January 30, 1949

Bill and Virginia.  A love story.

Today would have been my parents 65th anniversary.  So i called Mom and asked her to tell me about the day she got married... Mom was 21 and Dad was almost 21, and this what she recounted. Parentheses are mine.

"It was a Sunday afternoon, January 30, 1949.  There was 8 inches of ice on the ground.  The roads had been closed for over a week when Dad  (that's what she calls him when talking  to me)  finally got home from Stillwater.  It was between semesters.  We got married at the Methodist Church in Ft. Towson, Oklahoma. Mama Jo (Mom's mother), Granny (Mom's grandmother), Aunt Ruth (Dad's aunt who pretty much raised him), Mrs. Wilson, and the preacher and his wife were there.  Mama Groves (Dad's mother) wouldn't come.  (No surprise there, she didn't like any of the women her sons married.) 

Granny made me a white wool gabardine dress with gold buttons.  She sewed for the public, and it was a very nice dress.  Dad wore a suit. We took the last bus out that afternoon, as it began to snow again, and headed for a borrowed efficiency apartment in Oklahoma City.  Paul Artie (Dad's uncle) offered it to us for our wedding night - it was free...and since we had a total of $40 in our pockets, the price was right.  Our window was broken on the bus, and we almost froze, it was so cold.  There was so much ice everywhere that trees and limbs were broken all along the way and it looked like a disaster area.  (I googled it, and found out it was -16 degrees that day in Ft. Towson...record low for that day.  EVER.)  Dad said it was a hell of a day to get married.

Paul Artie had been out of town for a while, so when we got to the little apartment, it was frigid.  We turned on the open flame gas heaters and everything else to try to warm it up.  Woke up with the worst headaches in the morning, skin felt creepy and we were just miserable all around.  Dad asked me if I felt funny - then we both jumped up and started throwing open the windows and turning off the gas, realizing the gas had eaten up all the oxygen in the apartment and we had almost gassed ourselves.  I was just about then thinking to myself, 'if this is what marriage is like...i want out!'"

They eventually made it on to Stillwater...and began to live happily ever after. For which i am thankful.

Mom and Dad, you did it right, and showed us what true love is.  For better and for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health,  til death do us part.

Saying Good-bye

Took my eighty-two year old mom to say good bye to her best friend of fifty years. We were hoping they could sit in the porch swing with a cup of coffee like they used to, chatting and laughing, patting each others hands, and wrapping up any loose ends or words that needed to be said. But Miss Dorothy quickly and suddenly grew worse, and when we got there she was unresponsive, no longer able to sit, or speak, or stay awake for very long…or maybe even recognize those gathered around her.

My Mom is a remarkable woman. She believes that dying is just another chapter of living, and that it will be o.k., and it is good. So, she still gathered her best friend up in her heart and forged through their good bye single-handedly. Mom sat on the bed and kissed her forehead, told her she loved her so very much, asked her to squeeze her hand if she knew who she was. Miss Dorothy never took her eyes off of mom, and squeezed her hand.

Miss Dorothy’s family moved across the street from our family in 1959. She and Mom became fast friends, as we tend to do with those who we grow up through life with. They had coffee breaks twice a day – at 10 and 3. At ten, to give them some get up and go for the house cleaning chores lying before them, and at three, to shore them up for the afternoon ….before the school bus delivered us kids back home again. So sitting on the bed by her best friend, Mom told stories about those early marriage days, the kids shenanigans, and how in the world they survived it all! The day Miss Dorothy’s son slammed his finger in the door and severed it, and Mom picked it up, wrapped it in a paper towel and took him to the doctor to have it sewn back on because Miss Dorothy didn’t have a car. The day Miss Dorothy’s skinny little two –year old daughter climbed up on the kitchen table and ate 7 bananas, and by the time they discovered her, her little belly was pooching out so unimaginably bloated! The day Miss Dorothy’s oldest daughter, my brother, and I decided to dig a swimming pool in our backyard and my brother got hit in the head with the shovel and had to go get stitches. Mom chatted and laughed, and patted Miss Dorothy’s hand.

Mom and Miss Dorothy have been friends for fifty years, yet thirty-nine of those years, their friendship was long distance. Miss Dorothy still lives in the same little house, but my Dad got transferred to Dallas, then to Memphis, then retired to Paris. Yet they remained best friends.

Mom bent down and whispered in her friends ear, “ You are my forever friend. You know that, don’t you?” Then she said out loud, “Dorothy, can I pray for you?” Dorothy nodded her head- it was a very definite response. My Mom thanked the Lord for her friend, and their long and good friendship. She committed her to heaven, asked the Lord to walk her home. Then instead of saying goodbye, she said, “Wait for me at the eastern gate. I’ll be there soon. You’re just going to beat me home.”

She told Miss Dorothy that she didn’t want to wear her out, and she looked tired. Mom knew that hospice had just given her some pain medication that was making her sleepy. Mom told her that we’d go get a bite to eat, and come back to see her again before we had to leave town. So we did.

When we returned after about an hour-and-a half, Mom asked if Dorothy was asleep. Her daughter said that she hadn’t shut her eyes since we left. I believe that she fought through the medicine to be able to see Mom one last time. So we left them alone this time, to wrap up any loose ends and say whatever words were left to be said.

It wasn’t at all the way we hoped it would be. But when you have a best friend for fifty years, you do whatever you have to do to send her on her way in peace. Dying is afterall, just another part of living. And it will be o.k. And it is good.

1 Thessalonians 4:13 But we do not want you to be uninformed, brethren, about those who are asleep, so that you will not grieve as do the rest who have no hope.

Things that make me Happy - Part 1

I have decided to write a new blog series entitled "Things that make me Happy!" Feel free to look for subsequent posts in the coming days.

THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY - PART 1

My Mom loving Titus.

Eighty years difference, but mysteriously bound by mind-boggling love...

Home Is Where the Mother Is

I went to see my little mom last week. She’s 81 years old, about five feet tall, and pretty spunky, just the same. I love her stories. I love it how she can remember what Jeffrey used to do when he was five and I can’t (life was such a fog when the kids were small and our goal was simply to get them all in bed at night.) I love it that she still keeps up with our next door neighbor in Shreveport, Louisiana even though we moved away 38 years ago. I love that she cherishes certain day lilies growing in her garden because someone special gave them to her. I love that every now and then she gives me a call and says, “I just had a yen to talk to you!” I love that when she saw her first great grandchild and was asked how it felt, she simply summed it up in one word – continuance. I love that when we moved her out of her house a few years back, she could tell a story about every quilt she had and every knick knack on her shelf, and basically knew who had given her what and why and when. I love it that she can remember things like that, because I can’t remember anything. But more than that, it professes to me the value she places in relationships. She paid attention along the way, and remembered the things that were important. The relationships.


My parents moved around some after Duane and I married, so when someone asked me where “home” was, I always just said wherever they were living at the time – Dallas, Memphis, Paris. Because really, home wasn’t a certain city, home was simply where they were.


And still today, I believe with all my heart that “home is where the mother is.”
Mom’s were a great idea. Thanks, God!

And I love you, Mom!



caption: mom and sweet peas
or
a sweet pea of a mom