Enduring Love

Thoughts for Father's Day...

One thing about my Dad that has meant so much to me in recent years is the valiant and enduring way he cared for my Mom in her last years, as she suffered with dementia.  I think it has to be one of the most difficult diseases for caretakers to deal with. Besides the concern for their safety and the daily challenges of caring for their every need, there is the heartbreak of watching them slip away from you little by little into another world. Answering the same questions over and over again, guiding them once again through the most menial tasks can be exhausting for even the most patient among us.

Even while Mom was in a nursing facility recovering from a broken hip, Dad was usually there several hours a day to help her with every meal and often stayed into the evening to tuck her into bed.  Mom always knew who he was but she didn't remember him being there. She was restless in the night and often pedaled her wheelchair or even walked up to the nurses station saying "I can't find my husband."

While in the nursing facility she often said "I want to go home." She loved her home and even in her dementia she was drawn to its comfort and familiarity.  She recovered from the broken hip well enough to come home in a few months and she was walking independently around the house. That amazing feat was a testament to both her determination and the care and encouragement that Dad provided.

During one of her hospitalizations I sat by her bed while Dad went home to rest for awhile. She was restless and agitated, pulling on her bedding and gown for much of the time, a response to being in an unfamiliar environment. When Dad got back he pulled up a chair on the other side of the bed, took her hand and started talking gently to her. Her eyes fixed solidly on his and she quieted right down. Then she realized I was still on the other side of the bed and she reached out her hand for me.  She kept shifting her gaze between the two of us. It was if she somehow found her grounding in reality through our physical connection and it brought her peace. It was such a profound and tender moment to see the power of the human connection and the strength of the bond between Mom and Dad.

As Dad and I sat on the back porch waiting to go the funeral home for Mom's services, he said, "I did the best I could."  I suppose in dealing with a disease such as dementia, its hard to feel that enough is enough, there's always more that one could do. 

But it's clearly evident Dad that your love, endurance and drive remained strong to the end, even in your fatigue. I am forever grateful that you were able to walk with her as you did through that dark valley.

  

Memorial Day memories and traditions

It's good to remember, to look back, reflect on our days, consider those who came before us and gave so much of themselves to make a better life for us. 

This Memorial Day I reflect on my Mother's military service. She was always a patriot at heart and joined the Women's 484th Army Air Force in 1944 leaving high school just prior to graduation. She served in Topeka, Kansas processing crews preparing to go overseas.  While in the army she participated in a women's synchronized swimming team.

 

Both of my parents proudly served and have often told us stories of their experiences. It's a good thing to listen to, to remember and to pass on.

  

It was probably one of those Sunday afternoon conversations that turned to a discussion of what clothes they could still fit into. Here is Mom and Dad showing off - Dad still fit in his Army jacket and Mom fit in her wedding dress.

 

Memorial Day starts with breakfast at the American Legion. Gathered there are the veterans that will be participating in the parade, and later performing ceremonies at area cemeteries.  The guns they use in the gun salute are lined up there. Here is Mom checking out the photo wall of other local veterans.

 

Mom never wanted to miss the Memorial Day services held in the memorial park next to the library, just a few blocks from the home where I grew up.  Here are Mom and Dad observing the services.

 

 

Here are Mom and Dad comparing notes with one of the parade participants. 

 

Headed home, talking it over...

 

 

Later in the day our tradition is to visit the cemeteries where family members have been laid to rest,  the Fitchville Cemetery for my Dad's side of the family and the Hester Cemetery for my Mom's side of the family. Here is the American Legion members performing a gun salute at the Fitchville Cemetery. 

 

 

On this occasion we were visiting the Hester Cemetery, across the road from the Hester Homestead constructed by my great-great-great grandfather Martin Hester and his son Martin M. Hester. We were pulling out of the drive when we saw Mom's younger brother pulling in the drive with his step-daughters. Here I am with my parents and Uncle Bob.

 

At my Mother's funeral service these American Legion members approached the casket one at a time, stepped back and saluted her.  It touched me deeply. I'm thankful for their service in showing deep respect and honor for those of their comrades who have passed on.

 

 

 

With love and gratitude for all you have meant to us, you are fondly remembered and deeply missed.

 

Elizabeth Ann Hester Phillips, 9/20/23 - 9/16/2013

 

 

 

Mom Memories

This is my first Mother's Day without my mother. So I'm tapping in to my treasury of good memories to comfort the ache in my heart. 

So often when I'm in the kitchen trying a new recipe or stirring up something from scratch I'm sure it goes back to my mother's patient teaching.  Even when I was little Mom would "let me help" with things in the kitchen. She would pull a chair up to the counter for me to stand on so I could help stir up a batch of cookies .

When I'm persevering through a challenging task it's largely because she made the effort to build in good character traits like not giving up when things get hard.

When I'm learning a new skill I can almost hear her say, "You can do it!" like she must have said countless times when teaching me how to tie a shoe or do a book report or sew a hem.

All the hours she spent leading my Girl Scout troop or helping me with my merit badges reflected her gift for helping kids acquire knowledge and learn new skills. What a gift she was to my peers as well.

My love for the outdoors and exploring nature certainly must have been nurtured by all the time we spent playing outdoors instead of sitting in front of the TV.

When I was just three she gave my older brother and I a book for Christmas entitled "Tell Me About Jesus." It must have been one of those books that we asked her to read to us over and over because it is well worn. She was beginning to build the foundation for the strong faith in Christ I have today. There is nothing more important.

Her bond of love with her family was evident even into her last days, in spite of being overtaken by dementia. The most poignant moment for me was when I was sitting with her in the nursing home in early September 2013.  We were waiting for the ambulette to take her to the hospital for x-rays.  She had fallen the night before and was quite agitated. Even so she reached out to me and asked me to give her a kiss. Of course, I did. I gave her many in fact. I asked her to give me a kiss and she did. 

That was to be my last coherent conversation with her.  The x-rays revealed another broken hip.  She became increasingly agitated with all the medical personnel working with her. Her condition rapidly declined and she passed several days later.

I'd like to think that somehow she knew the end was close and she wanted to make sure we had a good-bye kiss.

Thank you Mom for all the beautiful memories, and so much more.  I'm looking forward to seeing you again...

All my love
Debby

She knew how to have a good time! I love the sparkle in her eyes and the joy she shared with me.

Story-telling with a sweet ending

It’s interesting how story-telling can take its twists and turns and end up at a seemingly unrelated ending.

Dad and I were perusing a few of his many notebook collections of family history, and one in particular pertaining to my 5^th great grandfather Martin Mason, born 1742. He was the grandfather of Martin Hester whose remarkable passing is told in my last bog post here:  http://firstlightofdawn.blogspot.com/2014/01/january-31-1870.html

There’s a story of Martin Mason constructing a mill to grind grain, not far from where I grew up. The mill was capable of grinding sixty bushels of corn a day. Reflecting on that, Dad recollected that his own father had a used a hammer mill to grind corn, powered with a belt attached to his tractor.

That recollection led to another, that of his mother making corn meal mush on the stove top with leftovers going into a bread pan and refrigerated. The next day it could be sliced and served with maple syrup.

Dad noted that before the availability of cane sugar, maple sap was the primary source of sweetner. North American colonists had the Indians to thank for showing them how to harvest the sap from maple trees.

Then Dad asked if I wanted some maple syrup. I was thinking that maybe in a month or two the season for making syrup would begin and we’d go scouting for some nearby. But then I recalled that gallon jug stashed away in the basement storage cupboard.

So we started out with our imaginations taking us to gristmill situated on a river in Ashland County and ended up with this golden jar stashed in my frig:

 

January 31, 1870

Every time I hear the story of Simeon welcoming the infant Jesus in the temple, my thoughts turn to the entries my great-great Grandfather Martin M. Hester made in his diary. It was 144 years ago in the deep midwinter.  Martin and his family were attending revival meetings at their church. Those were days when someone needed to arrive early enough before the meetings to get a fire going in the stove.  They likely traveled by sleigh.

In the entry for Friday Jan 28, 1870 he preserved there the words of his father (also Martin Hester) speaking to the congregation.... "Father spoke with much feeling, That God had preserved his life for more than 82 years and crowned all his life with blessing and that all his children and many of his grandchildren were Christians. He felt like Simeon of old, 'Now Lord let thy servant depart in peace.' [referencing Luke 2: 25-32 http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke+2%3A+25-35&version=NIV ].

The next day ..... "Toward eve Father had a stroke..... He fell from North door of wagon house and found him about ½ past 3 o’clock."  Two days later he died.

"Monday, January 31 - Took care of Father all day. At 6 o’clock in the Eve he died in great peace. Had not spoken for 48 hours but had left a clear testimony in the church of his evidence of the love of God in his heart...."

The full text for the diary entries and the intriguing details can be found in an earlier blog post here:
http://firstlightofdawn.blogspot.com/2010/01/january-31-1870.html

Martin and his brother went to town in the sleigh to purchase a coffin. The body was laid out at their home and services were held there.  The text for the funeral sermon was Numbers 23:10. "Let me die the death of the righteous, and may my end be like theirs!" 

Amen and amen.

A pioneer story from my family tree

In 1863 (while the Civil War was raging) my great-great grandfather Martin M. Hester wrote an article for the Firelands Pioneer, a periodical published by the Firelands Historical Society in Norwalk, Ohio. It is a collection of first-hand accounts of those who settled the area.

In this article he shared the account of his parents (Martin and Mary Stough Hester) settling in unbroken territory in Ashland County, Ohio and their peaceful encounters with Indians. Here is an excerpt…

About the close of the War of 1812, my father and family with several others, moved to Orange Township in Richland, now Ashland County. He entered a quarter section of government land on the extreme frontier and putting up a rough settler’s cabin, moved in.

A short time afterwards it became necessary for him to return to Columbiana County for some cattle. During the trip which lasted 10 or 12 days, my mother with 3 small children, the youngest but a few months old, were left alone. The nearest neighbors were on the east and south, about one and a half to two miles distant. On the north and west, was a trackless wilderness for more than 20 miles, infected with wild beasts and Indians. The day after he left, upwards of 40 Indians of both sexes, came along on horseback took a deliberate survey of the premises and encamped about a half mile beyond.

Every day the squaws would come with baskets to my mother to exchange for meal. She shared with them what she could spare, which was but little. Just about dusk every day 6 or 8 of the Indian men would come to the house from hunting and setting their rifles down outside, would go in and stand around the fire, dressed in full costume with a tomahawk and scalping knives in their belts. My mother would get as many turnips as there were Indians and give them. It is not surprising that the little children clung to their mother from fear, as the tall red savages with their scalping knives pared the turnips and ate them. After getting warm they would go on to their camp. After staying thus 6 or 9 days they went away in the manner they came, having committed no depredations…..
 

My great-great-great grandparents-

Martin Hester (September 6, 1787 - January 31, 1870) and

Mary (Stough) Hester (February 15, 1789 - June 15, 1863):

Memorable moments

As I think back over 2013 I reflect on the memorable moments of the year I see they often come as a strange but profound mix of sadness, joy, love, and sorrow.  Writing my mother's obituary was one such instance.

Being the writer of the family, it fell to me to summarize my mother's 90 years of living into a few paragraphs.  It had been some months prior to my mother's passing that my father asked me to write both of their obituaries. The thinking was that waiting til the last minute may not be a good strategy for giving it the attention it would need.

I had been mulling it over in my mind for quite some time, but when she fell and broke her other hip the beginning of September I suspected her passing would be imminent. By the time she entered hospice I had written the first draft.

By the time it was finished in some ways it still felt inadequate as I thought of all the memories that we made together.  None-the-less, I received numerous complements as to how well it was done and I could conclude that her life had been well-honored. ... a solemn task yet one undertaken with a sense of pride and privilege for the opportunity to honor her full and rich life.

So here it is...

Elizabeth Ann Phillips (nee Hester) 89, of New London, Ohio peacefully passed from this life on September 16th, 2013 following an extended illness. She was born September 20, 1923 in McCutchenville, Ohio to Webb Hester and Mary Hester (nee Sullivan). She lived most of her childhood in Norwalk, Ohio. She lost her mother as a young child, but was surrounded by loving family and friends. She grew up to be a beautiful and caring young woman. She was always a patriot at heart and joined the Women's 484th Army Air Force in 1944 leaving high school just prior to graduation. She served in Topeka, KS processing crews preparing to go overseas. While in the army she participated in a women's synchronized swimming team.

She was above all else a devoted wife and mother, and fulfilled the high calling of motherhood with honor, joy and creativity. She was always there for her children, nurturing and patiently teaching them. She cared for her home well and made it a warm and welcoming place. She served as a Girl Scout leader and Cub Scout den mother. She enjoyed bowling, swimming, needlework, collecting depression glass, and travel.

Even while suffering the ravages of dementia, she displayed strong affection for her family and determination to do what was needed to come home to her family. While in a rehabilitation facility she often said "I want to go home," even when she was home for a visit. It seems that in her heart of hearts she was looking for another home, a heavenly home.

She is survived by her husband of 67 years, Vinton Phillips, her children, John Robert (June) of Warren, Maine, Deborah Phillips of Broadview Heights, OH, and Daniel (Lyn) of North Fairfield, OH; her grandchildren Melissa (Brian) Linscott of South Portland, Maine, Nathan (Karen) Phillips of Ashland, MA, Brian (Stacey) Phillips of Grand Rapids, MI, and Craig Phillips of Chicago; great grandchildren, Gabrielle, Jackson, Helena, Timothy and Everett; siblings, Robert Hester and Mary Kluding of Norwalk, and many nieces and nephews.

A visitation will be held on Wednesday from 5-7 p.m. at Eastman Funeral Home, 200 W. Main St., New London where a service will be held on Thursday at 1 p.m. with Pastor Doug Lang officiating. Burial will follow at Grove Street Cemetery, New London.