The Last Year

I have been thinking a lot about my mother's last Christmas. I have promised myself not to dwell on memories of past Christmases, but here I am.

In early December of 2005, it was evident that Mother could no longer live in Kentucky. She was a recent widow, had a number of health problems and lived two hours from me, her only living child. So, we packed up enough furniture to furnish a two bedroom apartment and moved her here so I could keep an eye on her. It was not an easy decision for either of us to make. She would not be close to her friends and the few remaining siblings in Kentucky. I was bound to lose some of my treasured independence and this was difficult for me to accept. But, neither of us had a choice and the move was made.

After getting her moved into her apartment, first on the agenda was finding her a doctor she liked. After this was achieved, we entered the merry-go-round of doctor visits, sometimes followed by trips to the Emergency Room.

Lest you think all we did was things of a medical nature, be assured we did other things, too. We drove out in the country where we lived when I was a child, visited what little family we had in the area and went out for lunch a lot. Mother made friends with her new neighbors and even joined exercise and Bible study groups in the clubhouse at her apartment complex. She adapted to her new surroundings quickly and never once mentioned being lonely or missing her friends in Kentucky.

We also had time to talk and get used to living close to each other for the first time in many years. I heard stories old and new and had the opportunity to ask questions about her family and her childhood. I heard about when she and my dad were courting and where they were allowed to go (church) and not allowed to go (anywhere not church). Mother told me that after she and my dad married and moved across the Ohio River to Illinois, she felt like she was a million miles from her family even though she visited them often. Mother had always been a good storyteller and she had not lost her touch as she grew older.

Ten months after the move to Indiana, Mother learned she needed by-pass surgery. She did well and was recovering in a rehab center when her health began to deteriorate. She was in and out of the hospital several times. When I was a child, she comforted me by singing and it was my turn to do the same for her. Her favorite saying was "Better Days Are Coming." I lost count of the number of times I said that to her, not knowing if she heard me or not. On the 4th of December 2006, Mother quietly passed away. She was laid to rest beside my dad and my brother in the cemetery in Salem, where so many of our relatives are buried.

It is said that the pain of losing someone eases as time passes. I don't know if that is true or not. Sometimes there is such an ache to have one more conversation with Mother. I do know that last year, as hard as it was, brought us closer and I would not trade it for anything.

Christmas Memories

How often have you heard someone say, "Christmas just isn't what it used to be now that the children are grown." A lot, I bet. It's true, most of our Christmas memories are wrapped around family gatherings, finding just the right gifts for our children and then watching their faces as they see them on Christmas morning.

While we can't go back and have things the way they used to be, we can remember those days in our minds and with our photographs.

Here are two of my favorite Christmas photographs. The first, taken in 1968, is of my daughter, age 18 months, with her best buddy, Monkey Joe. She wagged that stuffed monkey around for years, sometimes strapped on her back.



This photo is from 1971, the year my son was introduced to race cars. Who knew this little purple vehicle would inspire him to drive a much larger - and faster - race car when he was barely 16 years old. His 4 year old sister is holding her treasured Mrs. Beasley. I love this photograph.



Good times. Good memories.

In Memory

A. Lavern Croft Joyce Workman
7 July 1919 - 4 December 2006
Photograph From July 1936

Mother
Gone But Not Forgotten

In Flanders Fields

Photograph of underground bunker where John McCrae, Canadian, worked at Essex Farms, near Ypres. Photograph by McKayla Jerome Bohanna 2010.

In Flanders Fields
by John McCrae 1915

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Trip to Colorado Springs

I think the first real vacation trip my family took was in the early 1950s when we visited relatives in Colorado Springs, Colorado. Uncle Oakley, my dad's brother, had a week off work so the adults decided to pack both families (all eight of us) in the car and drive more than 1,000 miles across country non-stop. I don't know how we all fit into the car, but I do not remember being uncomfortable. At some point on this trip, I slept on the ledge under the rear window ... or so I recall.

There didn't seem to be a lot of conversation among us, but Uncle Oakley kept me giggling as he waved and said, "Hi, Joe" or "Howdy, Sam" to what seemed like every person we passed. We must have taken food with us as the only time I recall stopping at a restaurant was for breakfast. This was a rare treat as breakfast was something you had at your own kitchen table instead of sitting on a stool facing a counter. If I recall correctly, this special meal consisted of a bowl of corn flakes and a glass of milk.

Only one untoward incident on this trip remains in my memory. Somewhere along the way, perhaps in Kansas, we ran into a dust storm. Maybe that was the reason for our stop for breakfast.

Once we arrived in Colorado Springs, Aunt Lena and Uncle Hebbert treated us royally. I can just imagine how excited they must have been to have eight extra people to feed and entertain, but that's what relatives did for each other. There must have been a lot of catching up on family news, especially between my mother and Aunt Lena. Not only were they sisters-in-law, but they were also cousins through the Bebout family and had grown up near each other in Kentucky. They were close then and remained so until both died in late 2006.

I don't remember if we did a lot of sightseeing or not, but do recall we visited Manitou Springs and had a family picnic at Palmer Park. The photograph above was taken in the yard of my aunt and uncle in Colorado Springs.

The trip home was probably uneventful after almost a week in Colorado Springs. That may have been the first vacation my family took, but parts of it are still vivid in my memory.

St. Meinrad and Grandpa Meinderding

Grandpa Meinerding used to talk about being sent by his parents to St. Meinrad Archabbey seminary to become a priest. According to his stories, he entered at age 14, but I do not know how long he stayed. At any rate, he left not only St. Meinrad, but also the church. He married and raised a family in Poseyville, Indiana.

A couple of days ago, we decided to drive by St. Meinrad while on our way to French Lick. Located in southern Indiana since the 1850s, the grounds of St. Meinrad are beautiful. For some reason, though, it was hard to visualize Grandpa Meinerding in these surroundings. It is much easier to picture him sitting on the side porch, waving at people walking to the post office across the street or sitting in his favorite chair in the living room watching television.

I'm not related to Grandpa Meinerding by blood, but by love and I did love him as much as my own grandfather. He was often grumpy, but he loved his family fiercely and spoiled his grandchildren every chance he had. He loved to tell stories of their childhood antics.

I think he was pleased when we borrowed his first name to give our son as a middle name. Grandpa's full name was Edwin Aloyisous Meinderding. When our son was little, we told him he had been named after Grandpa Meinderding and his full name was Timothy Edwin Aloyisous Meinderding Jerome. So, whenever anyone asked his name, that's what he told them. I think he was a little disappointed to learn his name wasn't nearly as long or as impressive sounding as we had said.

It's hard to believe Grandpa Meinerding has been gone 40 years. I hope we continue to keep his memory alive for many more years. Sometime I will tell you about Grandma Meinerding, who "sat upon her dignity."

Happy Anniversary, Reddick and Mary Ann

One hundred and forty five years ago today Reddick Smith married Mary Ann Wolstenholme in Davidson County, Tennessee. They were my great-grandparents.

Reddick had enlisted in the 6th Illinois Cavalry and later served in Co. H of the Illinois Infantry. He was captured and served some time in Libby Prison. He did not return to his home in Hardin County, Illinois at the end of the war, instead settling near Goodlettsville, Tennessee, where he married Mary Ann Wolstenholme on 2 August 1866. Reddick and Mary Ann remained in Tennessee until shortly after 1870 and then moved north to Hardin County.

Reddick died 14 April 1913 and is buried at Central Cemetery in Hardin County. Buried beside him without a tombstone is Mary Ann, who died 7 January 1933.

I am proud to wish them Happy Anniversary today.