Today is June 24th. It is an anniversary of a day that I would have wished never had happened.
My grandmother, Augusta Victoria Boone passed away on June 22, 1980. She was 98 year of age. I had been with my wife and daughter swimming at Crystal Lake (in East Texas) when I received the news. The next day I travelled to Coushatta, Louisiana to be with my mother as she and her siblings picked out the coffin in which my mau maw would be laid to rest.
I was the only grandchild there.
Two days later my brother and I along with my cousins Terrel and Gerald Hines and Bobby and Ray Baird served as pall bearers. After the funeral, the family assembled at my Aunt Mable's (Hines) house for a huge meal. Afterwards, my wife, daughter and I followed my father (in his company vehicle) and my mother and brother (in my mother's car) to the old "home place" It was hardly recognizable. It was all grown up. The house my mother had be raised, had long been burnt down. We all parked under the huge sweet gum tree (where I used to circle on my Western Flyer many years earlier). My mother walked around a bit as we all stood in the hot shade of the tree. Mother had just buried her mother and was about to drive back to Houston with my brother. My Dad was going to leave and drive to Longview, Texas where he had a few meetings to attend and I along with the first Mrs The Third and The Prodigy would be leaving to go to Shreveport to continue our week long vacation. I walked over to my mother and said "At least you were ready" I was attempting to comfort her. She turned around and looked me directly into the eyes. She had red hair and her face was red and puffy from crying and she said "T.W. ... Tommy, you are never ready." she reached down and picked up a small pebble from the ground and handed it to me. She said to keep it and always remember where it came from and where I come from. I still have that rock somewhere in storage. Shortly we all left and went in our separate directions. Less than an hour later my mother and brother's car was struck broadside by a logging truck and both of them were dead.
Now 29 years later I sat at my blogging machine thinking of my departed mother and brother. I don't get as melancholy and emotional as I used to and I realize that it is only a day just like any other. My mother had just turned 52 year old. I am now 57. My brother was only 24 years old. I realize that of the six of us to carry my grandmother to her grave only I am still living. Today's anniversary reminds meof how swiftly time flies and of my own mortality and that in facing life I am still never ready.
My grandmother, Augusta Victoria Boone passed away on June 22, 1980. She was 98 year of age. I had been with my wife and daughter swimming at Crystal Lake (in East Texas) when I received the news. The next day I travelled to Coushatta, Louisiana to be with my mother as she and her siblings picked out the coffin in which my mau maw would be laid to rest.
I was the only grandchild there.
Two days later my brother and I along with my cousins Terrel and Gerald Hines and Bobby and Ray Baird served as pall bearers. After the funeral, the family assembled at my Aunt Mable's (Hines) house for a huge meal. Afterwards, my wife, daughter and I followed my father (in his company vehicle) and my mother and brother (in my mother's car) to the old "home place" It was hardly recognizable. It was all grown up. The house my mother had be raised, had long been burnt down. We all parked under the huge sweet gum tree (where I used to circle on my Western Flyer many years earlier). My mother walked around a bit as we all stood in the hot shade of the tree. Mother had just buried her mother and was about to drive back to Houston with my brother. My Dad was going to leave and drive to Longview, Texas where he had a few meetings to attend and I along with the first Mrs The Third and The Prodigy would be leaving to go to Shreveport to continue our week long vacation. I walked over to my mother and said "At least you were ready" I was attempting to comfort her. She turned around and looked me directly into the eyes. She had red hair and her face was red and puffy from crying and she said "T.W. ... Tommy, you are never ready." she reached down and picked up a small pebble from the ground and handed it to me. She said to keep it and always remember where it came from and where I come from. I still have that rock somewhere in storage. Shortly we all left and went in our separate directions. Less than an hour later my mother and brother's car was struck broadside by a logging truck and both of them were dead.
Now 29 years later I sat at my blogging machine thinking of my departed mother and brother. I don't get as melancholy and emotional as I used to and I realize that it is only a day just like any other. My mother had just turned 52 year old. I am now 57. My brother was only 24 years old. I realize that of the six of us to carry my grandmother to her grave only I am still living. Today's anniversary reminds meof how swiftly time flies and of my own mortality and that in facing life I am still never ready.
So I end this blog with the last words I ever heard my mother say.
"I Love You"
The Third
The Third
"Time flies, Remember you shall Die!
ReplyDeleteLove you Big Cat,
The Prodigy