Gwenn Hiltz Tribute

One of my fondest memories of Gwenn goes back about thirty years. Hubby and I were driving on our way to visit my parents who lived in Snowdon, not far from where Gwenn lived at the time. As we stopped at a red light, we suddenly heard the door behind us car open and were stunned to see a woman get into the back seat. She never even looked up. Instead, she began to settle in and arrange her many packages comfortably around her. We heard her say “Drop me off at the corner of Decarie, please”, which was about 5 blocks away from where we were.
It was only when she raised her head to look our way that we recognized Gwenn. We assumed she knew before she got in that we were the occupants of the car, until she calmly greeted us with “Hi, Donald and Mary. How are you doing? If I’d known it was you, I would have asked you to drive me all the way home.”
Don just looked at her and said, “Do you get into strangers’ cars often?” and she responded non-chalantly with a “From time to time,” as she unbuttoned her coat and removed her rain bonnet.
I didn’t see Gwenn often over the years I knew her. She was always busy going somewhere or coming back. Whenever I did see her though, she never failed to make me laugh, whether it was to tell a joke, show off her latest batch of hilarious greeting cards she’d picked up, or just the way she had of making a story come to life.
Even though we rarely saw each other, I spoke to her at least once or twice a week during the last three years of her life. Conversations that started out with the intention of just finding out how she was doing, or if she needed anything turned into one or two hour chats where the time just flew by.
Gwenn was eighty-six years young when we lost her without warning. It was a shock, because, although she had many years behind her, she never acted like she was old or frail in any way. Any medical problems she had, she glossed over as if they were just a minor irritation. Her hearing was a little shaky, but she simply insisted people were all “mumbling” and refused to acknowledge she might be going slightly deaf.
The world is a bleaker place without Gwenn and the laughter that always followed her wherever she went. I miss talking to her, and I miss the many stories she told me about her past. I feel richer for having known her, and I have no doubt that she has angels giggling and saints slapping their knees in hilarity in Heaven.