Remembering some of life’s good times

For several years, I had a standing date every afternoon with Janet Dorsett.

We both had the support of our significant others. Ginny was OK with our meetings as well as Sidney, Janet’s special friend.

Janet and I first met in 2006 when I became a member of the Randolph Road Runners, a running club that met every Saturday morning for a group run. She suggested we run together after work on weekdays.

Janet worked in an office and I would meet her when she got off for our daily run.

Janet was a petite woman, around 5-2 in height and probably not much more than 100 pounds. She would make me laugh when we’d be running on a street and a car would move over the center line to give us room. Janet would say, “We’re not THAT big,” as though she were 6-6 and 280.

During our runs, she would talk about running, her job and her friends. Janet lived at the home where she grew up, having never married. One reason, I’m sure, that she remained single was because her mother needed caregivers to help her because of her memory issues.

When her mother died, I went to the visitation and Janet was taking the situation well. It was probably a relief in a way since her mother hadn’t been her old self for years, requiring help for the simplest matters.

Janet’s father had died years before when she was still relatively young. She told me about the time her parents rushed her to the hospital when she was a girl, complaining of stomach pains. She said her father let them out at the door and went to find a parking space.

Meanwhile, the doctor had diagnosed Janet’s appendicitis and took her into surgery. What he found was that her appendix was on the left side rather than the normal right side.

When her father arrived, he was made aware of the wrong-sided appendix. He told the doctor that his appendix had also been on the left side. 

The doctor said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was in the parking lot,” her father responded.

When Janet retired, she spent more time at home. But she continued to meet me for our afternoon runs.

She began complaining that her brother, Michael, who lived in Guilford County, would come once a week to mow the yard. “But the first thing he does is look at my checkbook,” Janet said.

“Why does he do that?” I asked.

“Because he thinks I’m losing my mind and is worried I’ll blow all my money.”

For a while I was kind of miffed with Michael for being so overbearing with his sister. But then …

During that time when we were on a run, Janet would ask me a question and I would give an answer. Then it wouldn’t be five minutes before she asked me the same question.

I began to wonder if it was just forgetfulness or something was going on in her brain, as Michael must have suspected.

About that time my job situation changed and I was unable to meet Janet for our afternoon runs. I didn’t see her for weeks or months.

Then one day she pulled into the parking lot where I was working. She said she saw me outside and decided to speak. We talked a while before I had to go back inside.

“We should get together for a run sometime.” 

“Yeah, that would be great.”

But we never did. In fact, that was the last time I spoke to Janet.

It was three or four years later when I saw Michael mowing the yard of their homeplace. I pulled in the driveway, parked and got out. He stopped his mower and came over.

Michael said it had become necessary for him to check Janet into a memory care facility. Then COVID hit and he was unable to see her for several months. When he finally could visit her, Janet didn’t know who he was.

This summer I met an old friend from our running club who was also a neighbor of Janet’s. He told me that she had died this past April.

I wasn’t surprised but felt a great sadness.

Janet Dorsett may have lost her memory but she should never be forgotten.

I know I won’t forget her.

Larry Penkava is a writer for Randolph Hub. Contact: 336-302-2189, larrypenkava@gmail.com.