I’d like to tell you about a woman named Victoria Jean Fickes, known to me as Vicky.
I doubt that you knew her. Not many people did. She was one of those salt-of-the-earth-under-the-radar type people.
She lived across the street from my parents and another couple they were friends with. One day the other mom was looking for a babysitter and just asked the kind-looking woman across the street if she’d be up for it.
She was.
A couple years later, MY mom started having babies and so naturally Vicky started babysitting for us too and was immediately our go-to.
She lived with her parents and told me once that she had been married to a man in the military but they got divorced. And that was the only time I heard anything about him. Either way, she had taken her maiden name back and had moved back home.
My family and the other family she took care of both moved across town, but Vicky continued to be our babysitter. She had let her drivers license expire so Dad would go pick her up and sometimes one of my sisters or I would go along for the ride.
She also couldn’t swim so neither could we when she was staying with us.
Vicky had diabetes and would let me watch her give herself insulin. I thought it was fascinating.
She was also very crafty. She had a bag with the Ziggy (the comic character) on the front that she carried her crafts in. She would crochet, do cross stitch, needlepoint and latch hook. She taught ME how to latch hook when I was young and I have since taught both my daughters how to do it.
She was always making something for someone, usually her nieces and nephews.
She was from Ohio so she said “spigot” instead of “faucet.” And when she was frustrated, she would say, “Oh, fiddlesticks!”
Vicky wasn’t an entertainer, by any means. She would just sit quietly, working on her latest project while my sisters and I did our thing. She was loyal audience for all our made-up shows, performances and dances. And she was always up for a movie.
When she made a sandwich, she never used a plate. She placed a paper towel on the counter and ate from that. She liked baloney sandwiches.
I asked Vicky about church one time. She told me she had been a Sunday School teacher back in the day. I wish I had asked her more about her faith.
She came to my (first) wedding. And even though I was in Ocala, I never visited. Wish I had.
But you know what? She never, ever forgot my birthday. No matter where I lived, she would get my address and send me a birthday card.
I got her info and started doing the same. Actually, I would usually remember it was her birthday ON her birthday and send her a card late. I filled it with pictures of the kids and told of their latest adventures. In cards to me, she would update me on her family. Her parents had died so she moved in with her sister Judy.
Her handwriting was as soft-spoken as she was. A cursive so delicate, it looked breakable.
A couple months ago, my mom asked when I had heard from her last. I realized I hadn’t gotten a birthday card at my last birthday.
A few hours later Mom texted my sisters and me and said Vicky had died. Back in September. And we had no idea.
This was her obituary:
Victoria J. Fickes, 78, of Ocala, passed away on Monday, September 3, 2018. Victoria was born in New Philadelphia, OH to Dean and Esther Fickes. She is survived by her sisters Deborah Riddle and Judy Ryan, and her brother Jack Fickes. No services are planned. Victoria will be laid to rest at Highland Memorial Park in Ocala, FL. Arrangements are being handled by Hiers-Baxley Funeral Services 910 SE Silver Springs Blvd. Ocala, FL 34470 (352)-629-7171.
She slipped out of this world and the world didn’t even notice. No funeral (and if there had been, I guess we would have missed it).
Today is her birthday, the Ides of March. She would have been 79 today. I started thinking about her last night and got really sad.
Did anyone outside of the two families she babysat for and her own family even know she was here?
Well, she was. She was here. Her life mattered. And she was a huge part of my childhood and a very important person to my family.
So in lieu of the funeral that never was and the goodbye I never said, I just wanted the world to know she was here. I don’t have a picture of her I can share. But I can share who she was to me.
So Happy Birthday, Vicky. Thank you for your kind, quiet, reassuring spirit. I love you. I remember you.
And you mattered.
You must be logged in to post a comment.