One amazing life...

In memory of my sister, Sarah Geraldine “Gerry” McGregor Harden.  

August 1, 1930 – October 13, 2011

I was in Chicago when the sad news came.  My sister had lost her courageous battle with ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease).  She was, at that moment, in Heaven…surrounded by a host of loved ones who’d gone before.  The Bible says “absent from the body, present with the Lord”.  Praise God!

I changed my reservations and flew South.  My plans had been to travel South on Sunday and spend the week with my sister…but Heaven needed her sooner.    On Sunday, we celebrated the amazing life of my beautiful sister at her funeral service in the church she has attended for 50+ years. There in the midst of the beautiful stained glass windows and an exquisite blanket of Autumn flowers, a host of family and friends met to remember and grieve together. I was reminded of the song “Thank You for giving to the Lord” for that is what she did.  Because she loved her Saviour, she gave so selflessly…to each and every one of us, her family…and the very long line of friends at the church. We love you and miss you, Gerry, but we’ll see you again in Heaven. How I thank God that I am so blessed to call you SISTER.

The Fourth of July...

Mama was born on July 4, 1904, in the "hills" of Mississippi to parents of Irish ancestry...parents who cherished their six children, three sons and three daughters. As a young woman, Mama had strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes and was very petite. Even at her tallest, before the osteoporosis in later years, she was barely five feet. Although she never had the opportunity to pursue training, she could play the piano and organ "by ear" and sang beautifully. An accomplished seamstress, she possessed an amazing talent with a needle and thread. Through the years, she made much of our clothing, quilts and curtains. She was artistic and could sketch whatever she wanted to create. Down through the years, I would see these same talents emerge in her daughters, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

In the course of working on my family's ancestry, I found a newspaper clipping from the newspaper in the small Mississippi town where she, my dad and my sisters lived before I was born. There was a description of the large fourth of July birthday party the family gave for Mama and all the relatives who attended. It talks about everyone enjoying the great food, especially the homemade ice cream. I could just imagine all those tables set up outside beneath those tall Mississippi pines on a hot summer's day.

All through the years as I was growing up, and even when my children were young, my sisters and our families would get together for Thanksgiving, Christmas and the fourth of July for Mama's birthday.  In later years, when everyone had their own traditions for Thanksgiving and Christmas, it was the Fourth of July that became our family reunion time...and a celebration of Mama's birthday. It was a fun time with the entire family together, celebrating with an abundance of good food and much laughter. 

After Mama and Daddy both passed away, my sisters and I tried to continue the fourth of July tradition. Eventually, the family grew even larger with an ever widening circle as each of our children married, had children and started traditions of their own.   In time, the fourth of July celebration was just a memory...but a deeply embedded one
.

My sisters and I...about 1960.

Father's Day...

Today is Father's Day and my mind is full of memories. I was 45 years old when I lost my Dad at the age of 86. I look back now and realize that forty-five was young to lose my father, but my children would be younger still when they lost their Dad.

Life is precious...and altogether fragile. Five years ago, my children and I came face to face with that fact when their father had a sudden massive coronary; and, at the all too young age of 62, he was gone. He had been the love of my life for forty years...four decades. We'd had a sad ending to our story for after 39 years of marriage, it had ended in divorce. My heart had been broken, but I had loved him still even then. Seven and a half months later, he was gone. I was left with memories and a string of what-ifs. It was an extremely hard time for my children and me. We'd all had so much to deal with in the loss of the family as we'd known it and then a loss so great it would take years to heal. Time helps a little. Over time, pain has a way of softening at the edges.

He was a wonderful Dad and my children miss him so much. I miss him.  I'm sad that he never really knew our grandchildren as they got older. That hurts a lot. I try to talk about him when I'm with them. I tell them little ways my son or daughter is like their father. I show them pictures and I tell them about him. I don't want them to forget him...although they were so young they barely remember him. I'd like to think that somehow he will know it when our newest grandbaby...a precious little girl...is born this September.  I love my children so very much and I'm glad he was their father. 

He died in the month of April, and that first Father's Day after his death, there was so much pain and hurt for all of us.  I wanted something that would, in a way, be "from him" for our children.  For our daughter, I chose the little Willow Tree "Father and Daughter" carving and for our two sons the "Father and Son" carving.  I hope each time they look at it, they remember all the good times and the great memories...for there were a lot of those.

I'm in the process of scanning forty years worth of photos...a lifetime.  I want each of my children to have a record of our family.  It will take me a while but this is important; and I will get it done.

Just a few of the memories of a lifetime...

(The order of everything is still a time-intensive work-in-progress but I wanted to show the slideshow with this post.)

Down memory lane...

Growing up on Victor Drive, Halloween was a fun time. We dressed like hobos or some other easy costume and went "trick or treating". Walking around those tree-lined blocks, we'd gather homemade popcorn balls wrapped in cellophane, hand-dipped cinnamon redhot apples or caramel apples...and lots of candy bars. We never ventured too far from home. It was safe because these were our friends and neighbors...in a different time and place.

As our children were growing up, we'd often get together with my husband's sister and her family for Halloween. We'd have a Mexican fiesta and then go "trick or treating". Fun memories...


Eating candy in a little house on Rhea Avenue many years ago...
I'm sure I brushed their teeth!  ;-)



I love those chubby little cheeks!




My youngest (left), age 5, and two of his cousins on Halloween in Memphis years ago...



Justin and his three cousins "trick or treating" in Memphis.

 


Twenty-five years ago!  My baby boy's kindergarten party at Halloween...





My first grandchild dressed in a "skunk" costume my daughter made!  The costume made the rounds through the years.

 



Awww, Mom!  That's enough pictures!  Let's go get some candy!

Now, baby sister was the skunk!

 



All these years later and my baby girl still likes dressing up for Halloween! 



I was "Grumpy" here but wasn't too keen on keeping the beard on! Check out my grandson's "peregrine falcon" costume that my daughter created (totally her creation)! My grandson was studying birds at the time and that was what he wanted!



I have several really cute photos of when my oldest two were young at Halloween but can't seem to find those right now.  I'll add them when I find them.  I'm in the midst of organizing photo albums after many years...sound familiar to anyone else out there?!



First day in Heaven...

I've been thinking about Heaven since yesterday. My eighty seven year old "second mother" of almost four decades went to be with the Lord yesterday morning in Memphis, Tennessee. She had been really sick for the past two weeks, and we had all prayed so hard for a complete recovery. Our Heavenly Father answered those prayers. He took her home.

I've had the most wonderful, peaceful vision of her reunited in Heaven with her loving husband, her son (my husband of 39 years), her parents and grandparents, my parents, my sister and a host of other family and friends. I'm sure, by now, she has talked to Jesus and finds Heaven "glorious" (her word!).

For those who know the Lord, the Bible says "absent from the body, present with the Lord" (II Cor. 5:8), interlocking circles...not one single moment in time when we are not with Him. Sadly, due to the distance (I'm in Oregon) and the time (the funeral is tomorrow), I couldn't be there this weekend. I will be traveling South in a couple of weeks for some wonderful, unhurried time with family then...


This is Bobbie, my other mother of almost 40 years, and me at my younger son's wedding four years ago. As the music played at the wedding reception to introduce the wedding party and family, the two of us "danced" in together. She was fun loving...

Bobbie and Frank...this photo was taken many years ago when he was home on leave during the war. She was always a snappy, snazzy dresser. With red hair and green eyes, she loved dressing up and wearing beautiful, vibrant colors.

This photo below was probably taken about 1944. Bobbie and her firstborn, my future husband, taking a walk. I was born on his birthday exactly two years later. Notice her suit. I love the clothes from the 40's!

A sweet family portrait. This photo was probably taken during the early 50's. I love Penny's curls! Actually, my daughter's youngest daughter looks a lot like Penny here!

I think the photo below was taken at Libertyland in Memphis. They were probably about my age here.

Diane...

I spent a couple of hours sitting on the floor of the closet this morning...surrounded by boxes of papers. In the process of searching for a particular document, I came across cards and letters that I've kept for decades. One of my favorite finds was a letter written forty years ago by my friend Diane, one of my dear church friends from my high school years. Born and raised in Louisiana, Diane was beautiful with the dark brown eyes and dark hair of her Cajun French ancestors.

Diane had married right after graduating from Memphis State and moved to California to be with her young husband who was in the Navy. From there, they moved to Colorado, and then, years later, to Okalahoma.  We kept in touch for a while.  She had a daughter and then a son.  I had a son, a daughter, a son.  We exchanged Christmas cards and phone calls from time to time.  Then I went to nursing school and life got even busier.  We moved out of state and, eventually, Diane and I lost touch.

Using the internet, I tracked Diane down about seven or eight years ago and telephoned her.  We talked for a long time.  She had bone cancer but was fighting it.  We discussed trying to meet in Memphis in the near future.  It had been so many years.  Through my struggles of the past five years, Diane and I once again lost contact.  I forgot her married name.  I couldn't find her.  Today, holding the letter from Diane in my hands, I had her last name.  Once again, using the internet, I searched for Diane.  This time, I found a beautifully written obituary and tribute.  She died in 2009.  Her husband passed away several years before her.  Her sister Yvonne, another church friend from my teen years, had also preceded her in death.  I sat at my computer, looking at the photos of her life over the past four decades and reading her obituary and I cried.  I couldn't help it...

So, once again, I've been reminded how short life is.  I made up my mind to write the Christmas letter again this year that I've neglected for the past five years and to reconnect with those long lost friends who are still living...

Mama and the pizza...

It was the late 1950's. We were living in the house on Victor Drive with the sunny windows and the knotty pine dining room with the corner china cabinets. It was a time of early rock and roll, dancing and pizza. Our first introduction to pizza was from George, a big, strong, dark-haired cajun planter from Louisiana. All these years later, and I remember George Broussard like it was yesterday. He was Glenda's boyfriend and Glenda was Dot's best friend. So we all spent a lot of time together in that little house on Victor Drive.

George had a booming voice and a great laugh. His conversation was sprinkled with a few cajun words here and there, and he loved to kid Mama. One weekend, he brought a large, filled-to-the-brim pizza over for lunch. We'd never even seen a pizza. I have to admit, at first glance, I had my doubts. All these years later, I've had the best Chicago pizza in downtown Chicago...so I'd have to say I know good pizza. I don't know where George got it, but that was some pizza! Mama took one look at it and had her doubts too. It, obviously, wasn't Southern vegetables and cornbread. She almost didn't try it, but she did...and she fell in love with George's pizza. The best I recall all these years later, I'd say it was a thin-crust, SUPREME pizza and it was, indeed, delicious.

Quite frequently after that, George would arrive with Glenda on his arm and toting another gift for Mama...a pizza supreme. I'm not sure that George ever knew that Mama became a serious pizza fan after that. She tried making it from scratch from time to time, but when she was in a hurry, she'd resort to Chef Boyardee. Not too sure that George would have approved of that...