My Turn

by Nancy Reagan

  Everybody busy changing plans. Ronnie and I will fly out in the morning. Ye gods, everything at once. I’m just getting my head up from one thing and now I’m hit with another. So tired. Tried to pack. Don’t know what to pack.

  October 27: Left early for Phoenix. In a daze. Breakfast on the plane. Met with Jane, Elaine, and Jack regarding funeral arrangements and then tried to take a nap. John Hutton kept reminding me that this has been a double-whammy, and that he’s concerned about my recovery.

  I still can’t believe Mother is dead.

  When we landed in Phoenix, we went right to the mortuary where Mother was. She was in her red robe, gold beads, and her little red mittens. Whether it was summer or winter, in her last years she wore those mittens. I took them off. I just wanted to have them.

  “I don’t know if you should do that,” Ronnie said.

  And for one of the few times in our life together, I got mad at him, and shouted: “Do you want me to leave them there to be burned?”

  Then I really went to pieces. It seemed as if she should open her eyes and talk to me. I kept telling her I loved her and thanked her for all she had done for me. Oh, how I hope she heard me! I hope she and Bapa are together now, like Ronnie said.

  I couldn’t bear to leave her, but Ronnie and John Hutton took my arm and said, “We’ve got to leave now.” If they hadn’t done that, I’d still be there.

  We went to her apartment. Tom described again what had happened, and said it was peaceful. But she’s gone. My little mother.

  When you mentioned her name, the other person always smiled.

  Tom is a big help. We are giving Mother’s wheelchair and her walker to a home for elderly people. She would have liked that. I gave the girls [who took care of her] some clothes that they wanted.

  Jane and Elaine called everyone. Barry Goldwater canceled plans in Washington to be here for the funeral.

  Denominations never meant much to Mother. Although she was a Presbyterian, in Phoenix the Catholic church was closer, so she would go there. She was always a regular churchgoer. Funny, with her outrageous sense of humor and all, but she read the Bible every night. I have her Bible now, and there are passages marked in it. She had a deep, deep faith which really helped her through Bapa’s death, and also through her own last days, I’m sure.

  Those wonderful priests at the Catholic church would come over every Sunday to give her communion. They once wrote me to say that they thought she didn’t really know what was happening, but they would be glad to keep it up if I wanted them to. I wrote back and said, “Please do, because I would like to think that she really does know what you are doing, and I know she cares.”

  So they kept on. And out of the blue, there was a Sunday when she recited the Twenty-third Psalm. Perfectly!

  It was decided that the service would be at the Catholic church on Saturday at two. I would love to have someone talk about Mother. I wish it could be Ronnie, but I hate to press him—he has so much to do.

  I talked to Ron. He’s flying here tomorrow just to be with me. That means a lot to me.

  By the time we left the apartment I was exhausted—emotionally and physically. Dinner at the hotel in front of the television. Ronnie had to fly back to Washington but he will return on Friday with Dick and his family.

  The people who bought my parents’ old house have offered to have everyone over after the service. It was very sweet of them, but emotionally, there is no way I can do that. It would bring back too many memories. It will be hard enough to go to the Boitches’, who live next door to their old house. [They had very kindly asked people to come to their house after the service. Oddly enough, Cynthia Boitch had had a mastectomy years ago, and had turned to my father for advice and help during that time. It’s amazing how many women told me afterward that they’d had a mastectomy, but that nobody knew about it.]

  John came to examine me. Then I went to bed.

  October 28: Didn’t have a good night. I would wake up wondering where I was. Then, when I remembered, I would start crying. How I am going to miss Mother!

  We all went over to the house at 9:30 and started working. The Goodwill people came for Mother’s clothes, but I think they’ll have to come back tomorrow. I gave her mink jacket to Marge, who had been there a long time. Went through the linens—so much stuff. I had no idea it would take this long.

  Ron arrived around two, and I was so glad to see him. We had lunch out on the patio where Mother and I used to eat. She loved sitting there, watching the birds and the golfers. She’d send the girls out to collect the golf balls, and then she’d try to sell them to her friends when they came to visit.

  After lunch we went back to work. Everybody was wonderful. Reminded me of the day we moved her into the apartment. Everybody was working—Elaine, Jane, Mary Ann, Anita, John Hutton, all down on our hands and knees.

  There was a nice feeling about it. Somebody would send out for lunch and we would put it on the dining room table and all sit around and eat. I am trying to eat out on the patio as much as possible.

  Back to the Biltmore with Ron. I wanted to walk around the hotel because I hadn’t been there in so long. This is where we used to go on Easter vacations when I was in school, and where Ronnie and I spent our honeymoon.

  But everything has changed. There used to be a drugstore here with a soda fountain, but no longer. I wanted to show Ron the cottage where Ronnie and I stayed during our honeymoon, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. But there’s a familiar smell to the Biltmore—a warm, welcoming smell, and it’s still here.

  They have built on some new wings. And they took down the diving board. Ronnie was a big diver, and I remember sitting there on our honeymoon and watching him dive from the high board. Everybody at the pool was watching my new husband, and I was so proud.

  The hotel brought back so many memories, which make me sad. I told Ron how I used to come here when I was in school, and how you had to dress for dinner every night. I told him about Roy, who ran the stables, who used to tell me about the girls who got crushes on the cowboys who took the guests out riding. Roy had a way of solving that. He’d take the girls to see the rooms where the cowboys lived, and when they saw those unmade beds and all the clothes on the floor, most of them lost interest. It was hard to describe to Ron what this place had once been like.

  Nobody bothered us as we walked around. They all knew why I was there, and they stayed back. Couldn’t have been nicer.

  Ted Graber came in, but before he got here, Ron and I had a good talk. It’s not often there are just the two of us. Ted will be coming to Mother’s tomorrow to help me with the furniture to go into storage in Los Angeles.

  Letters of condolence from Kay Graham and Walter Cronkite, who were out here at a convention. Very sweet.

  Mike Wallace called to see how I was doing. He said Meg Greenfield had asked him to write an op-ed piece on Mother for the [Washington] Post. He said he didn’t know whether he could do justice to Mother as she really was.

  [But he did. Mike wrote a beautiful tribute called “The Roles of Edie Davis.” He closed with a brief description of my surgery, and ended with these words:

  “Nancy survived and smiled, though, and went about her appointed rounds. Then came Edie Davis’ death, and somehow it seemed to take Nancy Reagan’s breath away. I can understand why.”]

  Ronnie called. I told him about wanting somebody to speak at the funeral, and he said, “Well, I didn’t want to push myself on you, but I’d love to do it.” I burst into tears. I know it would have meant a lot to Mother, who loved him so much.

  Ron and I and Ted had dinner in the suite. We tried to watch Buckley’s debate with the Republican candidates, but we were so tired and preoccupied that we didn’t stay with it very long.

  October 29: Ted and I went over to the apartment early to work. We picked things out to go to Los Angeles, things for Goodwill. Ron came and I gave him Mother’s silver coffee set, and I picked out things for Dick and his children, and for Maureen a
nd Mike. It was a long, tiring day.

  Today Ronnie announced a new choice for the Supreme Court—Douglas Ginsberg.

  Mother had once shown me two little boxes, one labeled for Ron, one for Patti, filled with mementos, to be given to them when she died. I gave Ron his.

  As for Patti—she had said she couldn’t come to the funeral, that she had travel plans that couldn’t be changed. I sent her box to her.

  There was a lovely editorial in today’s Phoenix paper about Mother and all of her charity work.

  I found a ring that Mother had with both of our initials on it, E and N. It’s tiny, and she must have worn it on her little finger, because it’s not a baby ring. I immediately put it on.

  I had to leave before the movers were through, but I hope they did everything. I’ll check tomorrow. Amazing, that there was so much to do in this little apartment.

  Knowing how Mother felt, I want the church to be pretty, and I asked for white flowers all around. Nobody knows yet that Ronnie is going to speak.

  Colleen Moore came in for the funeral and had dinner with Ron and me the night before. She’s eighty-five, but you’d never know it. She and Mother were such a pair in Chicago. She told Ron how, when my father would leave for the hospital each morning, and her husband, Homer, would leave for the office, she and Mother would be on the phone with each other planning their day. What one didn’t think of, the other did. They worked together on opening the gift shop at Passavant Hospital, and many other projects.

  We had a wonderful talk, but I noticed that Colleen wasn’t eating anything. When I asked about it, she said, “Well, when I eat, it gives me a stomachache. So I really don’t eat very much.”

  [Colleen died of cancer a few months later, so I’m glad Ron got to know her a little. When she died, I was happy for Mother, knowing these two friends would be reunited.]

  October 30: I wanted to sleep late, but couldn’t. Had an early lunch with Ron at the hotel before he went to pick up Doria at the airport. She couldn’t come with him yesterday because she had classes.

  I watched Ronnie on television with Shevardnadze announce the summit meeting in Washington, from December 7 to December 9. It was good to get it pinned down, but I wish it could be a few weeks later, after I’ve had a chance to catch my breath and to grieve.

  I went to the apartment to make sure everything was out. Marge was there cleaning, and it looked so strange.

  I went out on the little patio and remembered all the happy and, as Mother used to say, peaceful times we had there. Eating lunch, or just holding hands. Very painful for me.

  My mother loved to watch the birds, so we had put in a birdbath for her. I took it and I’m going to set it up in our new house. [It’s there now, in the back, by the pool.]

  As I left Mother’s apartment for the last time, I tried not to look back.

  I went to Sybil Harrington’s [Sybil is an old friend of my family’s]. I had called her and asked her if I could come by. Everything else had changed, and I wanted to be somewhere that was exactly the same. I also wanted to just sit and look out at green grass. Next door is the house that Brooke and Vincent Astor had at one point, and then Adele Astaire [Fred Astaire’s sister] had it. Fred used to come out here to visit her.

  Back to the hotel. Ronnie arrived with Dick and the family and everyone came over at six-thirty for dinner. Mail still pouring in—it just amazes me. People from my past, my mother’s past, and heads of state. The mix is so surprising.

  October 31: Not a good night. Rosie Grier called. [Rosie is an old friend who used to be close to Bobby Kennedy.] He was in Phoenix, so I asked him to come to the service. Oh, I hope it’s nice for Mother. The White House sent lots of white flowers. And I asked for a nosegay from me to Mother to be on the altar.

  Ron and Doria came after lunch, and Dick and his family, and Charlotte Ramage [my cousin, with whom I had lived as a little girl] and her family. Terrible weather in Los Angeles, so Mermie, Dennis, and Mike’s plane was late, and they went straight to the church.

  There were over two hundred people at the church, which is a real tribute to Mother, especially when you realize that she was ninety-one. But she had touched a lot of people’s lives.

  The church looked beautiful. There was a boys’ choir and they sang beautifully and looked darling in their white robes. Mother would have liked that. And Nancy Joachim [a friend of Jane Erkenbeck] sang beautifully. Father Doran and Monsignor Donahue spoke, and read from Mother’s Bible.

  Father Doran said, “There is only one word to describe Edie Davis, and that’s ‘delightful.’ When you came into a room and she was there, it was just delightful. She made everything that way.”

  Then he made us all laugh by telling how he had introduced Mother to the bishop of Phoenix. He said that Mother was very formal, and gave a little curtsy to the bishop. Then she turned to Father Doran and said, “Well, aren’t you and I going to kiss? We always do that when the bishop isn’t here!”

  Then Ronnie spoke. As he began, Ron reached over and held my hand.

  Ronnie talked about his friendship with Mother. He said, “Meeting her was like opening a bottle of champagne,” and that she “gave wit and charm and kindliness throughout her life.”

  He spoke beautifully, and personally. He described how she seemed to know everybody in Chicago, and how he first realized this when he was in town on business one evening. He was supposed to meet my parents for dinner, but he was running late and couldn’t find a cab. When the doorman of the hotel heard that he was going to see Edie Davis, he hailed a squad car. Both of the officers in the car knew Mother, too, so they drove Ronnie right to her door.

  The service lasted forty-five minutes, which was just the right length for Mother. I think she would have liked the whole thing. I hope so.

  Even the press were making remarks about Patti’s not being here. No call, no card, no flowers—nothing. Elaine told them she didn’t know where Patti was. She said, “This can only be another crack in an already broken heart. I don’t mind saying it because I think Mrs. Reagan has gone through an awful lot and that had to be an additional hurt.”

  True.

  After the service, we went into a holding room and suddenly I was aware that Ron and Doria weren’t there. They had gone back into the church—Doria is Catholic—to light a candle for Mother. I was very touched, and followed them in and did the same.

  Doria hugged me. She said she loved me and had learned so much from me.

  Then to the Boitches’ for the reception. So many of our friends from California and New York, and just about everybody Mother had known. Stu Spencer came in from Los Angeles. Also, my old friend Jean Wescott from Chicago with her daughter.

  I was getting awfully tired so we came back to the hotel and had dinner in bed. It felt so good to lie down. There was a terrible storm in the middle of the night: hard rain, thunder, and lightning. I guess Mother is trying to get things organized up there!

  November 1: Early start to get ready to fly back to Washington. I’m exhausted, but there’s a mountain of mail and calls waiting for me. I don’t know how I got through these past few days. I still haven’t had a recuperation period, and I don’t have as much movement and flexibility in my arm as I should. I’ve got to start taking care of myself—that’s what everybody keeps telling me.

  November 2: [Back at the White House] Slept late. Far more tired than I realized. Mail and flowers still pouring in. And Mother’s things and messages—I can’t seem to get out from under.

  I called Mike Wallace to thank him for the piece he wrote on Mother. Also for the flowers he sent to the church.

  After dinner I automatically reached for the phone to call Mother.

  November 3: Slept late again. Trying to exercise my arm. Worked with Elaine on interview requests. Lots came in after the mastectomy, but before Mother’s death. I really don’t want to go around from network to network talking about the need for mammograms. Maybe one general PBS announcement will do it. They sa
id the number of women going in for mammograms has skyrocketed, which is great.

  In the afternoon, Ronnie went down for the Arts and Embassies reception, but I couldn’t. Many of my friends were there and I would have loved to see them, but not now. No time to nap and I was tired. Dinner on trays.

  November 5. Found out today that Raisa is coming with Gorbachev next month. Now we’ve got to figure out what to do with them.

  Ronnie’s nominee for the Supreme Court is accused of smoking marijuana in college, which he admitted. Ye gods, when will all this stop?

  Meeting with Howard Baker, Ken Duberstein, and Tom Griscom on the Gorbachev visit. We plan to have a state dinner for the Gorbachevs, and people are already breaking down the door to get in. So much to do, so little time to do it. And me not feeling so hot.

  All of this could not have happened at a worse time.

  Left for Camp David. Much cooler now.

  Ralph Lauren called. He was very sweet, and he said, “I wish you had told me. Maybe I could have been helpful to you.”

  We ran a darling movie with Lillian Gish and Bette Davis. Seeing Lillian brought back memories of when I lived in New York, and I’d often go over to her apartment for dinner.

  November 7: Three weeks ago today I had the mastectomy. Still doesn’t seem possible.

  Douglas Ginsberg wants to have his name taken out of consideration. I think that’s smart. I believe Ronnie wants to go with [Judge Anthony] Kennedy.

  [At Camp David] I went up for the radio broadcast and on the way back I stopped at the gym with John Hutton to do my exercises. I had taken my weights with me.

  November 8: Howard [Baker] called Ronnie about a story in the Washington Post that upset him. I said to him, “Howard, Ronnie’s been putting up with this for years now, reading in the paper and seeing on television that he’s over the hill, that he sleeps all the time, and so on. And if he can take it, so can you.”

  Howard said, “Well, you make a good point.”

  November 9: All the girls in the office are working so hard. So much mail has come in that they have been taking letters home to answer on weekends.