"Mama"
(Pronounced 'Mom-uh')
My mother, 'Mama' we called her, passed away
March 8, 1983 at the age of 85. I was heart broken for
I had lost my sustaining force, and I struggled with
the reality. To ease the grief, I began to reflect upon
the wondrous life God had given me the privilege to
share. With pen and pad in hand, I began to write; often
weeping, sometimes smiling, but always deeply engrossed
in the inner desire to convey the love and warmth of this
Christian lady.
She had asked for so little from life, but had given so
much of herself to enhance the lives of her family;
I NEEDED to tell her story!
When I finished, I had a small booklet which I titled:
'Lillian, My Precious Mother
She Asked So Little,
Yet Gave So Much'
(Some of that booklet will be on this
page.)
On July 8, 1897, Arkadelphia, Clark County, Arkansas
was a small town nestled along the banks of the Ouachita
River. Life was typically southern; a warm smile manifested
friendship and a mans word was binding with a hearty
handshake. These were a hard working breed of people who
had migrated from Georgia, Virginia, Tennessee and
the Carolinas. They purchased land and committed
themselves to making Clark County their
home.
Mama's grandfather, William Thomas Brewer,
was one of
these. In 1891, he gathered up most of his children and
left Franklin County, North Carolina, headed west. Among
this group was a son, Doctor Franklin Brewer who had the
previous year, taken a young bride Signora Cook.
The Brewer's settled in the Arkadelphia area.
On a Thursday morning in July 1897, a healthy baby
girl
was welcomed into the humble home of Doctor Franklin
and Signora. They named her Lillian Jeannette;
the name Lillian was taken from a novel and Jeannette
after a Mrs. Scott, a friend and neighbor.
The baby grew, doted on by adoring parents. Mama
became an inquisitive, adventurous child; a roamer.
From her earliest years there was a restlessness,
always searching, reaching for the excitement of the
unknown. She was fearful of nothing and didn't hesitate
to wander at will into dangerous and forbidden places.
Her parents, forever trying, were never quite able to
conquer this daring spirit in their daughter no
matter how harsh the punishment.
At three years of age she found a ladder leaning
against the side of the house. I'm sure her imagination
ran rampant as she climbed to the top to view the
world from a loftier perch. But this was an adventure
headed for disaster. Somehow she managed to traverse
the roof and sit spread-legged across the top.
But when she looked down and saw the ground,
her terrifying screams echoed into the ears of her busy
mother who found her daughter literally scared
out of her wits.
Grandma Brewer was frantic and a rescue
attempted
but failed. 'Oh, what to do!'
As fate would have it, a man on a horse came riding
up the road and she wasted no time in asking for help.
The stranger obliged and carried a weeping Lillian to the
safety of her mother's arms. With the crisis passed, he
introduced himself as William Summerhill.
None of them could ever have guessed that in years to
come, this kind good Samaritan was destined to become
Mama's father-in-law.
My sister, Martha, during a visit in my home in
1982,
asked Mama if Grandma Brewer spanked her for
climbing on the roof.
Quite matter-of-factly Mama replied,
"Yes...Mama tore me up, buttttttt...I wish I had a dollar for
each and every one she gave me, but she didn't give me
a one too many!"
When Mama was about six years old, the circus came
to
Arkadelphia. There was a big parade down Main Street
with a sneak preview of all the colorful characters; clowns
animals and wagons filled with costumed performers enticing
the locals to a time of merriment. The excitement was
overwhelming, especially to a young child whose every
thought was adventure. With curiosity aroused, the following
day Mama slipped from her yard and ran to find these
fabulous people from another world. Making her way
to the grounds of the encamped circus, she freely roamed
among the bustling activities, watching with wide-eyed
wonder at all the marvels of circus life, forgetting the
worry and concern to her parents. Even the tents weren't
forbidden as she brazenly lifted the canvas
and peeped inside.
When at last her parents found her, she was issued
a
long remembered meeting with a branch from a nearby tree.
But the harsher the punishment, the
more determined she
became to exert her independence. Knowing Mama the way
I did, this seems so out of character. But when she was
young, the daring deeds never seemed to
stop.
She often straddled the open
well, loudly calling to friends
to watch her daring feat. No matter how much her mother
warned of the imposing danger, Mama continued to pursue
the excitement of such stunts.
Another time when a small child, she walked to the
train
depot to watch the goings and comings of the trains. There
she was recognized by an elderly black friend of the family
who realized the danger to a child roaming alone. He put her
in a buggy and carried her to her parents home. In later
years we asked Mama why she did those things.
"Oh, I don't know!" she answered, "It was just something I
wanted to do at the time! I (always) knew Mama was going
to tear me up!"
She entered her teenage years and on March 27, 1910,
joined the First Methodist Church in Arkadelphia where her
parents had joined in 1903. Two years
later found her
attending Sweet Hill Baptist Church on a regular basis.
Some of her teenage friends were attending this church,
and besides, she now had a male friend, Burch Stanfield,
who was also an attendee. Around 1913, at age 16,
she was baptized by Dr. N. R. Townsend.
(He later performed her marriage
ceremony.)
Now with thoughts turning to the opposite gender, she
found
a new beau in Edgar Dale Summerhill. She did like him
and
they had some good times together, but
he had a twin
brother, Elbert Trigg, who took a fancy to this teenager.
We asked Mama how she first met our father.
Her recollection:
"I knew Elbert umteen years, ever since I was a kid. I knew
him all the time he was going with Neva Vaughan, my cousin.
Everybody thought they were going
to get married, but they
didn't. I never thought about ever going with him or
anything. 'Course I lived in town and the only time I'd ever
see him would be sometimes out at Grandpa's, out at church.
(Mama lived in Arkadelphia and my father lived in the
Bradshaw Community out of Arkadelphia.
She
referred to her Grandfather William
Thomas Brewer
and Mt. Bethel Baptist Church.)
Elbert was always with somebody else. I
never thought
about him as a boyfriend, I just knew him and Ed (Edgar)
like I did everybody else."
So we asked how she acquired her first date
with
my father.
She replied, "Went to a show they had, sorta like a
opera house, only it was a tent show.
They had a stage and
live people. Me and Mama went of all things. Mama never
did get to go anywhere, but me and Mama went that
night
and Elbert was there. He walked home with us and made a
date with me...made a date to take me to that show the next
night. I started going with him in
the summer of 1915."
Soon after my mother and father started dating, the
Bozeman family opened their home for a
church/community social; an ice cream party.
(The Bozeman place was located out of Arkadelphia
and
close to Mt. Bethel Church).
Ice for the hand crank freezers had to be hauled
from
town, so some of the men took a wagon to haul the ice
back to the Bozeman home. Perchance
Mama walked
by the icehouse while the men were loading the ice.
One of them asked if she was going to the party.
Surprised, she replied, "I haven't even
heard about it!"
As she and Elbert always attended the get-togethers,
she wondered why it hadn't been mentioned. My
father,
for reasons of teenage mischief, hadn't planned for her
to go. But the men told her she could ride out there with
them so with her mother's permission, she
went.
Several hours later as the group gathered, my father
was
spotted coming up the road, dressed for the party. Revenge
raised its ugly head in Mama because he
hadn't invited her
and she quickly devised a plan to entrap my father. Hiding
behind a door of the Bozeman home, she cautioned
everyone not to tell him she was there!
As he walked onto the porch someone asked,
"Where's Lillian?"
He laughingly replied, "Oh, I didn't want
to bring her,
thought I'd have some fun tonight."
Mama, who had been listening behind the door,
stepped out to a shocked Elbert! I can imagine the
surprised look on his face.
I'm sure my father repented those words many times
before the night was o'er. Mama laughed, flirted and
danced to her heart's content, ignoring even
his slightest
glance. She often told us how she enjoyed dancing when
she was a teenager. Finally, my father's green-eyed
jealousy took its toll.
He took her aside and said, "Let's go!"
Realizing her point had been driven home, she consented
to let him walk with her to Grandpa Brewers home.
During the walk Daddy asked why she had done those
things.
She replied, "Well, since you didn't ask me or want
to take me, I felt I could do as I pleased!"
Right then and there, he decided to claim this
teenager for his own.
The Bozeman Home - Clark Co. AR
As it looked in June 2000
Picture by: Tammy
Rogers
My father was born in Clark Co. AR, March 16, 1890,
a
twin son of William Clinton, Sr. & Martha Marbury
Summerhill. His mother died when he was two and
he
was raised by his sisters and Marbury aunts and uncles.
In April 1916, his father William Clinton passed away.
(This was the same man who had rescued Mama
from that rooftop when she was a child.)
My father and his twin, Edgar, wanted their
girlfriends
to attend the funeral at Mt. Bethel Baptist Church.
(My father and grandfather were members
of this church, along
with Daddy's twin Edgar, and two of their brothers,
William Clinton, Jr. & Horace.)
No one had a car and the only mode of transportation
was horse/mule, wagon or buggy. The twins hitched a
horse to a buggy, gave Mama the reins, and
sent the
two girls on their way.
(Mama had never driven a buggy
before.)
Mt. Bethel Baptist Church
- Clark Co. AR
As it looked in June 2000
Picture's by: Tammy
Rogers
Mt. Bethel Baptist Church
Organized 1836
This was just another of those wondrous adventures for
Mama. Here were two girls filled with the excitement
and carefree spirit that only youth can bring.
Never once
thinking of the danger, she proudly drove the horse and
buggy to the church. There was no incident and they drove
on to the Bozeman place where my grandfather
was buried
in the cemetery behind the home.
So now, at 26 years of age, my father found the need
to
settle down and make his own home. September 10, 1916,
Mama and Daddy said, 'I do' and set up
housekeeping on
Clay Street in Arkadelphia. Almost a year later, August
16, 1917, their first child, Dorothy Louise, was born.
October 6, 1920 the second child, William Franklin
entered the world. My father was a cotton ginner at
Goldens Gin. He kept this position for nearly 30
years.
The family kept expanding. In successive
order came
other children; Elbert Trigg, Jr. born Nov. 24, 1922,
Donald Raymond born Dec. 3, 1924, Elnora Jean
born May 5, 1928 and Martha Frances born
Nov. 8, 1929.
In January 1930, Daddy moved his family to the small
community of Lakeview, located about 7 miles out of
Arkadelphia. The house seemed large to me,
although it contained only 5 rooms.
(I remember it from a child's
perspective.)
There was a hallway as one entered the front door.
I was
told years later that the house was at one time a
'dog-trot house.' On each side of the hall was a large
room and each of these contained a fireplace. The
kitchen and another small room ran across the back portion
of the house. The fireplaces generated
the only heat
except for the wood burning cook stove. The closest
thing to air conditioning was to push up a screenless
window and hope for a breezy day.
Here in Lakeview, Daddy became a farmer putting
in
cotton, corn, sorghum and other staples. They took the
sorghum to a neighbor's mill to convert it
into sorghum
syrup, a tasty treat when poured over one of Mama's
freshly baked biscuits. During cotton ginning season
Daddy spent days at the gin, mostly
sleeping on the floor.
Hours were long and the work hard, but he was
faithful to his duties.
This was Mama's first experience actually living on
a farm. She was raised in town. Her only taste of farm
life
were the times she visited at Grandpa Brewers place.
Now she spent her days making a garden, washing,
ironing, and tending to the needs of her family.
Washing clothes was a monumental chore. Water was
carried in buckets from the well to fill the galvanized tubs.
Clothes were scrubbed by bare hands on a rubboard
and most clothes boiled in a wash pot in the yard.
Of course a fire was made under the pot to heat
the water. The clothes were not wash and wear.
The boys and Daddy wore those heavy overalls
which had to be wrung by hand. As my mother
aged, I often took note of those skinny,
aged hands
and thought of the massive amount of work they
had accomplished throughout the years.
Compared to today, ironing was an unbelievable
job.
The irons were literally made of iron and placed,
either on the eyes of the wood burning stove, or
close to the fire in the fireplace for heating. As
Mama and my sisters pressed, the irons were
constantly shifted from fire to board because
they cooled so quickly.
We had no inside plumbing in the house where
I spent the first seven years of my life. All water
was
carried from the well. We bathed in galvanized
tubs.
It's comical to hear stories related by my brothers and
sisters as to how they managed that cleansing. My
oldest
sister Dorothy, related one of her experiences:
"At noon, we would all come in from the fields to eat
dinner. I would get the boys to help me carry water
from
the well to the house and fill a tub. The tub of
water
was left in the sun all afternoon and when I came in
from the field, my bath water was warm and ready.
Daddy always kidded me and said he was going to
bathe in my water first."
I would venture to say the Saturday bath story was
created in our household.
For natural beckoning from mother nature, a
little
wooden building, called an outhouse (outdoor
toilet),
was located at the rear of the backyard. It
contained a bench with two crudely carved round holes.
Sometimes on the floor lay a Sears & Roebuck
catalog
to be used for none of the purposes Mr. Sears and
Mr. Roebuck intended. Toilet paper, purchased
in
stores, was unheard of in our family during
this time period!
Dorothy, of course had the most remembrances of
these trying days. She recalled one of her
outhouse
experiences:
"When we first moved to Lakeview and I went to
school, I thought something was wrong with me because
every time the teacher rang the bell for recess, all
the girls took off for the outhouse, leaving me just
standing around. I couldn't understand why they
wouldn't play with me so I went out to the outhouse,
and lo and behold, they were all dipping snuff!
They made me promise not to tell!
One of the girls and I became good friends.
One day I was playing at her house and thought I'd
try dipping some of the snuff. So I put a big dip
in
my mouth and nearly gagged to death running for the
water pump!
My friend said, 'Dorothy, be quiet, Mama will hear you!'
I screamed, 'I don't care, I've got to get this
out of my mouth!' I started pumping water as
hard as I could!"
Many times the family's only meal was biscuits
and
gravy. But during the summer months and at hog
killing time, food was plentiful. I never liked 'hog
killin' time! That seemed
so cruel, but yet it didn't
stop me from eating the delicious hams, etc.
Mama cooked every inch of that hog,
even the skin was made into cracklins.
(Pig skins in today's fancy grocery
stores.)
When we had chicken, Mama had to ring its
neck,
pluck off the feathers, scorch the skin over a fire to
remove all the feathers, then cut it into pieces for
cooking. Primitive? By today's
standards I suppose
it was, but in that time
period on the farm, there was
no other way to eat! So
in my genealogy research,
I can definitely identify with the trials and tribulations
of our ancestors.
One of my favorite remembrances is Saturdays when
the family loaded into the wagon and all headed for town.
The day was spent browsing downtown and
visiting
my parents friends. But the kids were treated to
an afternoon five cent movie at either of the local
movie
houses. My younger brother, Buddy and I always chose
a cowboy movie. Our treat was a dime to spend for
whatever our hearts desired. What fun to look at
all the candy and finally settle on what would
taste the best and last the longest.
At the end of the day, my parents gathered up the
kids and headed home. On the way we munched
on
bologna (baloney we called it), and cheese and crackers.
I can still hear the creaks of those wagon wheels
on that country road as I settled in and fell asleep.
Sometimes now as I recall the memories, it doesn't
seem as though it was real...
but it happened just as I've said.
We used coal oil lamps for lighting and once we had
one of those wooden hand crank telephones.
Of
course we had a radio and my first remembrances are
of hearing The Grand Ol' Opry and Roy Acuff.
But there was static reception. I suppose one of my
greatest thrills in life happened when I was in the
music
business. We had backstage admittance to the Opry
and I talked with Mr. Acuff in his dressing room on
several occasions. It brought back wondrous
childhood
memories of the family and of that old radio.
My sisters loved to sing so they learned those sad
songs and I still recall to this day most of the tunes
and lyrics; "Two Little Orphans"
for example.
Square dances were a great mode of
entertainment on the farm and when she was young,
Mama loved it! Several years ago I wrote a song,
'Saturday Night Live,' pulling the lyrics from my
childhood memories.
On summer nights, the family ventured to the front
porch seeking comfort from the smothering humidity.
Here, with her children around her knees, Mama
responded to the pleas for a 'spooky-scary' story.
Sitting on the floor with legs pulled tightly under their
chins, the children shuddered at the sounds emitted
as Mama brought forth ghosts in seeming reality,
her voice rising to a crescendo as the story unfolded.
She chuckled as the younger children edged closer
when the suspense deepened. Their moans and
groans encouraged the actress to perform and this
she did to the delight of her children. One of the
favorites was "The Old Troll" -
'Tromp, tromp, tromp, who's that walkin'
'cross my bridge?'
There was a small creek just down the road from
our house and a small bridge crossed it. I was
sure that old troll lived under that bridge and
today, when I'm back in Arkansas and drive over
it, I think of Mama and her stories!
Mama's mind was filled with these stories, all
gathered when she was young I suspect from her
mother. Stories handed down from generation to
generation, told and retold, never a recollection from
whence they came. How poor are those people who
don't have such remembrances to pull from
their memory.
On the farm as each child became old enough, he
or she had to help with the chores. This was a
new
and different life. The entire family was green
at
farming. An example; as the first cotton bolls came
on, the kids picked them off and played ball or
playfully threw them at each other. It didn't take long
for Daddy to eliminate these destructive
activities.
I've listened to my older brothers and sisters
through
the years expound on the horrors of 'working the
fields.'
Of course they laughed, joked, fussed and fought
at times. Each was assigned a certain number of
rows of cotton to hoe or pick and when some didn't
quite finish their responsibility, a fuss or fight would
ensue. No one wanted to carry another's load after
doing their own.
They pulled pranks on each other. One
time a
spider bit my brother Franklin. Dorothy
and Junior
(his name was Elbert Trigg, Jr. , but Junior became his
endearing name),
scared the dickens out Franklin when they told
him:
"You'd better go to the house and go to the doctor
because a spider is poison and you're going to die!"
Dorothy laughed retelling it.
"Franklin ran home hollering and crying. Mama told
him to get himself back out there to work and to tell
Dorothy and Junior she was going to whip them
when they got home!"
Of course they only chuckled. Mama didn't
do
much whipping!
Periodically a child stopped working and stared
off into the vast expanse of God's blue Heaven. It
might be a circling bird drawing the attention,
a busy
bug winding its way to nowhere, or the far off voices
of farmer greeting farmer.
These pauses were necessary to free the mind from
the awful torture of the southern sun, the baking sod
burning tired feet, and to wipe away perspiration
that flowed like streams of salty water. To Daddy
and Mama's children, life on the farm was difficult
and hard, but because they faithfully endured, they
built for themselves character and stamina to
withstand the many trials life has cast their way.
Yes! We still are from whence we
came.
Here in Lakeview on Oct. 24, 1932, I was born
and my brother Edgar "Buddy"arrived Feb. 25, 1936.
We were the youngest and the last. I do have
many
remembrances of farm life but am grateful that just
as I was reaching the age to work in the fields, Daddy
moved us into Arkadelphia. Christmas time on
the farm was meager because there was little
money for gifts. It still amazes me, and my sister
Elnora, how Mama always saw to it that each child
received something from Santa Claus. There was
always a stocking, (either an old hose or Daddy's socks)
filled with an apple, orange, candy and nuts.
We embraced that hose of goodies as if it were pure
gold. Nary a piece went uneaten! On the farm, for
a child, a candy bar was rare and a
nickel to buy
anything was hard to come by.
My mother had a great sense of humor but I can
think of one time she might have carried it a little
too far. This happened in the 1940's, after my
father's
death, and after the family had moved to south Arkansas.
One afternoon she, my youngest brother Buddy and
I, were in the yard and Mama was sitting on the edge of
the porch. Buddy was swinging a bat and it
struck
Mama in the mouth. It scared Buddy so bad, he
thought he had killed her! I still remember the
terror in his eyes. But Mama was her usual self.
She, also, saw the terror and concern in her son's
face. She held a trembling hand to her bleeding
mouth and began to laugh, and by laughing
acknowledged to Buddy both forgiveness and
understanding.
I was totally amazed because the wound
looked
terrible and I knew it had to be hurting awfully bad.
But that was my Mama!
When the family moved from Lakeview, my father
took us in another direction 4 miles from Arkadelphia
on a tributary of the Ouachita River. The community
was called Happy Hill.
I think it was anything but happy! Of
course he was a
farmer and went where he could raise crops.
A problem: no schools for white children.
We were
the only white family in the area. Remember this was
during the time of segregation! It was 4 to 5 miles
to the elementary school in Arkadelphia.
So Mama decided to keep us out of school that year in
anticipation that my father would move again closer
to an educational facility. Well, Daddy decided
to
stay in Happy Hill another year and Mama was faced
with seeing that her children received their
education.
The boys were needed on the farm so she decided to
send the three youngest girls into Arkadelphia to school.
Buddy was not old enough to go. Well do I remember
that school experience. Horror of horrors!
We walked that mileage each day.
During extreme
cold weather, one of my brothers took us in a
wagon to the city limits (the Ouachita River
Bridge),
and we walked the remainder of the distance to
the school. It was a long way for three youngsters.
But this was a major decision for Mama. She
couldn't
let us fall behind another year, yet she knew the
hardships ahead of us. She recalled to me many
times the worrisome hours she spent in regard
to our safety. Nevertheless, we did attend school
regularly that year and made our grades
successfully,
all because of Mama's enduring determination
to educate her girls.
In January 1942, Daddy moved the family to Curtis,
AR about 9 miles out of Arkadelphia. Mama often
remarked that it seemed the moves were always
made during the coldest month of the year. We
lived in Curtis only a year but that was the year Daddy
bought me my first Snicker bar.
I still like them to this day.
In January 1943, the family moved into the town
of Arkadelphia, taking up residence in the back of
a store. The building was located directly on the
banks of the Ouachita River and beside the bridge. A
person could spit, quite accurately, from the back
door
to the water. My father still worked at Goldens Gin.
By now the three oldest boys were serving in
World War II. Their letters arrived from far off
places. My oldest brother Franklin went to Italy
and France, places only known to us through
our geography books. I still possess some of
the
souvenirs they brought back for each of us.
While they were serving their country, the family
experienced its deepest tragedy.
On the morning of September 9, 1943, Daddy arose
early as usual and walked to Goldens Gin to resume
the job his tired body must endure. Around 4:00 p.m. the
family heard sirens but didn't give it much thought,
unaware of the event unfolding that would change
our lives forever. Fire had broken out in one of the
gin presses and Daddy was trying to extinguish it.
He turned the machinery off and leaned into the press.
Someone (it was never admitted), without asking
why the machinery was off, turned it on. My father was
killed instantly. An ambulance rushed him
to Townsend Hospital but to no avail.
Many, many friends attended Daddy's funeral. He
was
well known and liked in the area where he had lived his
entire life. For 53 years Clark County and Arkadelphia
was his home. He was not wealthy by any means, poor
by many monetary standards, sometimes scarcely able
to scratch a living from Goldens land. But however
friends and loved ones care to remember him, they
can
all truthfully say, "He was a hard worker, never
given
to laziness, a lover of life and blessed with many friends."
A fitting epitaph.
Mama buried him in familiar surroundings where
many happy hours were spent in his youth. He lies
today in the stillness of Richland Cemetery. When
I go there and stand at his gravesite with
the gentle Arkansas breeze blowing across my
face, I listen to the sweet songs of happy birds and I
know my father restfully sleeps among the sounds
he surely cherished in life.
Daddy's death was a grievous loss to Mama.
Through trials and troubles, good times and bad, they
struggled together for 27 years. They never owned
a piece of land or their own home, but they never
wanted for a bite to eat or a place to lay their heads.
Now Mama was a widow with no visible means of
support and 4 children still at home. She had no
training
for employment as her only roll in life was that
of
homemaker. What a terrible tragedy that my mother
was forsaken in this time of need. The ones who should
have stepped forward, didn't! I've often wondered what
price they paid before they met their Maker!
But my three brothers in the armed
forces sent her
an allotment. Having to make do the best she could
with that, she moved the family from the back of the
store up the hill into an old building that once served
as a gas station. Beneath us? We
didn't know
any better! And at least we had a place to live
and weren't put out on the streets.
It was like pulling eyeteeth to get the insurance
company to pay anything. My father was
covered but, and I believe this to be the case,
because my family was poor, there seemed to
be no hurry to payout! I well recall my mother's
frustration for the many trips she had to make,
providing unbelievable papers and reliable
sources to prove her worthiness! Finally,
they started sending $16.00 a month and told her
that if she could find a house within a meager price
range, they would pay for it. Mama was not
aggressive at all. I doubt she ever really argued
her case. But my Grandfather Brewer
was and saw
to it that she did get something because my father
was killed on the job and covered.
This disrespectful treatment of my mother
'stuck
in my craw' for many, many years. And only the
great love of Jesus has been able to remove it!
Mama decided to move her family 90 miles south
to El Dorado so she could be close to her parents who
had moved there earlier. In November 1943 she
found
a five room home and on January 4, 1944, she moved
us into what I call 'a double wide shotgun house.'
Ironically, it was again the month of January...
but this time the move was forever.
She quickly joined the El Dorado First Church of
the Nazarene. She had attended church all of her
life
and only recently had become a Nazarene in
Arkadelphia; Rev. Marie Brown's church.
She never left this El Dorado church and kept her
membership intact, faithfully supporting the church
and its activities until the day she died.
Her life exemplified her beliefs.
When World War II ended her sons came home.
God had watched over and returned each one safely
and for this she was truly grateful. But while
fighting
in the jungles of the South Pacific, my brother Donald
(his nickname was Jack)
had contracted Malaria. His condition rapidly
deteriorated and we lost him on his birthday in 1947.
Mama was crushed, for never had she known the
pain of losing a child. She had watched and prayed
the many months Jack fought for his life, and
marveled
at the strength and courage he manifested in fighting this
monster that had seized his body.
Jack was a goer and a doer, a lover of life, so
full
of energy and vitality. His smile melted every
heart
and he had a marvelous personality. Mama watched
the disease take its toll. She didn't ask why,
because she had long ago placed him in God's hands.
She took him back to Arkadelphia and laid him to rest
beside his father. But, oh, the pain! I don't
think
she ever got over losing him. As she aged, she had an
old rocker that set in the corner of the living room
beside the gas heater. So many, many times,
I watched her, with head laid back, her mind
dwelling
on her children and her life. Sometimes the tears
streamed silently down her wrinkled face and I
thought not to disturb this gentle scene.
In 1946, Mama was given the diagnosis of
Tuberculosis. Doctors persuaded her to enter a
sanatorium in Booneville, AR for treatment.
Being situated in the mountains of Northwest
Arkansas, they felt the mountain air and total rest
could again restore her health. The pain for her was
not the disease, it was leaving her children who were
so dependent on her, to the care of others. My brother
Buddy and I, being the youngest, were taken in by
relatives and we will forever be indebted to our Aunts
and Uncles who saw to our needs for that long, lonely
year. Mama returned after a year, fully recuperated.
The final prognosis: It was doubtful she ever had
Tuberculosis. Her severely scarred lungs were caused
by the many years she struggled with asthma. But the
rest was a healing process and she was a much
healthier person.
Mama was born with night blindness, an affliction
she adjusted to early in life. But through the years
her
vision steadily declined. She saw many specialists
but all diagnosed a rare disease with nothing to be
done. It eventually came to the act of our
having to guide
and lead her. It was something we did
willingly.
How well my memories serve me of the times we
walked to church; Mama, Buddy and I. We lived
about five blocks away and hardly ever missed a
service. Mama would hold on to either Buddy
or
myself and we happily led her to God's house!
She never lost her independence. She
continued to cook, clean and do all of the household
chores that she had accomplished through the
years; amazing to everyone who knew her. But the
really amazing aspect was that Mama didn't
complain. She didn't curse God and die!
It never entered her mind to blame God for
the affliction. She accepted it as His will and
she adjusted her life accordingly. I still look back
on those times and marvel at her stamina.
In the 1960's a wondrous miracle happened. She
heard of a local doctor who had done wonders with
eye surgery so she thought it over and made an
appointment. His diagnosis was so encouraging that
he could help, we all practically leaped for joy!
He didn't make any promises but she had a
chance for some sight restoration. When the
bandages were removed, it was indeed a miracle!
She could see and it was delightful to watch her
recognition of everyone. She gave God all the glory
and rejoiced that He had seen fit to enhance
this doctor's ability.
For twelve years Mama enjoyed seeing the wonders
God has put on this earth. She went places by herself,
read her Bible and cooked massive meals for her
loved ones. But then her world, once again, began
to dim. Before long her eyes had deteriorated back
into total darkness. A lesser person would have felt
self pity for this terrible injustice, but not Mama.
She daily readjusted her life according to her sight
and continued in all the ways of a sighted person.
Life was still a joy and being with her loved ones
the greatest joy of all.
If I ever witnessed any frustration at all, it was
the times she had to put someone out to come and take
her to an appointment, etc. She didn't want to impose
on
others. She never complained and never asked for
much, just the essentials that life demands. At
home, she
knew exactly where everything in the house was located.
But, still there were times, the blindness was indeed
a handicap. I suppose, at one time or the other,
she bruised every inch of her body as she ran into things.
But she continued to clean, wash, and cook meals as
though her sight was completely restored. It was
an
amazing thing to observe her movements. I
took it for
granted but others couldn't believe her ability.
My Aunt Grace Brownfield (mother's
sister)
once stated:
"In her sightless world, Lillian banged and bruised
every portion of her body and the majority of the time
just laughed it off."
How very true!
Mama's fortitude was undeniable, probably springing
from her youth where she faced the world with
unyielding courage. The dictionary defines
fortitude:
"that strength or firmness of mind and soul which
enables a person to bear pain or adversity without
murmuring, depression or despondency;
patient courage."
Yes, that was Mama!
She did make mistakes in her blind world and
often it was humorous. One Christmas morning
while
making biscuits, (and we had company), she mistakenly
used eggnog instead of milk. When the biscuits were
served, her error was soon betrayed.
Her response on being confronted;
"Well, I thought that milk smelled a lot like
vanilla," then burst into laughter.
This was Mama at her best. Her potato salad
contained a magic potion I still can't duplicate,
but, oh, how delicious. She was known for her Jam
Cake and my, how I loved the Mincemeat Pie.
God blessed her with a long life, many children,
grandchildren and great grandchildren who loved
her deeply. She instilled in us the need for
God
in our lives and she was the cornerstone for this
belief. She played games with us and even when
blind, and up until a couple of weeks before her
death, she was still playing the game Yahtzee.
She threw the dice, someone told her what was
there and kept her score, but her brilliant mind
knew exactly and kept track of what she needed.
People watched with amazement and ninety percent
of the time she won the game. In my memory I still
marvel at how she accomplished this. And I, also,
recall how she kidded through the years that the
school let her skip first grade and go on to second
grade because she already knew everything.
Of course she said it in humorous jest!
Knowing her like I did, this happened just as
she said.
Her children still play the games they played
with her.
It's instilled in all of us and there's never a get-together
that we aren't laughing and joking while we play
a
game. What a wondrous heritage she has left us.
She taught her grandchildren the little Bible songs.
My daughter, Tammy, recalls how so many times
they
sat in the front porch swing and Grandma sang
and
taught her the words. Mama's is a wondrous
story
of character, strength, and boundless love!
The last two weeks before her death, she spent
in
my home in Louisiana. We went out to eat
catfish,
one of her favorite meals. Oh, how she loved
it!
But that night (I've often questioned why), she
picked up a virus. The next morning she awoke
and ate breakfast as usual, but later, mentioned
feeling chilled and returned to her bed. She
developed a slight cough. Her doctor was called,
medication sent and administered. There seemed
to be an improvement and the next day she asked
to play a game. Still, I knew she wasn't well
because she again returned to her bed. Then
everything went down hill and I rushed her home to
be under the care of her own doctor.
He sent us
directly to the hospital!
For years she suffered with asthma and eventually
Emphysema. I don't think in all of my years with
her I ever saw her take one good, long breath. So
many nights I sat up with her and watched the struggle
to pull air into her lungs, a heart wrenching scene.
And now, at 85 years of age, it had all taken its toll.
I prayed this would be just one more obstacle
in her
life that she could overcome but it wasn't meant to be.
In the hospital, her condition worsened and for three
days and nights she didn't sleep. During this
time
experiencing beautiful visions of Heaven as though
her sight had been miraculously restored. She sang,
told of the beauty, of the flowers and how everything
there was so bright. All of her children came and sat
by her bedside day and night, listening to her
revelations of all the wonders there. This
experience will live forever in the hearts and
minds of all who heard these revelations.
Then she was moved to Intensive Care and the
doctor didn't give us much hope. It was at that
time
dreaded reality awakened in each of her loved ones, the
horrifying truth we had pushed to the deepest caverns
of our minds; death was hovering near. We knew her
body was tired, worn out and expended from 85
years of living. We had watched the past years
as this once vibrant body shrank to a shadow.
Now how could we ask God to spare her, precious
mother, to remain on earth to suffer. Yet,
because of the human love and devotion, how
could we not ask, and plead, and beg for
her not to be taken.
I can never forget the experience when first I
visited her in Intensive Care. To help the
breathing, the nurses had her sitting in a chair!
God's presence was there in all its Glory!
It was unmistakable! You could feel it!
He had brought His angels into that unit
to minister to my mother! The glow on
Mama's face captivated me!
Her entire appearance had changed!
Her eyes saw us, I truly believe it!
The gentle and calm words she spoke,
soothed and restored my aching heart!
It was an overwhelming experience and
something I'd never witnessed before
nor have I since!
And, through all the ensuing years, since her
death, the memory has never left my mind!
I've harbored and relived it so many, many
times! And I've kept reminding myself that
this is how God receives a soul who is truly
His and lives their life for Him! I've drawn
from the experience on so many occasions!
So, Christian friends, you can
see why my faith
and servitude to my Lord is so strong!
Oh, what blessings await those who serve
our living God! Praise His Holy name!
Around 8:30 pm. on Tuesday the 8th day of March,
1983, with her children grouped around her bedside,
God sent His angels once again. Her dying was
graceful and peaceful. The angels gathered her in
their arms and transported her to the realms of
Glory. Only the wails of her children could be heard
in that dark hour. They had lost their dearest
friend!
The funeral was awesome, the church filled with
grieving family and friends. Mama had loved music
and singing, often saying when she got to Heaven
she would have a gold piano with a thousand keys.
Now these were her last songs:
"I Don't Need To Understand, I Just Need To
Hold His Hand" and
"This Is What Heaven Means To Me."
Her granddaughter Angela Lewis Cavalier
sang the "Eastern Gate."
There was a feeling of sweet peace within the
church. Surely God was blessing the service
for
no one doubted where this soul now dwelt.
Later, one of her brothers, James Franklin Brewer,
who always felt she was more like a mother to him,
expressed his sentiments,
"An absolutely superb service."
Around 3:00 p.m. that afternoon of March 10th,
Mama's tired and worn out body was placed in its
final resting place. But today her soul dwells in
that
bright City for which she longed, in the presence of
Almighty God, in perfect peace and with perfect sight.
This was my Mama...I loved her even more than
I knew...but I'll see her again...
one blessed reunion day!
~ Aletha
(she lovingly called me Letha Ann) |
