They're together again at last, in heaven...
...but, boy oh boy, how very much I miss them both!!!
The above is a snippet from a Super 8 home movie -- anyone remember those? -- filmed onboard a United Airlines jetliner, in August of 1978. It's almost literally all I have left now of either of my parents, so I thought I'd share it with the readers of this blog. Please note that my father suffered from pretty severe claustrophobia, and had to get a little "tipsy" in order to board the plane, and endure a four hour flight from Tennessee to California. But I think his resulting silliness is what gives this all too short clip its charm. Hey, and check out my mom -- she was a real looker for a woman in her early fifties, don'tcha think? I'll have much more to say about both of them later... when I'm up to it, that is.
The above is a snippet from a Super 8 home movie -- anyone remember those? -- filmed onboard a United Airlines jetliner, in August of 1978. It's almost literally all I have left now of either of my parents, so I thought I'd share it with the readers of this blog. Please note that my father suffered from pretty severe claustrophobia, and had to get a little "tipsy" in order to board the plane, and endure a four hour flight from Tennessee to California. But I think his resulting silliness is what gives this all too short clip its charm. Hey, and check out my mom -- she was a real looker for a woman in her early fifties, don'tcha think? I'll have much more to say about both of them later... when I'm up to it, that is.
posted by J. Kendrick McPeters | 8:25 AM
14 Comments:
My prayers are with you and your family
Prayers and sympathies for you and your family.
Take each day one at a time. Believe in the power of prayer and use Footprints in the Sand. It works.
I am so sorry.
You never stop missing those you love but it will get better as the days go by. God will empower you to endure and eventually rejoice in His wonderful blessings. Allen Barrett
Kendrick, your mother was a very good looking lady. I uses to visit with her at the rec. center when you and my children took swimming lessons from Kermit Smith.
Kenrick, sorry about your mother. I have disagreed with you on A LOT of things and ideas you have, but all the same, I do offer my sympathy.
God bless you and your family.
I don't know what the real measure of a good mother is, but the word that comes to my mind is love. My mother loved my father, and she loved her children and grandchildren. She would fight like a mother bear if she thought one of her own was mistreated, and you always knew she was in your corner-- no matter what. She was my best friend.
Mother had been in poor shape for many years. Arthritis pain took its toll, and she wasn't able to get out and about like she did in her youth. Congestive heart failure, diabetes and even a bout with breast cancer added to her list of infirmities. But I remember her before the pain, and I remember a woman who was always friendly and smiling. She was always kind to waitresses and cashiers, and always seemed to go out of her way to be cheerful.
Even in her last years, she kept a great attitude toward life. I've had several people comment that they had no idea what bad shape she was in by talking to her on the phone. Even when her living area was reduced to approximately 5 or 6 square feet, she kept the most positive attitude I've ever seen. (Well, except for maybe the preacher Joel Osteen, who she watched on a regular basis.)
Even though her body gave out on her years ago, her mind was still as sharp as a tack. She continued to answer the phone for Pulaski Refrigeration and Electric Service and managed the business after Daddy died. Often I would call her up and ask her how to spell a word because it was quicker than looking it up in a dictionary, and she always knew. She was also strong willed and hard headed-- a couple of traits some may speculate that she passed on to a couple of her children. ;-)
Although it is hard for those she left behind, we can take comfort in the knowledge that Mother was a Christian. There's a great peace in knowing that she's in a much better place, surrounded by friends and loved ones that passed from this life before her. She is no longer in pain, and I'm sure her smile is now radiating in heaven like it once did on earth.
When I was 3 years old, we lived across the street at Hampton Court. When Mother got off from work, she always came home and fixed supper -- preparing vegetables at every meal. One of the vegetables was spinach, and, after I ate my spinach, I would say I was "pop-eye" and go hit the sink with my fist. Mother would always laugh.
When I was 5 years old, we lived at Spofford Street. When Christmas came around, Mother bought me a "Roy Rogers" outfit complete with guns. Mother sent me outside to get a bucket of coal, and I fell down and got my chaps dirty. I ran into the house crying. Mother said "Oh honey, I'll wash it out -- make things better." And she did.
Now that I'm all grown up, and have raised a family of my own, I can't help but marvel at Mother's strength in those lean and hungry days. She had left her first husband, my father, because he drank and was mean to her. I was only a baby in diapers at the time, and she had to really struggle to make ends meet -- not only for the two of us, but also for her mother, who was always in very poor health. Mother worked as a phone operator, and knew practically everyone in town just from the sound of their voice. She made only enough money to barely get by, and had to walk miles back and forth to work every day, no matter what the weather, because she couldn't afford a car or taxi.
When I was 10 years old, Mother lost her job when the phone company switched over to rotary dialing, and, since she couldn't find a good job in Pulaski, we almost moved to Louisville. But Jack McPeters came to our rescue, when he asked to marry Mother. She said "yes" and Jack immediately had four mouths to feed instead of just one.
Mother and Jack, along with myself, and Jack's brother George, his mother Nelle, and Momma's mother, all piled into Jack's late model Cadillac, and drove to California. We probably were riding in the only 1954 Caddy on earth that was not only air conditioned, but had a Coca-Cola cooler case in the trunk, which Jack had ingeniously tied into the car's freon line.
One day while we were in California, Mother and Jack took a trip by themselves to Tijuiana. When they got back, they were man and wife. It turns out, they'd planned the whole trip as a way to elope, but they'd kept that a secret from everyone else, until the deed was done.
Once Jack married my Mother, she never had to punch a timeclock, ever again. She continued to work, answering the phone for Pulaski Refrigeration -- a job she continued to do, til just a few days before she died.
But mostly, Mother kept herself busy raising kids. That was what she did best in life, I am sure. She never stopped loving, or talking about Jack, right up to the end of her days. Now Mother is back together with Jack, and I'm sure she is happier than she has been in many years. But those of us she left behind will always miss her, and love her.
What sweet stories about your Mother. I hope I have contributed to my children's happiness as did your mom. I love the part about her being a cat b/c I have often been accused of "clawing someone's eyes out" if you mess with my children and the part about the dirty clothes. Thats why they make spray and wash. That's what us Mothers do.GOD bless all of you.
dear mr. mcpeters, i was sorry to read in the paper of your mother's passing and can commisserate as i lost my father this month also. we never want to let them go, but sometimes have to because of the misery they are enduring. peace
What can I say about my dear, wonderful mother that my brother and sister haven't already said? A pretty good bit, actually. But lately I've been suffering from a combination of grief and writer's block, and I'm having an awful hard time committing my thoughts to words.
Rather than write some massively long essay that no-one outside my family would bother reading, how about I just post a few random thoughts? Doing it that way may help me get around the grief and writer's block that has held me up thus far. So here goes...
My mom wasn't just a great mother... she was also my best friend. Her love for me (and, I'm pretty certain, for Ted and Annelle) knew no bounds. As long as she was alive, I knew that at least one person in this cold, cruel world loved me unconditionally!
My mother was my champion. I couldn't begin to list all the things she did for me, but I will mention a few anecdotes from my childhood. For instance, my mother strongly believed in my intellectual potential, and encouraged me to read as many books as possible. All throughout my childhood, she'd buy me the first volume of a set of books that were meant to arrive in a monthly installment plan, and then pretend to have no interest in completing the set. But my disappointment was always short lived, because the rest of the set -- of Young People's Encyclopedias, or Science and Invention A to Z, or what have you -- would be wrapped up, in a box under the tree, come Christmas Day. This was always a delightful surprise, I can assure you!
The key to whatever intellectual accomplishments I can lay claim to is this: my mother not only refused to let the "experts" of the school system "take care of me," she would even clash with them when it became obvious that they were "letting me down." The most notorious incident of this happening, came in my fourth grade...
I came home one day, bearing the rather shocking news that I had been placed in a class for slow readers. Most mothers nowadays would just say that the experts know best, and that I should simply learn to enjoy the company of the slow readers. But my momma was not like most mothers... she took on the responsibility of seeing that I reached my true potential, and thus she was well aware -- experts be damned! -- that I didn't belong in a class for slow readers.
In a word, she went ballistic. She immediately went to West Hill Elementary, and made a bee-line for the office of the Principal, Ethel Holt. Momma demanded to know what in blazes I was doing in a slow reading class, and Principal Holt replied that, although I could certainly read, I had troubles with "comprehension." My mother laughed this off, and, when she was through with Ms. Holt, she went looking for my homeroom teacher, Helen Arthur. It turned out that Mrs. Arthur was just as dismayed by this incident as my mother, and that she knew exactly what had happened...
Helen Arthur told my mother that I "wasn't slow at anything," and said that she had been involved in a huge argument with the Principal, trying to keep me out of that slow reader's class. The truth of what happened, according to Mrs. Arthur, is that West Hill was trying to round up enough warm bodies, in order to qualify for federal funds. They didn't have quite enough slow learners to meet the federal quota, so my name was drawn "from a hat" in order to fill up the last seat, and land the "free" federal money.
Needless to say, my mother didn't much appreciate my being treated in such a ridiculous manner, and she laid down the law to Ethel Holt. As a result of my mom's "hand's on" parenting, I never again darkened the door of that special ed class. And I truly believe that if the school hadn't backed down, that my mother would have been yanked me completely out of the system, and I'd have become Giles County's first home schooled student!
I really feel that this incident, from my tenth year on earth, represented a major "fork in the road" for me. Had my mother allowed "the experts" to do with me as they pleased, I'm quite certain that I would have been traumatized for life. It surely would greatly have damaged my fledgling sense of self esteem, had I been "labeled" a "slow reader" and forced to attend a class for "dummies." And the cosmic injustice of it all -- knowing, as I did, that I was an excellent reader -- would likely have festered in me for many years afterward.
But I had a terrific mother, and she took care of the problem. Just like she did with everything else that came along. What a debt I owe her, for doing so very much for me! And, as I've been thinking it over, I realize that she was right about practically everything she told me...
Many times she told me that "your mother is your best friend, and after she is gone, your life will never be the same." And boy, was she ever right about that! I came to realize that my mom was slipping away, several months ago. And I thought I was prepared for her passing. But now that she is really and truly gone, I find myself shaking my head at my own naivete. Every morning, I come down the stairs, and look at the empty lift chair in the living room. And then the realization hits me once again, like a knife in the guts, that she isn't coming back, not this time.
So, although I have some semblance of companionship, from my mother's dog, and my cat... it just isn't quite the same. I've lost my mother, my best friend, my champion, and my companion, all rolled into one. And the fount of love which once showered me, is now gone. So, to say that my heart is aching with pain, is quite the understatement. I always knew that I'd miss my mother when she was gone, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine just how much I'd miss her!
I try to console myself, by remembering that she really and truly is in a better place now, and that she is surrounded by the family and friends, such as my dad, who preceded her. And I truly believe that, along with the sure and certain confidence that one day I'll see her again. But still... getting by for another thirty years or so without her is obviously not going to be easy. And no matter what success I might eventually see, now that I have "a life of my own," I know that material satisfactions alone will never heal the pain caused by her absence. I'm confident that, in time, I will at least come to live with my loss, just as I did with my father. I'll just have to take things one day at a time, and pray for healing and guidance from above. Eventually, the current blistering pain will fade, but I will always miss my dear momma, and love her with all my heart. She simply was a wonderful woman, and if you never got a chance to know her, you are poorer off as a result, whether you realize it or not.
Meanwhile, I'd like to close by offering some advice to those of you out there in reader-land who aren't yet orphans. Here's the deal: everyone you know and love will eventually die, and, worst of all, most of the time you won't even see their death coming, until it's too late. So, if your mother is still alive, why not treat every day like it's Mother's Day? At the very least, tell your parents that you love them, whenever you come to see them, and whenever you leave their company. One day... much, much sooner than you'd ever believe... your mother and father will both be dead. And when that awful day comes, don't you think you'll find it a great relief, to remember that your last words to them were "I love you?"
Once your parents are gone, you aren't given any "second chances" to say what you "always wanted" to tell them. You either tell it to them now, in this world, or let it fester inside you, until you get a chance to tell it to them in the next world. So, please take every opportunity you can to tell your folks just how much you love them. I missed the boat on this with my father, but, with my mother, I made sure that she knew exactly how I felt. Naturally, she always expressed her love to me, in reciprocal fashion. And, while I am fairly consumed at the moment by my grief, at the very least, I can take a great deal of comfort in knowing that my last words to my dear momma were "I love you, love you, love you," and her last words to me were "I love you, love you, love you, too."
PS to all concerned...
It's many hours past my bedtime, and I must catch some sleep. But now that I've gotten the above posted, I will take a good close look at all the comments that have hit my moderation box, and I will get busy doing the approve/reject thing. Just give me a little more time, and I'll take care of it! Many thanks for your patience!
Kenrick, is everything all right? We haven't been able to read any new posts in a long time, hope you are doing OK.
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