Dorothy Hein
I believe that our lives are shaped, in part, by our DNA but also, in large part by the people who either help or hinder us along the way. This month I remember my mother-in-law, Dorothy Hein, who always believed in me. She helped me become the person I am now.
Grandpa Jim’s mother, Dorothy Hein, was born in 1910 and died in 2008. Through determination and sheer grit, she lived 98 years. She wanted to live longer. She wanted to outlive her classmate and dear friend, Marian Kelly. That would have made Dorothy the oldest living member of her eighth grade class. Alas, Marian lived to be 103 and Dorothy is still not pleased.
From the time I met her, Dorothy was always Nana. She was hard-working, steady, kind, brave, joyful and, above all, funny. She was proud of being 100% Irish. Dorothy and her sister, Margaret, had a booth at Duffy’s Shamrock Tavern reserved just for them every St. Patrick’s Day. They got there early in the morning and stayed all day, wearing green from head to toe.
Dorothy and Margaret were a twosome. They loved to tell stories and laugh, to put on parties for every possible occasion. Dorothy’s happy place was her home ~ filled with the people she loved.
Thanksgiving was Dorothy’s favorite holiday. Her table, set with her best china and wine glasses, stretched across two rooms. It included her family of six children, Margaret’s family of three, their spouses and children, and often one or two drop-ins from the neighborhood.
Tough times only made Dorothy stronger. Her father died in the influenza epidemic of 1918. Overnight her mother became a widow with two small girls to raise and no income. Dorothy, herself, was quarantined in Denver General Hospital with diphtheria when she was ten years old. The terror of not being able to swallow and having to stay alone in the hospital for weeks never left her. And yet, somehow, she coped and she survived.
When she died, Nana had already lost her husband and dance partner, Bill, her sister and best friend, Margaret, and two sons, Mike and Tom. And yet, again she survived. She coped by remembering them with an empty seat at the Thanksgiving table, set with her best china and a glass of wine.
By the time she was in her late-nineties, most of her friends had already died but Dorothy was determined to stay in her own home and live out her life on her own terms. She filled her house with imaginary friends ~ a tiny sheik who sat on top of her counter and talked to her and a houseful of children who ran up and down the stairs, making a lot of noise. Now her happy place was filled with memories of the people she loved. I am very grateful to have been a part of that.