Lena Archuleta died Sunday, and it should come as no surprise to anyone who knew her that she left detailed final instructions. Duties delegated and enumerated, elaborations found in attached memoranda.
She listed who should make the calls informing friends of her demise, where the service was to be held, how much the priest should be tipped. She asked that the urn containing her husband’s ashes be placed next to hers during the service. She noted the reception should be held on a Thursday because more parking was available at the building on that day.
I laughed when Roger Cisneros, the retired judge, her friend and executor, pulled out a fat white binder containing her paperwork. That was Lena. “She’s not going to die until the good Lord is ready for her to come and organize something,” Lena’s good friend Dora Valdez said.
Lena was 90. Naturally, she wrote her own obituary. It is half a page long. She does not mention she was the first female Hispanic principal in Denver Public Schools. She has a school named after her. Instead, she starts with this: “Lena L. Archuleta taught in the classrooms of New Mexico and Colorado for over 30 years.” That sentence, in all its humility, may tell you all you need to know about her.
The obituary lists a few of her many awards. She names some of the organizations she founded and boards upon which she served and includes her two years as vice president of the national AARP.
This is her resume, and like most resumes, it is informative without being illuminating. A resume cannot describe the dignity and grace with which Lena Archuleta carried herself through this world. It only hints at her generosity and perseverance, her discipline and energy. And it cannot testify to the esteem in which she was held or the love she engendered in this town. What Lena said without ever really having to say it was this: “There were a few before you and there will be others after you, but this is your time. This is your opportunity to better this world, and you must make the most of it.”
She never stopped blazing trails. She did not know how to stop. She once told La Voz newspaper: “The path that I took to get to where I am at now was not paved for me. It didn’t even exist.”
It is always a challenge to sum up a life once it has passed and in this case I will tell you it cannot be done. It cannot be done because no clever arrangement of words can describe this life’s richness. It cannot be done because Lena would not wish it to be done. She was the most private public person I ever met. When she became ill, she allowed her friends to take her to the doctor as long as they stayed in the waiting room.
Last fall, Lena was diagnosed with ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. By December, she was in a nursing home. She and her husband had no children, and she chose to see only her closest friends. She could not speak and began communicating largely through e-mail. When she could no longer type, she called a meeting. Of course, she did. It was her way of saying goodbye to her closest friends. She asked for another meeting on Friday with Cisneros and her hospice nurse. She indicated then that she wanted no more food, water or visitors. Lena died with the dignity and in the privacy she treasured. Services have not yet been arranged.
Sometime after she checked into the nursing home, Lena filled out some paperwork that included this: “If anyone asks how I want to be remembered, please say the following about me . . .”
It strikes me as precisely the kind of sentence Lena would not want to finish because it might reveal too much. So, she wrote that life is a beautiful gift and death is a part of life. A public, pat answer.
But then she added one more sentence. One humble, honest line. “She tried to do more good than harm.”
Tina Griego writes Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Reach her at 303-954-2699 or tgriego@denverpost.com.
