Every now and then, while sitting with her when there was a pause, shaking her head with her broad smile, she’d say “All you kids. How’d I get to be so lucky?”

She is the heroine of her obituary. She told us who she was. She loved and knew she was loved. She knew she was lucky. She died peacefully with her own score. Everything is material. That’s good material.