"I was born under the sun sign of Aquarius, rising sign of Scorpio, on February 19, 1932." "I came in with Roosevelt." These were two of the ways that Mom spoke about her entrance into the world. In Bristol, Virginia — born to a school teacher and Navy vet.
Her sisters, who are both younger, couldn't speak to her arrival, but they certainly have spoken about her fearlessness and disdain of convention. Betty, the one closest to her in age, described to me this summer how Mom made up her mind that she wanted to work in the library in Oak Ridge, when she was in her early teens. So she marched into the library and introduced herself to the head librarian and insisted that she be given the job. She got it, and worked there all through high school. And, walking or bicycling to work, she dressed comfortably, rather than conventionally, causing her mother no small amount of consternation. At the other end of her life, those who got to know her here at St. Bart's appreciated the feistiness of her unscheduled "Alleluia's", during the Epistle or Prayers of the People.
Over her lifetime, she was a librarian and a primary school teacher. When her youngest started school, she went back to school herself for a degree in social work, was then a case worker for DFACS, the social services director in newly opening retirement community, a nursing home inspector for the state of Virginia. Then she went back to school again to study therapeutic massage and served many as a masseuse. And these were just the jobs for which she was paid. She was a dedicated member of Episcopal churches in El Paso, Augusta, Richmond, Boone — she served as ECW president, junior Warden, head of Christian Education, Sacristan. She taught English to Hispanic immigrants and migrant workers; she was a weaver; she spent many days in southern Mississippi rebuilding after Katrina. There was nothing that she made up her mind to do, that she couldn't, wouldn't and didn't take on.
As some of you may know, our family — my brothers and our wives — started down a journey 8 1/2 years ago, when our Dad was diagnosed with a lymphoma that took his life 18 months later. Then, over the next several years, we lived with Mom's gradual loss of so much of her ability to care for herself, her becoming bedridden, and finally her dying on Christmas Eve. Over these challenging times, we have received many expressions of admiration for how well we have supported Dad, Mom, and ourselves – whether it was the honest and frequent communication with friends and extended family, the collective and collegial making of difficult decisions, and even bringing Mom here to St. Bartholomew's when the disease was quite advanced. And we've seen the contrast with other families when the loss of parents brings out divisions and missed opportunities to care for, and be with, each other. Well, as we were all raised in the South, each of us could say: "That's the way my momma raised me..."
Mom was extraordinarily gifted at loving her family — loving in a constructive, affirming, unconditional way. No doubt it wasn't easy for her. Three boys and a husband; our Dad was loving and wise in many ways, but was masculine, perhaps to a fault. One compensation was the rule in our house that all of our pets had to be female. And I think nothing made her happier than her boys bringing daughters into the family through marriage.
As a parent, I've found that one of the most difficult things was — and still is — the constant re-calibrating of relationship and expectations, as our three kids have grown and matured from young children, to teens, to adults. Mom was brilliant at striking the balance between 'mothering' and giving us room and responsibility to grow — teaching us to walk on our own two feet. Many years afterwards, I had marveled at her agreeing to letting her then 13 year old son take off with his two older brothers, barely out of their teens themselves, on a six-week long road, camping, and whitewater boating trip. Her response was simply, "I knew that you’d take care of him."
She was a passionate lover of the natural world, enjoying hiking and camping and the simplicity of living out of a backpack. And she particularly loved the way that being outdoors afforded her a deep appreciation of her place in the "vast expanse of interstellar space, galaxies, suns, the planets in their courses and this fragile earth, our island home."
We will miss her.
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