June Francis Marshall
Chappell

My mother was a wonderful and extraordinary woman. She was a devoted wife for over forty nine years, and a devoted mother. So, from time to time when I visit that place in my heart where memories of Mom are stored, I plan to share some of them here. You are welcome to read them if you like.

My mother was gravely ill for a very long time. She hid it as long as she could. My father and I knew that something wasn't right. By the time she agreed to go see some doctors, she couldn't hide her pain any longer and............

A few weeks after my mother had past away, my father began the task of sorting through my mothers things. My siblings and I had finally left my parent's retirement home on Watts Barr Lake Tennessee and gone back to our lives elsewhere. My father found a poem, neatly folded and tucked away in the depths of the check book. It was definitely my mother's handwriting. She did not create this poem but had copied it from something, most likely something at church. Then she put it where she knew it would be eventually found.

Miss me, but let me go
When I come to the end of the road,
And the sun has set for me,
I want no rites in a gloom filled room.
Why cry for a soul set free?

Miss me a little, but not too long.
And not with your head bowed low.
Remember the love that we once shared,
Miss me, but let me go.

For this is a journey that we all must take.
And each of us goes alone.
It's all a part of the Master's plan,
A step on the road to home.

When you are lonely and sick of heart,
Go to the friends we know.
And bury your sorrow in doing good deeds.
Miss me, but let me go.

My father had taken over the check writing many years ago. She had to have hidden it away at least three months before she died. I think though it was probably more like six or nine months, maybe even a year. She knew before she ever went to see the doctors....

September 9, 2001
Every time I sit down here, I don't know where to start. So............I guess..........I'll start at the beginning.........

The first solid memory I have is one of waking up screaming. I don't know why I was screaming, but it was dark, and I was screaming, and kicking and thrashing about. All of a sudden, a bright light came from the lower right. It would have been the hall light, but I didn't know that at the time. The next thing I knew, my mother's smiling face came into focus right in front of me. She said something but I didn't understand english at the time. She picked me up, cradled me in here arms and sat down in a rocking chair and started rocking me back to sleep. I briefly remember my father's face coming into focus for just a second. My mother was singing and humming softly as she rocked me. That melody has stuck with me all my life. The song was Jesus Loves Me.

At my mother's funeral, the old pastor was doing his best to keep the service formal and ceremonial. Much to my pleasure though, in mid service he went off and told a bit about what a wonderful woman my mother was and told a few personal stories. I wish he had done more of that. Anyway, at the end of the service, small slips of paper were handed out with words to a song for everyone to sing. The pastor said it was one of my mother's favorite songs and he thought that would be a fitting end to the service. When I unfolded my little slip of paper, it was the words to Jesus Loves Me. I wanted to sing.....but I couldn't....I just stood there with my eyes closed, being rocked in my mother's arms for the last time.

September 9, 2001
I just got back from visiting my father the other day. He's doing well and has a girlfriend. Her name is Bonnie and she's a wonderful woman. They used to know each other when they were kids and met again a few years ago when my mother was still alive. They are both widows. They really seem to enjoy each others company and they have been going all over the place and having a lot of fun. That makes me very happy.

I was planning on setting up a portion of this site with my mother's recipes. She was a famous cook. The trouble was, I found a dozen different versions of her spaghetti sauce recipe. I found six different pecan pie recipes. There were at least ten different recipes for pizza crust. No one has any idea which ones are the right ones. Hundreds of recipes, in no particular order, marked up and revised numerous times. So.......I'm going to contemplate this dilemma for a bit and the world will just have to wait awhile before they can taste my mother's cooking.

Once again......I have a little time.....and I don't know where to start.
Looking back when I was growing up, money was tight. That is to say there wasn't much of it. And my mother could stretch a dollar. I was well into my teens before I got to wear something besides hand me down clothes. My mother was the youngest in a very big family and I had lots of older cousins. In the family photo album it is easy to track suits and blazers being passed from generation to generation.

I remember one day when I was seven years old; my mother gave my siblings and me an ultimatum. If we wanted to go to the local amusement park that summer (this only happened once a year) we were going to have to earn the money to go. We were going to earn this money by delivering telephone books door to door. We would get one penny for each book delivered, and two pennies for each old telephone book that we returned. It sure did sound like a good idea, that is until the delivery truck came to drop of the new books. We had a one-car garage and the door just barely shut when they got down unloading. My little brother who was five at the time sum it up the best when he looked in the garage and shouted, "holy shit!" It was at this time when I put my then limited math skills to work to figure out just how many telephone books it was going to take to get to Coney Island. That's when I realized the garage was going to be filled up and emptied three times before we would be done!

For one solid month of our summer vacation that year we delivered and retrieved telephone books from 8:30am to 8:30pm. The only relief from this torturing existence was Sundays. I remember distinctly how much for the first time in my life I was looking forward to church, so I could sit and do nothing for the better part of a morning. When we were finally done, we went to Coney Island the following week. We got there when it opened at 8:00am. It started raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock about 10:00am and it didn't stop raining all day. Our trip to the amusement park got rained out.

The next year, we told Mom that we didn't want to go to Coney Island. We still delivered telephone books though, and did every summer until I was 12 years old. Finally, our prayers had been answered, Mom didn't think it was worth the hassle any more.

Looking back, delivering telephone books taught me a lot. I may not have figured out what I wanted to do with my life, but I knew what I didn't want. I didn't want to be a delivery man, and standing up all day, makes your feet hurt. Also, working for pennies really sucks. After all, there is a lot to be said for pushing pencils, pounding calculators and staring at computer screens all day. As my Daddy would say, "It sure beats the hell out of working for a living."

Today was to be my parent's 50th wedding anniversary.......I had so many plans. Life seldom ever turns out the way you plan it. So today, my father is on his way to Michigan with his lady friend Miss Bonnie. They are visiting relatives. I went to work just like any other day and tonight, I'll go to the gym. Then I'll go home to a couple of beers and the Sci-Fi channel on cable TV.....................and like so many times before I sit here and stare at the screen and not know what to write.

Wow, how fast time flies. I haven't visited this site in over a year. It certainly isn't because I haven't thought of my mother from time to time.  There isn't a day that goes by...... I once heard that when you lose someone close to you, that the second year is actually the hardest. They were right. My father and Miss Bonnie are doing well and in good health. I need to go visit my father. I haven't actually seen him in person for months.

It has been a busy year here at Comey and Shepherd. I've let time control me a bit more than I should have, but it was good to have my work to through myself into.  I  have held true to my conviction that this crazy business we call 'Real Estate' is about helping people first.  This past year, I have made a concentrated effort to focus more on helping people than making money. That was a very difficult thing to do, but it worked. I helped a lot of people this year, and I made a decent living doing it. And the man I see in the mirror every morning ..... looks a whole lot more at peace with himself. My mother always told me that you have to keep you heart in the right place. Well, mom your boy  is finally learning how to do that. I'm not perfect at it yet, but i'm getting a little better at it every day..

I passed out halloween candy this year, and I saw this little kid dressed up as a turtle. I actually had one of those "Kung Fu Flashbacks." When I was in cub scouts, there was a halloween costume contest for the packs monthly get-together. I came up iwth the idea of a turtle, because I wanted to have a costume nobody else would think of. I told my mother what I wanted to do and she helped me do it. We spent hours making the shell, and painting it . She spent even more hours sewing me the pants, the shirt, the gloves, and the mask. I remember sitting down and drawing what I wanted and she made it. When the party finally came around, I won first prize for the costume. Note to self, next time I'm in Tennesse, I need to try and find a picture of that costume.

It is hard to believe that two years have gone by. They say the grieving process stops after two years. and the pain begines to subside. Well, it is just a dull ache at this point and very much still there.

I don't stop at the Mt. Zion Cemetery every time I head up 75 towards Dayton anymore. However, when I pass the exit for 675, or the Indian Ripple Road exit, I have to choke back the tears.

I dream abouty my mother alot. When I first started seeing her in my dreams I'd run up and hug her and tell her how much I've missed since she died. Then she would get all upset. In my dreams my mother doesn't know she is dead. So now when I see her, we sit and chat, or I watch her make cookies and pies. Sometimes we shop. There are times we go for walks. She did ask about Dad once. I told her he was doing well. It all seemed kinda of odd to me but I didn't want to rock the boat. I just wanted to enjoy her company while I could.

Copyright © 2001, 2002 Kenneth E. Chappell. All rights reserved.

All works produced by Kenneth E. Chappell may not be used or
reproduced without written permission.