It was 25 years ago today – March 4, 1997 – that Daddy called me, around 1:30 in the afternoon, and said three words: “Bill, she’s gone.”
Mother had struggled with various ailments in the years before that – a bursitis attack in September 1992, followed by a stroke that November, and then a bacterial infection just before Christmas 1993. She survived it, but it left her very weak, and she was bedridden for most of the rest of her life, only occasionally getting up and around with the aid of a walker.
In the weeks before her passing, she had quit eating, quit talking, quit doing anything but sleeping, so we had known it was only a matter of time. For most of those last 3 years, my sister Patsy and I had alternated weekends coming to be with Mother and Daddy, help with Mother’s care, and give Daddy some rest – as well as time to attend church on Sunday mornings. More than anything, we were there to give them “moral support.” I had been there the weekend before she passed away. I left for home Sunday after Daddy returned from church. Before leaving, I went back to their bedroom and stood in the doorway, feeling certain it would be my last time to see Mother this side of heaven. Her birthday, March 16, was just 2 weeks away. I said goodbye and told Mother (who had been comatose, for all practical purposes, for weeks) to “have a wonderful birthday in heaven.”
Daddy had been the most faithful, loving husband anyone could imagine. He had refused to move Mother into a nursing home, insisting that he could best take care of her, and he did take care of her, night and day, for those 3 years she was bedfast. Even in those times, it was still a joy to see the love between them as they remembered old times, bantered back-and-forth, and laughed about shared memories.
When she passed away, Mother was just 12 days short of her 91st birthday. (She was only two days shy of 45 when she gave birth to me on March 14, 1951!) She was born Vivian Louise Otting on March 16, 1906, in the town of Miami (pronounced “Mi-am-uh”), Indian Territory; not until the following year would it be admitted into the union as the state of Oklahoma. Mother was 1/64th Cherokee and had family ties to Will Rogers, as well as Chief James Vann, an influential Cherokee leader. Mother – perhaps because she was several years older than Daddy – would never discuss her age, really didn’t want anyone to know it. When we moved from Dallas to Kansas City, MO, in the summer of 1962, we had to get a copy of my birth certificate for admission into the North Kansas City School District. It came in the mail one day, and I opened it. I was intrigued by one item on that birth certificate: “Mother’s age at birth – 44.”
Wow! After all these years, I had for the first time discovered Mother’s age! Now folks, I really am not too bright when it comes to these things. So when Mother got home from work, I told her what I had discovered in that birth certificate. Oh my, did I ever catch it!!! I was NOT to be opening the mail, blah, blah, blah. I really don’t remember the specifics, I just knew she wasn’t happy with me. Now Mother was secretary/church clerk at our new church in KC. One night – probably not long after the birth certificate incident – she had to go to church for a Church Council meeting, and she took me with her. I stayed in her office during the meeting. At one point, I decided to thumb through the Rolodex (remember those?) on her desk, which happened to contain the names, addresses, pertinent info of all of the members of the church. I came to our family’s card and found that Mother had “shaved” a few years off her age – on the church records! You’d think I would have learned from my previous debacle, but no, I was pretty clueless. So when Mother got out of her meeting, I showed her that Rolodex card and said, “Mother, you made a mistake and put down the wrong age.”
She was outraged. “What are you doing going through there? Those are church records, and this is my desk. You are NOT to be going through the things on my desk.” Her “mistake” was forgotten as she scolded me about my “transgression.”
Believe me, I NEVER brought up the subject of her age the rest of her days. Even the most clueless among us can finally learn a lesson after TWO such scoldings.
Vivian and Jase Jones in Corpus Christi in 1936, where Daddy proposed
Mother gave sacrificially of herself throughout her life. She was gracious, loving, caring – and strong and independent. In March 1943, Daddy left for Chaplains School, then it was off to the European Theatre for over 2 years under General Patton’s command. Mother was left to take care of herself and their daughter, Patsy, who was just 1-1/2-years-old when he left. She didn’t flinch, and she didn’t complain.
Mother worked throughout her life until retiring at the age of 65. During the last few years she worked, Mother and Daddy were able to work together in the Kansas City Baptist Association office, where Daddy was on the ministerial staff, and Mother was a secretary.
Mother and Daddy were wonderful parents and grandparents. I remember how excited they were when their first grandchild, Patsy and Palmer’s Stephanie, came along in 1966. I also remember how lovingly and joyfully they welcomed those with whom their children chose to share their lives, first son-in-law Palmer in 1961, and then my Joanna in 1976. When we celebrated their 45th anniversary with a gathering of family and friends over Thanksgiving 1982 (a couple of months before their January 30 anniversary), Daddy said that he and Mother loved Palmer and Joanna just as they loved their own children.
Joanna and I broke up twice the first year (1973) we were dating (I told you I wasn’t very smart). The first time was during Spring Break; I had planned to stay in town to be with Joanna, but after we broke up, I booked a flight home to KC. Mother picked me up at the airport. On the ride home, she told me how sad she was for me that things hadn’t worked out with my girlfriend. Being at that time in the throes of a faith crisis, I got snarky with her and said, “Why? I thought you’d be happy, considering Joanna isn’t a Christian.” My sweet, loving, forgiving Mother said, “Honey, I just want you to be happy.” I will never understand the depth of such unconditional love. Mother was a better, more loving person than I can ever hope to be. But I learned humility that day, humility in the face of such expansive love.
Mother and Daddy had a wonderful life together, traveling many places – especially in retirement.
Vivian and Jase Jones, many years later
Christmas 1987 was a special time, as they took the family to Laredo, where they had lived in the early years of their marriage. Daddy, still fighting God’s call to ministry, was an assistant manager with the F. W. Woolworth’s variety store there – and moving up the ladder, positioned to become a manager until one day he decided he must stop fighting and “surrender” to God’s call. That trip in 1987 was wonderful, as we walked through Laredo with Mother and Daddy showing us the house where they had lived – and telling us about their lives there – as well as the places where he and Mother had worked, the people they had known in Laredo, and so forth. We could tell that these were precious memories to them.
As I said earlier, Daddy took care of Mother right to the end, faithfully looking after her every need. He lived a little over 10 years after losing her, and he never got over her absence. He kept her pictures around him, looked at them and cried regularly, frequently went out to the cemetery and talked to her. He often spoke of longing for the day he would finally be in the presence of “my wonderful Savior and my beautiful wife.” I sympathized with him, but there was no way I could truly understand what he was experiencing and why he found it impossible to “move on” with his life. Then came February 2021, when I lost Joanna, the love of my life for 48 years. Now I understand.
Mother was a precious soul. She loved with an unconditional love that I can hardly fathom.
Gone 25 years, a quarter of a century! Yet for Vivian Louise Otting Jones, a thousand years are now as one day, as she is in eternity.
Another wonderful birthday in heaven is right around the corner. Happy birthday, Mother. (And I WON’T say how many!)