gMom wasn’t just a funny klutz. We’re all multi-faceted and Mom was no different. There was another side to mom – a survivor.
How does a little girl survive the Great Depression in abject poverty, an abusive, controlling father, the death of her older sister and forbidden to grieve? Oh Mom! You not only survived, you learned to thrive and live your life with gusto and passion and love.
She was born in 1920 in Denver, Colorado. When the depression happened, it hit the family hard. Her father was a miner and they moved to Wyoming for a few years. The family lived in a tiny shack built of wooden slats that had gaps so wide between the boards, they could see daylight. When winter came and the freezing winds howled through those slats, her mother stuffed newspaper between the boards, vainly trying to keep their shack warm.
Tragedy happened a few years later. Her older sister was playing in the street and an ice wagon hit her, killing her instantly. Her father had no way to process his grief and even blamed my grandmother for her death. He never talked about her again and forbade anyone else to talk about her. No one in the family was allowed to grieve. My mother’s best friend had been ripped from her life … yet she survived.
When the mine closed up, they began their journey back home to Denver. However, on their way they came to a crossroad: Denver or Los Angeles. They decided to make a new life in Los Angeles. Her father got a job working in the studios and helped make some notable movies – the most famous being the original “King Kong”. In fact, he used to bring King Kong home with him at night to brush him out to be ready for filming the next day. (Did you know that King Kong was a stuffed “toy” about 18 inches tall?)
Work during the depression was not always steady, plus my grandfather gambled much of his earnings away. The family did survive the depression, but had only the bare necessities of life. It must have been a grim childhood … but Mom survived.
It was in high school that Mom’s life was transformed. Someone with a compassionate heart found enough money to send her to a Christian summer camp where she met Jesus Christ and accepted Him as her Lord and Savior. Her heart was emptied of despair and was filled with love, joy and purpose. She was no longer simply surviving, but was now thriving!
It was also in high school that she met the love of her life – my sweet, gentle, loving Dad. They married in October, 1941. Two months later, on December 7, they turned on the radio. World War II had begun and for the next few years, life took a dramatic turn. Dad was working at Lockheed Aircraft so he didn’t get drafted but just after my sister was born in 1944, he joined the Navy. After the war they settled into their cozy 2 bedroom, 1 bath house in Burbank and I came along in 1946.
Our little home was filled with love and joy and music and it was ALWAYS open to anyone who wanted to come over, no matter who it was or what time it was. If someone came over just in time for dinner, Mom simply cooked more potatoes and there would always be enough food for everyone. People were welcomed with open arms and became part of our family.
Life is not only full of joys, but it also comes with difficulties and Mom’s was no different. Mom & Dad never had the luxury of being empty nesters until they were in their late 60’s. Between my sister moving back in with them with a newborn baby for a while, me moving back in for a few months when Bill got drafted into the Army, and my widowed grandmother permanently moving in with them, our tiny house was never empty … but Mom survived.
Eventually they moved to a 5 acre property in the mountains of Northern California with my grandmother, my sister and my two little nieces. After the girls grew up my Dad retired and they sold their house. Then they began a new adventure, serving as missionaries, living in a 38 foot RV, traveling around the country, doing building projects on churches and Christian camps (with Mobile Missionary Assistance Project). And my 85 year old grandmother still lived with them and traveled with them. Mom and Dad had an endless, God-given capacity to love and serve and do it with joy and grace. They survived and thrived.
After living in their RV for several years my grandmother passed away. They wanted to settle down yet still travel and serve for several months out of the year so they bought a tiny lot for their RV in the beautiful coastal town of Florence, Oregon.
This next paragraph is a little off the subject, but I can’t resist telling you a story about Florence, Oregon’s claim to fame. It was in 1970 and a huge 45 foot, 8 ton dead sperm whale washed up onto the beach. It became quite an attraction but as it sat there for about a week, it began to rot – and stink. No one knew what to do with it. It was too big to bury or drag back out to sea. So someone came up with the bright idea to blow it up with dynamite and send its rotten pieces back into the sea. They filled the carcass with 20 boxes of dynamite. The townspeople were so excited they brought their picnic lunches to the beach and sat on the bluffs to watch the spectacle. As the countdown began, suspense mounting, then, BOOM!!! It exploded! HOWEVER, instead of small pieces of rotten whale blubber and intestines blowing out into the sea, the deluge changed direction, raining huge chunks down on the town. The picnickers sitting on the bluffs had to run for their lives and one piece even flattened a brand new car.
Anyway, back to Mom. She and Dad eventually retired from MMAP and settled permanently in Florence. (This was in the early ‘90’s so thankfully all the whale gunk was gone by then.) Their life revolved around church and friends and going to the jetty to watch boats coming and going.
On December 21, 2000, some of the neighbors gathered together in their clubhouse to go Christmas caroling. Dad brought his trumpet along to accompany the group but as they were practicing, Dad fell asleep. Unsuccessfully trying to wake him up, they realized that he was gone. He had peacefully slipped into the waiting arms of the savior he served and loved. Mom was now a widow. Dad was the only man she ever loved. He was her rock, her joy, her heart – and he was now gone. It was time to grieve – and she did. Once she told me, “Well, countless women have gone through this and, doggone, I will too.” Good for you, Mom! You’re a survivor!
We lived in Flagstaff, Arizona – so very far from Oregon and we worried about Mom but were comforted with the fact that she had a loving church family that took good care of her. One day we came home from church and there was a message on our answering machine. It was Mom. “What size is a bathtub? Call me back.” She sounded quite lucid but in the back of our mind, we thought maybe she was losing it. Scratching our heads, we dutifully climbed our stairs, tape measure in hand, and measured our bathtub. When we called her back, she told us that she was designing her new house that she was going to have built and she needed the dimensions of a bathtub. She even got her first computer and cell phone – and learned how to use them (well, kind of). Whew! We knew she was going on with her life and was going to be okay – still surviving and thriving.
Two years later she called us with a bombshell: “Is it okay that I’m dating a man?” Mom, you’re 82 years old! Of COURSE it’s okay. That’s when she married my wonderful step-father. Good for you, Mom! You won’t allow the tough things of life to keep you down. You survive – and thrive!
And so for the next 14 years, Mom & Mel lived and loved happily – and grew old together. As Mom neared her mid-90’s she began to tell me that she was tired and that she really wanted to go home and see Jesus. She wasn’t depressed and still lived her life with gusto and joy, but she really would rather see Jesus. I retorted: “Well, apparently he doesn’t want to see you yet because you’re still here.” I guess I just didn’t want her to give up. Her mind was still sharp but her body was, well, just tired.
We had gone up to see Mom & Mel and on Mother’s Day, 2016 it was time to leave to go home. We went to church with them, then out to dinner. After saying our good-byes and giving one last hug, we left to go back to Arizona. I’ve always known that every good-bye could be my last and this good-bye was no exception. A box of Kleenex rode in my lap for the next 100 miles.
Two weeks later Mom was admitted into the hospital with pneumonia – and two days later, her wish came true. She finally went home and got to see Jesus. After 96 years she survived again and I have no doubt, is thriving today.
Mom, I still feel the random pangs of losing you but am overwhelmingly grateful for the legacy you gave me. Your difficulties created a rock-solid resolve to survive. You never went under but rather chose to thrive and had you not, my destiny would have been so different. God did a beautiful job in you!