Chapter 5
THE STING OF DEATH
(My
dear Mother’s death in March 1954)
In
those days (more so than today), parents kept many family matters (especially
sensitive matters) secret from their children (especially from small children).
I vaguely remember both of my parents announcing to us children that Mother was
to go into the hospital for an operation. That was about all that was told to
me at the time. I now know that the doctor had urged her for some time to have needed
surgery. From dread of it and lack of money to pay for it, she kept putting it
off until it was absolutely necessary. Likely Daddy and Mother had no
insurance to pay any part of a hospital bill.
Recently
a hospital had been built at Vernon (and was somewhat “in the rough” in several
ways). Mother said she would have her surgery there for convenience (close to
home). Some of my uncles and aunts urged her to go to Fayette Hospital, a
better choice. Had Mother gone into the Fayette Hospital, likely she would have
lived. But her mind prevailed over other people and she went to Vernon
Hospital.
My
little simple mind simply took this news in simple stride,
thinking that Mother would simply go to the hospital, have the
operation, and come home in a few days in much better health. That would be the
end of this matter. And our family life would continue on as usual (or even
better).
Mother
and Daddy made all the necessary preparations as best they could. Mother
entered the hospital on Friday or Saturday. On Sunday morning Daddy attended
church with us 4 children. Likely when the church service ended, Pastor and
Sister Cobb told Daddy to bring a few extra clothes for Joe to church that
night and leave him at their house for them to look after 5-year-old Joe. (They
lived in the parsonage next door to the church.) Then my family left church
that Sunday morning and drove to the hospital to visit Mother.
We
all 5 went into her hospital room. I recall only one thing she said as we stood
by her bed. “This morning, I wanted so badly to roll over onto my side and
look out the window to watch our car go by as you all went to church. But with
this needle in my arm, I could not move enough to do that.” Those sad words of
regret were the last words of my dear Mother that I remember. Her room
faced County Road 9 from 300 to 400 yards away across farm fields. We lived on
that road and always drove it going to church. The sight of the bottle on a
pole with a tube leading to the needle in her arm frightened little me.
We
journeyed on home and had our Sunday dinner and supper without Mother in an
atmosphere of subdued silence. We went back to Sunday night church and left Joe
with the Cobbs. The following day (Monday), Janiece, Sid, and I went to school.
Mother had surgery. Daddy was quite busy. We children did not get to visit
Mother that day. Tuesday, we 3 kids again caught the school bus and went to
school as usual.
Tuesday
afternoon as time neared for school to dismiss, the Elementary School
Principal, Mrs. Smith, came to the door of my classroom and called Mrs. Duke out
into the hall. There she whispered to Mrs. Duke that my Mother had died and
that my uncle had come to the school in his car to get us 3 children. Keeping a
composed face, Mrs. Duke called to me from the classroom doorway telling me to
come to her. “Your Uncle Luther has come to take you home today. So get your
notebook and jacket and go to him waiting in his car right outside here out
front.”
Uncle
Luther Cash was Mother’s youngest brother. I got my few things from my desk
that I normally take home, walked out to his car and got in. Sidney was already
in the car. As we waited for Janiece to come out I asked Uncle Luther, ‘Are you
going to take us home?’
“Yes,
but we are going by the hospital first.”
‘Oh,
so he is going to take us by the hospital to see Mother,’ I thought to myself. ‘Good!’
Years
later when I was a young adult I once sat in Uncle Luther’s living room with
him and Aunt Marjorie reminiscing about this day. ‘I got into the back seat and
when I asked you that question, you just kept staring out the front windshield
of the car as you replied gravely with so few words and not looking back at me.
Do you remember acting that way?’
“I
sure do remember. I was afraid I would break down crying if I talked much or
looked at you kids.”
Soon
Janice came out of school, got into the car with us and we 4 headed for the
hospital less than a mile away. Just before school soon dismissed for the day,
each of our 3 teachers solemnly announced to Janiece’s and Sidney’s and my
classmates that our Mother had died today at the hospital.
Arriving
at the hospital, Uncle Luther led us to Mother’s room. One or two nurses and
one or two other adults were standing in the room, most solemn in a quiet hush.
I didn’t notice that everyone’s eyes were red from crying, nor could I know
that they were dreading what was about to take place. Daddy was sitting in a
chair on the far side of the room against the window that Mother wanted to look
out 2 days ago to see our car passing by on the way to church. The people
present sort of silently ushered us 3 kids over to Daddy. I looked into his
most sad face and saw that his eyes were red.
To
get to Daddy, we kids had walked around the foot of Mother’s bed where her
lifeless body lay completely covered (hidden) by a bed sheet. I saw that “form”
on the bed and everyone’s sadness. Still it didn’t register on my little mind
that anything was wrong. I didn’t think about the possibility of Mother’s
corpse being under that sheet, nor did I even ponder where Mother was
tho I saw her not.
Upon
the people silently ushering us 3 up close to Daddy, he announced to us. “Kids,
we don’t have a Mother anymore.” As he announced that sad news, he took the top
edge of the bed sheet in hand and pulled it down to reveal Mother’s lifeless
face to us. I recall seeing the blue areas that had formed on her face after
death. The realization now hit me clearly and likely I was the first to burst
out bawling as I quickly turned from Mother’s lifeless form trying to bury
myself against Daddy seated there, somewhat trying to hide from the tragic
reality that Mother was dead. Everyone else present set in weeping.
Soon
we 3 kids walk back to Uncle Luther’s car with him. As we are driving away from
the hospital we meet the hearse driving in to the hospital. “That hearse is
coming to take your Mother,” Uncle Luther sadly announced to us. That
sounded so final.
Though
Pastor Cobb came to the hospital, I think Mrs. Cobb kept Joe at their house
this day. I don’t think they brought him to the hospital to view Mother as we
other three kids did. Daddy went to the telephone operator’s house in town,
gave her the phone numbers of his and Mother’s relatives who had phones. Most
who had phones lived in Fayette, Tuscaloosa and Birmingham, Alabama and
Columbus, Mississippi. The operator called each number, told each relative the
sad news, and Daddy paid her for each of those long distance calls. Likely none
of Mother’s many relatives in Lamar County had a telephone yet. Someone had to
drive to each of their houses to inform them.
Uncle
Luther drove Janiece, Sidney, and me home. Relatives, friends and neighbors
were beginning to gather at our house. Daddy was not there now. I was deeply
saddened along with being somewhat dazed and stunned. Little boy
Richard had never thought about the prospect of anyone in my immediate family
dying any time soon. I had just recently started life and
subconsciously I deemed it would be many, many years in the future before Death
paid a visit to any one of my immediate family members. But
suddenly, Mother was gone, never to return to our house. It did indeed stun me.
Having
come home now, in my daze, I set about to do my necessary daily evening chore
of feeding the hogs up in the hog pen past the toilet. By this time, Daddy’s
younger brother, Uncle Raphael Yerby from Fayette, had arrived at the house. I
ignored the several adults that had arrived by now, took the 5 gallon metal
bucket from the back porch and headed toward the corncrib in the barn to fill
the bucket with corn to take to the hog pen. I had been taught to faithfully do
my daily chores, no matter what. Upon seeing that, Uncle Raphael came to
me. “I’ll feed the hogs for you…How many ears of corn do you give them?...Do
you shuck it or leave the shucks on the corn?”
I
answered his questions. He took my bucket from me, went to the barn to get the
corn, and following my instructions he fed the hogs for me. It seemed so out of
place for Uncle Raphael (an adult living in town) to condescend to the dirty
chore of feeding hogs for little ol’ me. Still, I didn’t really feel bad that
he did it. Actually, I sort of felt like, ‘I sure would like to keep him.’
People
flocked in with food, which we ate for supper as several of them joined us for
supper, eating the good food they had brought. This was Tuesday night and we 3
children would not attend school again until the following Monday.
The
next day (Wednesday), a good number of people are at our house all day, coming
and going, preparing each meal, washing the dishes and doing every necessary
chore they can possibly do. I cheered up somewhat, enjoying everyone’s company,
their delicious food, and their extreme kindness to our poor (and now
Motherless) family. Now, each morning and afternoon, the school bus slows way
down as it passes our house. After school lets out in the afternoon, some
people come with their children. I then play outside with other kids and that
fun overcomes much of my sadness during the time I am involved in that fun.
In
those days, the funeral home brought the deceased person’s body to their own
house for the “viewing” instead of having the viewing at the funeral home. So
this afternoon (Wednesday) that forlorn hearse comes to our house and I watch
as several men solemnly bring the casket into our living room, set it up and
open it. Again, I gaze on Mother’s lifeless face, no longer with blue places on
it that I saw in the hospital yesterday.
So,
until 9 PM or so, many people come and go (most all our church people and
neighbors, along with many friends and relatives). Most stayed long, not rushed
like busy people are now-a-days. Most brought food and many would sit down in
the kitchen to eat from the abundance they all had generously brought. (You
well know that funerals are much like a reunion.) Folks milled about inside the
house, on the front porch and out in the yard, talking and “visiting” with each
other. (It’s only slightly chilly this time of year.) Our living room was most
crowded with Mother’s casket and many people. Folks would sit on the sides of
our 2 double beds in the living room, lacking any other place to sit. “The Poor
House” it definitely was.
Each
person who came stood before Mother’s casket for some time, “viewing” while
talking with other viewers standing there. Most everyone wept. Some adult later
told us that they witnessed 5-year-old Joe walking up to the casket, peering at
Mother and asking her to fix him a biscuit.
Between
meals at home, when one of us kids told Mother we were hungry, she usually “fixed”
us a biscuit by slicing a biscuit open, spreading butter and a little sugar
inside, and then folding that “sandwich” up and giving it to the hungry child
for a snack. A “butter ‘n sugar” biscuit, we called it. Someone said Joe asked
Mother for one that evening. But our dear Mother was no longer with us on earth
to ever again “fix” us a biscuit, cook us a meal, take care of
and love and enjoy her children, watch us grow up, and see grandchildren and
great grandchildren.
Mother’s
funeral would be held at our church the next afternoon, Thursday. Her body
would “lie in state” in our house until the pallbearers again put it into the
hearse tomorrow about noon on Thursday to take it to the church. In a show of
respect, men took turns sitting up all night with the “body”, 2 or 3 men sat
together in the living room for about a 3 hour shift each until the house
became alive the next day with daytime visitors.
I
think Daddy slept in his and Mother’s bed in the side room this night. Likely
Joe had continuously spent each night at Pastor Cobb’s house. Tonight,
relatives take us other 3 children to their respective houses for the night. I
ride with Papa and Mama Yerby to their house near Belk. Likely Sid went there
also. (We 4 children certainly couldn’t sleep on our 2 beds here in our living
room where Mother lay in state and men sat up all night talking.)
Thursday,
we all travel back to our house. The hearse again comes for Mother’s body and
takes it to our church. The first part of the early afternoon funeral is a “viewing”.
I sit on Uncle Robert’s lap during the funeral. I watch the “viewers” as they reverently;
silently file up the church aisle to the casket for a brief view. The ones who
do not stay any longer then file out of the church. Those were mostly people
who were on the job and briefly left work to pay their respects. Among them was
my schoolteacher, Mrs. Duke. As she walked up the aisle, she purposely looked
for me, saw me and stopped at the row of seats where I was about 4 seats away
from the aisle, and smiled and waved at me most tenderly. I just stared sadly
at her from my perch on Uncle Robert’s knee and kept sobbing. She returned to
my classmates in her classroom to relieve some other adult who sat in for her.
At
the hospital, abruptly being shown Mother’s corpse and realizing she was dead
greatly saddened me. Then the continuous flurry of people around us, much
loving attention and good food lifted my spirit much. It again saddened me when
they brought her casket to our house and opened it. But now the funeral deeply
saddens me worst of all, I think. Along with most others present, I weep
and sob through most of it.
A
quartet of Christian men sings several most meaningful Christian songs. “Glad
Reunion Day.” “Farther Along We’ll Know All About It.” I remember them singing
those 2 songs. Likely both former Pastor Warren and Pastor Cobb
preached.
My
family of 5 was chauffeured by some relative in his car just behind the hearse
in a quite long funeral procession out to Furnace Hill Cemetery to Mother’s
grave that men had dug by hand. We watch them lower her casket into the grave
and hand shovel the dirt onto it. More kind words were offered by a preacher, a
prayer was prayed, and many people lingered around at length before everyone
finally left. Several came to our house. People ate, talked, kindly spoke words
of comfort and friendly encouragement to us by saying they would stand by us
and help us much. They were true to their word and helped us much
(especially during the following 12 months or so).
“For
his ways are not our ways, and his thoughts are not our thoughts.”
Though
my parents were godly Christians, as a young married couple they endured 2
hardships in particular that would tend to cause “the natural man” to question
why God would allow such hardships to come upon a godly Christian man and wife
toiling so hard in poverty to make a living for their family.
The first
hardship: Our house was most poorly built (also the “farm
buildings” on our farm). Before buying this farm, Daddy and Mother had lived on
2 or 3 other farms and each of those had much better buildings on them. The majority
of farms in that area had a better farmhouse than ours. Why did it fall our
family’s lot for Daddy to buy this farm with such a poorly built shack for his
family to live in? I have already told you of the cracks in the floor that let
in cold winter wind. The exterior walls allowed much winter cold to pass thru
them also. But the roof was the greatest problem.
The
outer roof was oak wood shingles nailed overlapping onto the decking of rough
wooden boards. With passing time, a split would occur in shingles (one by one)
where the nail holes were, allowing rainwater to leak thru the split. The
number of splits (and places of leakage) steadily increased. Because the
shingles overlapped, one could not easily replace individual shingles that
developed splits. The only good solution would be to tear off all the shingles
and put on a new and different kind of outer roof. (A tin roof would have been
much better.) But replacing the roof was not in our poor family’s budget.
In
our poverty, we “fought” the problem of getting rained on inside our own
house by putting pots, pans, and buckets under the leaks as they dripped
thru the ceiling. When it started raining, it was a sight to behold our family
brigade going into action. We started getting those vessels from the kitchen
and back porch, and placing them on the floors and on beds under each known
leaking place. Then we watched carefully as the water started dripping thru the
ceiling in numerous places, in order to reposition our vessels dead center
under each leak to be sure we caught the water in a vessel, especially the
leaks over a bed.
The
rooms’ ceilings were made of rough boards of lumber. The living room (and
possibly the kitchen) ceiling was covered with cheap paper (like wall paper)
that looked just a little better than the rough lumber boards. When rain poured
down, we listened carefully for new leaks dropping onto the ceiling boards and
watched for a bulge (pooled rainwater) to form in the paper that is on the
underside of the boards.
“I
hear it dripping here!” (from the roof onto the ceiling’s upper surface in the
attic), a child would call out upon such a discovery. When a new bulge formed,
holding a pan in one hand Daddy would puncture the bulge with a kitchen knife
in his other hand, catch the fount of water that poured forth in the pan and
then set the pan directly below this new dripping leak.
At
such frantic, depressing times, more than once, Mother broke down
in despair and defeat sobbing. “I just hope I live long enough to
have a house that doesn’t leak!” Her motherly instincts so desired to “feather
a nest” that was reasonably comfortable and pleasant enough for her
family.
When
our entire family was to be away from the house for a few hours (at church or
such times), if rain appeared likely during that time, before leaving the house
we would diligently set the pots, pans and buckets under each known leak
(striving to accurately locate each vessel so as to not miss). If rain
set in while we were away, upon returning home we all rushed into the house to
see how well our catching act had succeeded.
At
times, we missed at 1 or more known locations. At times, a new leak had come
thru (with no vessel under it, of course). It was especially troublesome when
it leaked onto a bed while we were away (soaking the bedding). Sometimes it
rained while we were away but we had not set out any vessels (thinking rain was
not likely). Surveying the awful scene upon returning home, Mother might break
down crying. “I just hope I live long enough to have a house that doesn’t leak!”
Almighty God saw fit to move Mother into a Perfect Home in Heaven. “He
hath done all things well.”
Years
before, when Daddy was looking for a farm to buy, Almighty God could easily
have provided him a farm to buy that had good buildings entirely. But God did
not choose to do so. “He hath done all things well.”
The second
hardship: A year or so before Mother died, Mr. Glenn built the “garment plant”
in Vernon where workers cut cloth material and sewed it into men’s trousers. I
reckon that was the first “factory” of any size to bring “manufacturing” to our
rural town. It employed about 100 people. Folks rushed to apply for those jobs.
My Uncle Luther and Aunt Marjorie were both hired. (The hospital called him at
work to inform him of Mother’s death. He then took off work and came to school
to get us children.) A good number of farm wives got a job there,
resulting in the first ever steady paycheck for their families. My Mother greatly
desired to become one of those employees. We children highly
desired the same.
The
starting pay was the minimum wage set by the U.S. government (likely 75 cents
an hour at that time.) The workers were paid weekly each Friday afternoon at
the end of the workweek; $30 gross with about $25 take-home pay. Uncle Sam didn’t
take a very big bite out of paychecks back then. My poor family went weeks on
end with no income (possibly a scant amount of egg and butter money) especially
thru out the winter when we had no farm produce to sell. The prospect of Mother
bringing home $25 each and every week would be like great
riches to our family. (Keep in mind how low prices were in 1953.)
Upon
the garment plant opening, people desiring employment could go there early any
Monday morning and “sign up” before the workday started at 7AM. The man who
hired would choose (from that list) the names of workers he had decided to hire
that week, call them forth to start work at 7 AM that very day, and the others
would return home.
For
several weeks, Daddy faithfully drove Mother there each Monday morning about
6:30. (Mother did not drive.) Upon once signing up on a Monday, those
seekers just showed up well before 7 AM on following Mondays and waited to see
if their names would be called from the list. After Daddy and Mother left the
house each time, we children would pray so earnestly in childhood faith
(spurred by dire poverty) that Mother would get hired that day. We would cross
our fingers (supposedly for good luck) and beg God to let Mother get hired. We
eagerly watched for our car to come back into sight, hoping ever so desperately and
sincerely that Daddy would be alone in the car (indicating that Mother
gotten hired). But all was to no avail and our tender little hearts plunged in
disappointment when time and again we saw Mother return in the car with Daddy
by 7:20 AM or so. Several farm neighbors around us were hired. “If only
Mother can get hired, she can ride (carpool) in one of the cars of garment
plant workers going past our house each weekday.”
This
went on for several weeks with Mother going there early each Monday without
fail. Then one week Mother contracted the mumps and was too sick to go
on Monday morning. Yes. That morning, the man doing the hiring called for Mother
to come forth to be hired unto a weekly paycheck. We had no phone
at home. He could not call our house to inquire of the matter. He simply called
forth a different applicant and hired that person. Mother missed her one
chance.
With
more rain leaking thru our roof onto us inside our house with each successive
rain, why did not God spare Mother from sickness to enable her to be there
waiting to hear her name called that one time. We do not know. But in
unwavering faith and belief, we are to honestly confess: “He hath done all things well.”
I thank
God for creating within me a heart that well accepts things that absolutely
cannot be changed (like Mother’s death). From the time I faced it in that
hospital room I have never really questioned why God would allow that. I
honestly believe I have never been bitter toward God regarding that. I give God
the Glory for keeping my heart right in this matter. I also rejoice that Mother
was immediately ushered into her Lord’s Presence upon her
physical death, where the roof doesn’t leak, where all her weariness immediately
vanished, where she never since had any discomfort or sadness, where she never
once worried about the fate of her 4 small children left without their Mother.
Truly “He hath done all things well.”
Christian friend, ask God to enable you to confess
that from the heart in each adverse circumstance. That (along with Romans 8:28)
is total victory.
My
Mother’s earthly journey was quite short (just over 40 years) and was filled
with much hard labour, weariness, unfulfilled desires, misfortune
(with the disappointments and sadness that follows), and many
tears. But only one thing really matters. Where
does one’s earthly journey end??? Praise God that my Mother’s earthly
journey ended in God’s Glorious and Perfect Heaven where she has since been in
perfect bliss, joy, and comfort (and will be forever). Daddy has since joined
Mother there. All four of their children are journeying to the Celestial City
to join them.
Reader,
to where are you journeying to dwell eternally?
Lost
sinner, it would behoove you to pray this in earnest! Almighty
God, please have great mercy on me to save me from daily striving to gain all
of the world I possibly can while my eternal soul is lost and headed for
eternal Hell fire. Grant me a repentant heart, I plead.