25th Anniversary of Mom’s Death

I don’t typically mark the anniversary of the death of one of my loved ones but rather chose to remember them on their birthdays.  But this year seemed a more significant occasion when I realized that on April 12^th, it will have been 25 years since my mom died.  Had I not just made the discovery in reading one my dad’s sermons, my recognition of this milestone might have been missed.

It was in January of this year that I read the last sermon my dad ever gave, having been delivered just days before the discovery of uncontrolled cancer growth in his body and just barely a month before he died.  I wrote a post about reading that sermon that without intention, actually published three days after the 22^nd anniversary of his death.  Knowing that my mom died three years prior to his passing, I quickly did the math to come to this quarter of a century mark.

I realized this year was significant in another way as not long after reading that sermon, we marked what would have been their 75^th wedding anniversary on February 4th.  My parents did reach their 50^th wedding anniversary but there was no celebration on that date as she was in the hospital from where she would not leave alive.  Thankfully we had an early anniversary celebration the year before in Asheville, NC, just 30 miles from our favorite place where we vacationed so often, Montreat, NC.

On April 11^th 1999, a Sunday afternoon, all of my siblings along with some other family members gathered in our mom’s hospital room.  She was in a coma by that time, and I would assume, unaware of our gathering.  It was to be a farewell as it was the last time I would see her alive.  She died the following night.

With the recognition of this being a significant milestone year, I did a few things in advance of this date to help me recall my mom.

I have written before about the unpublished manuscript our parents wrote after they retired about their lives growing up, their courtship, their wedding, and their nearly 50 years of marriage.  This they put together in 1996 — in what we all affectionately refer to as “The Black Book.”  They gave a copy to each of us four siblings which I have read numerous times over the decades since.

I decided to re-read the chapter about my mom growing up prior to meeting our dad.  It reminded me of three of her lifelong loves:  reading, food, and humor.  In those typed pages, she told many memories from growing up, many reflective of the humor she so enjoyed.  Her chapter ended with how she met her future husband, our dad.  Finishing reading that chapter, it amazed me how it was through a series of serendipitous events for them to have met on that Sunday in the first place when he came to serve as a guest preacher at my mom’s church.  Had any one of those not occurred, its likely I would not be here typing these words now.

Thanks to our daughter I had an additional source of reading to mark this milestone.   After a recent visit home, she mentioned that while here, she had read through some writings of my mom.  I did not recall reading any of this and in fact, did not even know that I had it.  When I went to look, I found a binder on the bookshelf right next to the Black Book.

In perusing it, I realized it was a group of writings our mom had made that our dad had assembled for us sometime after her death.  It included some of the genealogy information that she had researched and discovered.  It was based on this; she had written an unpublished fictional novel Dad included in that binder about when her ancestors first came to the US.  Also in this compilation of her writings was her account of a 46^th high school reunion that she attended as well as information about the published book our parents wrote together about the kind man who was my dad’s mentor throughout his career.

But one of the 19 items listed in the table of contents that surprised me was our mom’s daily journal writings from 1988 to 1989.  I did not realize our dad had painstaking typed up our mom’s daily muses, lovingly deciphering some of her nearly illegible handwriting.  Having seen some of her handwriting, I know it was absolutely a labor of love.

In her journal she chronicled a few events I recalled but mostly ones that I never knew, many related to church activities in the small rural community in Louisiana where our dad was pastor.  That November, she wrote about all of us siblings coming for Thanksgiving, the first time she wrote all of us having been together in twelve years.  I have only vague memories of my little family of five driving there.  After Christmas, she wrote about their trip to come see us in Memphis, a visit I do recall.

A sad entry I came across was one she wrote January 16^th, the 18^th anniversary of the death of her younger sister.  It was a tragic loss for all of us as we all loved our “Aunt We.”  But I never realized how hard it was on my mom until I read her words “I’ll never get over her loss.”  It was a grim reminder of the loss my wife has endured with her younger sister having passed just over a year ago.

I was pleased to occasionally see her document days where I had called or one of my siblings calling or visiting as she always loved keeping up with us four children, another of the loves our mom had.

But the passages that brought smiles to my face each time I read one was her accounting of the restaurants where she ate, the foods she had there, or the many meals she had cooked and enjoyed.  There was not a page I turned without reading something like that.  I always knew my mom loved food, but I never knew she even chronicled it in her daily journal.

This typed script of her journal entries covered about a six-month period from around her birthday in September up through the end of February.  Having read it, I felt a closeness to her that I had not felt in many, many years.  As we mark the anniversary of that fateful date this week, it will be fresh with memories of her own words.

Thanks, Mom for writing this journal and thanks Dad for typing it for us.

I miss you both!