Rest in Peace, Aunt Ebbie . . .

Aunt Ebbie and Tinkerbelle

I never knew either of my grandmothers. My Dad's mom died when he was only 7; my Mom's mom died when I was less than 3. That gap, however, was filled by my Dad's two sisters. Aunt Elva and Aunt Ebbie, older than my Dad and his younger brother, were busy helping to raise their two young brothers when they should have "been courting". As a result, neither ever married. They lived together their entire lives except for 2 or 3 years when Elva lived in California while pursuing her PhD in Psychology. (Aside: she dropped out of the program shortly before completion when she realized that everything she was learning was "a bunch of hooey". She's been equally perceptive ever since).

When I was little, I would spend several weeks with my aunts back at the old family home in Southern Illinois. I have a stockpile of fond memories of those summers - bicycling all over town; eating b-b-que from "Bills"; fresh chicken salad from Mittendorf's grocery; trips out into the countryside to see the old family church where my grandparents and countless other relatives are buried.

We ventured there again this week not to visit, but to say good-bye to Aunt Ebbie. After a long illness, she passed away last Sunday at the age of 84. She is survived by one sister, three brothers, a multitude of loving nieces and nephews and great-nieces and great-nephews, and a community full of people whose lives she touched for the better.

Her funeral, while clearly a time of mourning and sadness, was truly also a celebration of her life. Despite the short notice (the funeral was on Tuesday morning after she died on Sunday afternoon), family journed to her hometown from Georgia, Florida, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Central Illinois. My parents were thrilled that all four of their sons and all four daughters-in-law were present.

Events like this cause a wide-ranging flow of emotions and thoughts. First I was filled with remembrances of Ebbie; random odd memories like the really cool Barracuda she drove when I was about 7 or 8, or the many times I visited her at the bank where she worked as a teller for 38 years. During the service, I was seated so that I could see all of the remaining members of that generation sitting in the front row. Aunt Elva (age 86), Uncle Omer (age 89), Dad (turning 80 tomorrow) and Uncle "Fred" (age 78). Clearly my family is blessed with a genetic predisposition toward old age! But you can't sit in that place with those people in view and not realize that this is the first funeral of many more to come. I hated having that feeling, but it is true. Rather than mourning that fact, however, we choose to take advantage of the time we have left. One of the reasons we moved back to Georgia is so that our kids will have as much time as possible to spend with their grandparents. Not just big events (a wedding, an anniversary, a funeral), but random weekday afternoons just sitting on the sofa reading together. Just before Christmas we dropped in at my parents house to visit. My mom had been going through her "hope chest" that day looking for something. Since we were there, she took the opportunity to pull out her wedding gown (58 years old) to show to Belle and Tink. The fact that I have never seen that gown out of it's protective bag suggest how significant that act was. Those are the moments and the memories that I crave for my children and for myself and my wife. (Aside #2: my wife and my parents have one of the closest "in-law" relationships I've ever seen and I am SO greatful for that).

As this event crept closer, all of us were concerned for Aunt Elva. As they've grown older she had grown ever more dependant on Ebbie - how would she fare after Ebbie's death?

In his grace (as always), God had thought of that. During her long illness, Ebbie moved back and forth between the hospital and a residential rehab facility. During the first 2 or 3 months, my parents practically moved to Illinois, partially to keep an eye on Ebbie but equally to help take care of Elva. However, over the last months Elva became increasingly independant. That long illness served to help Elva prove to herself that "she can do this" alone.

For each of you, my hope is that you all have an "Aunt Ebbie" in your life. Maybe your grandmother, maybe your aunt, maybe someone at your church or down the street. Regardless, love her and appreciate her. I know that I'm blessed to still have her sister, and I know I'll do both of those things for as long as I have the priviledge to do so.