Dixie

I remember the first time I’d had a conversation with Dixie at work. “Are you the lady who was at my kids’ 4H meeting last night?” Dixie, indeed, was the one. She was there with her friend Tammy, flinging propaganda about the merits of joining the goat group. She was the in charge of the visual aid, a baby goat. I didn’t really know Dixie, but this was her in a nutshell “there’s a thing that I think is good, and I can be helpful at it.”

Dixie lived a life of service. Those of us lucky enough to have worked with her know how much she cared about us. Never did I hear her complain about all the work she had to do to keep a constant barrage of us on the right track. She was a woman on a mission.

Over and over, she’d selflessly help new crops of social workers figure shit out. You’d learn early that traveling with her will be easy because she’d take care of so much. But you’d also learn that your choices were to a)manage fluid intake or b)wear a diaper. To my knowledge, she never actually made anyone wear the diaper.

We’d taken a long trip. She was driving. While Dixie would give you anything you need, you also were keenly aware that were some decisions that weren’t really decisions at all. Things just were not up to debate. She would drive. You could tell people that she let you drive for a bit, but you were lying. You know it. I know it. The out-of-county travel requests have long since been processed, so it’s okay to come clean. Our trip was to Fresno and back to make a contact. On the way back, we stopped in Willows where she wanted to go to the Wal-Mart to check for something in the clearance section for her friend. She tells me that, by-the-by, she hasn’t been able to see the entire time. Her contact lens had migrated up into her gray matter. “Why the fuck you didn’t tell me? I could’ve drove.” My tantrum was dismissed. Dixie drove. Period.

Caution was required when asking Dixie for help. She’s the self sacrificing person who if you asked her for an inch of help, she’d give you two hundred well-executed miles, artfully decorated with some little thing she’d whipped up on her cricut. Like the signs that she’d made for me to take to Cancun for my 20th wedding anniversary. Or the signs that she’d made for the youngster we traveled to Texas to bring home. Dixie held the young’n back whilst I ran ahead. Dixie and our friend came down the escalators to me holding “Welcome to California” signs. It was a momentous occasion. She wanted it honored, and she did. Then she drove us home. Because, Dixie drives. Period.

The love she had for Adawna and “Joshie” was infectious. She would count the days until she and Adawna could “share the same air.” You know those women that scream “mother”? The ones that just counted the days till they could be moms? That wasn’t Dixie. She’d come to the plan of mothering intentionally and later, when she could fully appreciate the gift that was her children. Moms love their kids, sure, but Dixie’s admiration for the Josh and Adawna was positively enchanting. It was the kind of momming that really made you question things. “I mean,… she REALLY loves her kids. Am I loving enough?! Can that level of love be maintained?” For Dixie, yes it could.

It wasn’t just those two who benefitted from her nurturing, she could make you feel like you were the most important person in the world with the way she worked to make your life easier. It didn’t matter if you were her peer, supervisor, client…she excelled in her purpose to serve.

I know that everyone who was fortunate enough to work with her and travel with her has a ton of great stories about how she was unflappable in the face of some crazy ass shit. Things would be headed sideways fast, and she’d get that twinkle in her eye that would help you know that it was going to be okay. You also knew that you were on the verge of some wild experience that you’d never be able to quite capture just how wonky is was.

As strong as she was, it seemed way more than a little unfair that she’d had the stroke. My heart broke for her and her family as things just weren’t quite the same.  “I can’t even order anything off Amazon anymore” she’d told me one Sunday when I ran into her at Wal-Mart. While online purchases aren’t the way by which quality of life it determined, it said a lot about how unjust her stroke was. Dixie had been one of the very most independent and capable women I’d ever met. And despite all that she did for others, there she was, stuck in brain that was no longer able to make complex functions seem easy.

I’d love to share the stories of shenanigans. Most are bound by the rules of confidentiality (lame.), but know that there were amazing times. I will say that she felt horrible for the lascivious fate that befell some chickens whose wings she’d clipped to be helpful. I can also say that you can know that she let nothing get in her way when it came to doing the right thing. Also know that she took such great care of us in ways that we didn’t deserve.

Dixie Purdie, you are missed. The world was a better place for you having been in it. Thank you for everything. Thanks to your family for sharing you with us. I know that you’ll get that heaven place all organized and ready for those headed your way.