Born simply as Josephine Crausby,
with no middle name, my Aunt Jo Collins died Tuesday morning December 04,
at the Sunshine Health Care facility in Pontotoc. She was eighty-five years
old. Having borne no children in her marriage to Julius Lee (Pearlie) Collins,
she is survived by four nephews and three nieces.
According to my record, Aunt Jo married on her birthday in 1948. Pearlie
was a handsome man and while crippled by polio at a young age, he was a licensed
driver and could drive himself wherever he wanted to go. Pearlie became a
jeweler and owned a jewelry store on Main Street in Pontotoc. When no longer
able to work due to physical infirmities, Pearlie developed a dependence
on pain medication, and it fell Aunt Jo’s lot to care for him and earn
a living for the two of them until Pearlie’s death in 1973.
Aunt Jo worked for many years in Pontotoc’s
"shirt factory." She was a seamstress and came to know a large number of
people through her work. She later worked as a seamstress in the furniture
industry. After retirement, she kept in contact with many of her friends
from former workplaces.
When Barbara and I were living in the Delta during the workweek and driving
back to Pontotoc for the weekend, we started visiting Aunt Jo on Sunday
afternoons before we went back to the Delta. We maintained this routine for
about ten years until we sold our house in Greenville. Afterwards we continued
to visit Aunt Jo at her home and for the last four years we saw her weekly
at Sunshine Health Care.
My mother was perhaps the better cook, but there’s one thing that I
recall Aunt Jo could make that was better tasting than Mom’s, her fried
pies. The pie crust of Aunt Jo’s fried pies was the deciding difference.
Hers were flaky and buttery. Mom didn’t use butter in her crusts. Apart
from the butter, it would have been hard to taste the difference between
Mom’s and Aunt Jo’s pies.
Aunt Jo’s other sweet specialty was caramel icing. My sister makes a
decent caramel icing that is creamy, but I’ve always been partial to
caramel that was grainy and hard. Yeah, I’m a little strange, but
that’s the way I like it. I should try my hand at making caramel icing,
and maybe I will one of these days so I can appreciate how difficult it is
to get it "just so." Aunt Jo knew the difficulty and, much to my chagrin,
often told of throwing a batch out the back door. However, the batches that
made it to the cake were always to my liking, even if they didn’t suit
Aunt Jo. I believe Aunt Jo enjoyed giving away her sweet creations almost
as much as we enjoyed eating them.
Many who came to Aunt Jo’s wake remarked, "She was a sweet person."
To most who recalled her thusly, I held my piece, but to a few I commented,
"You didn’t know her as well as some of us."
Yes, Aunt Jo was a sweet person, there’s no denying that. However, even
the sweetest of us have a side less appealing, and Aunt Jo was no exception.
Patience was not her long suit, and she often frustrated my daddy, who, in
his retirement years would cut her yard so she didn’t have to do it.
If the grass in her yard showed any signs of growth between mowings, she
thought it had to be cut right then and choosing not to wait on Henry Carter
to get it done, she’d cut it herself.
Her independent spirit led her to purchase a pre-paid funeral plan a number
of years ago, as she didn’t want others to bear the expenses of her
funeral.
In her later years, the more dependent she became on others for her physical
care, the less patient she became, often fussing at nurses’ aides who
didn’t get her turned or changed as soon as she thought they should.
Years ago, my daddy explained the faults of his sister-in-law were the result
of her being the baby in the family and spoiled early in life. My grandmother
may have helped with the spoiling, but I suspect it was Aunt Jo’s father
at whose feet most of the blame should lie.
It was her daddy she remembered a month or so ago as she grimaced in pain,
"My daddy wouldn’t let me hurt like this."
Of the many ailments that plagued Aunt Jo in later years, perhaps it was
her bout with a case of the shingles earlier this year that gave her the
greatest pain, and it was this pain that is referenced in her statement above.
The rash associated with shingles didn’t persist for long, but for months
afterward, Aunt Jo complained of sharp pains in the area of her left breast.
Numerous doctors investigated her complaint, and a number of tests were
conducted, but the source of the pain could not be found. Her family physician
stated the pain was likely the result of shingles and that many people experience
mild to severe discomfort for quite some time after the rash associated with
shingles has disappeared.
Of the Sunday afternoons that Barbara and I visited Aunt Jo, this year, I
counted ours a good visit if Aunt Jo failed to state, "I wish I could just
be easy for five minutes."
There’s no way for me or anyone, for that matter, to know the pain she
felt or whether or not it was continual or occasional. But, there were days
when Aunt Jo appeared to be free of pain and in good spirits.
Her doctor tried a lot of pain medications, even pain patches, to provide
her with some relief, but by Aunt Jo’s assessment, the medications only
deadened the pain and did not eradicate it.
When it comes to family members in nursing home facilities, Barbara and I
have experienced two extremes. Lillie Paseur, Barbara’s mother, has
a healthy body but her mental faculties have significantly deteriorated in
the past seven years, and it’s no longer possible to carry on a conversation
with her or be certain she knows who we are for more than a moment. On the
other hand, Aunt Jo’s nursing home stay progressed from her being an
invalid, unable to feed or care for herself, to limited-assistance walking
and able to eat in her room, to long days in a wheel chair with a mind as
alert as any of us and a memory often better than mine. She could keep up
with doctor’s appointments, visits by family members, and activities
in the nursing home far better than either Barbara or me.
Of the long list of aunts and uncles of my parents as well as my own aunts
and uncles, who were alive at the time I was born, Aunt Jo was the last of
my aunts. And, I’m down to one uncle, Dad’s younger brother, who
lives in New York and seldom ventures out of the city.
Aunt Jo leaves this world for a far better place. She accumulated no riches
or lands to be distributed among her heirs. She sold her house before my
mother died and bought a mobile home to place on property Mom deeded her
that reverted back to Mom’s estate upon my aunt’s death. She dispersed
her jewelry among relatives before entering the nursing home. The mobile
home may or may not be claimed by Social Security/ Medicaid as the cost of
moving it could be greater than its value.
From a material standpoint, Aunt Jo leaves this world pretty much as she
entered it at the time of her birth. Yes, there’s a piece of earth her
body occupies at West Height’s Cemetery in Pontotoc and tombstone that
marks the spot, but that’s about it. Oh, there’s an old car she
promised Sarah before she changed her will, but it wouldn’t bring much
on the auction block.
Relationally speaking, Aunt Jo left a lot of folks who benefited greatly
for having the privilege of loving her and being loved by her. They are too
numerous to recall here, but I’m proud to say that I am one of them.
Santa’s
Prayer A Christmas Miracle
Three years ago, a little boy and his grandmother came to see Santa
at Mayfair Mall in Wisconsin. The child climbed up on his lap, holding
a picture of a little girl. "Who is this?" asked Santa, smiling, "Your
friend…your sister?" "Yes, Santa," he replied. "My sister, Sarah, who
is very sick," he said sadly.
Santa glanced over at the grandmother who was waiting nearby, and saw
her dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
"She wanted to come with me to see you, oh, so very much, Santa!" the
child exclaimed. "She misses you," he added softly.
Santa tried to be cheerful and encouraged a smile to the boy's face,
asking him what he wanted Santa to bring him for Christmas. When they
finished their visit, the Grandmother came over to help the child off his
lap, and started to say something to Santa, but halted. "What is it?"
Santa asked warmly.
"Well, I know it's really too much to ask you, Santa, but ..."the old woman
began, shooing her grandson over to one of Santa's elves to collect
the little gift which Santa gave all his young visitors. "The girl in
the photograph…my granddaughter…well, you see…she has leukemia
and isn’t expected to make it even through the holidays," she said
through tear-filled eyes. "Is there any way, Santa…any possible
way that you could come see Sarah? That's all she's asked for, for
Christmas, is to see Santa."
Santa blinked and swallowed hard and told the woman to leave information
with his elves as to where Sarah was, and he would see what he could do.
Santa thought of little else the rest of that afternoon. He knew
what he had to do. "What if it were MY child lying in that hospital
bed, dying," he thought with a sinking heart, "this is the least I can
do."
When Santa finished visiting with all the boys and girls that evening,
he retrieved from his helper the name of the hospital where Sarah
was staying. He asked the assistant location manager how to get
to Children’s Hospital. "Why?" Rick asked, with a puzzled look
on his face. Santa relayed to him the conversation with Sarah's grandmother
earlier that day. "C'mon .... I'll take you there," Rick said
softly.
Rick drove them to the hospital and came inside with Santa. They found
out which room Sarah was in. A pale Rick said he would wait out in the
hall. Santa quietly peeked into the room through the half-closed door
and saw little Sarah on the bed. The room was full of what appeared
to be her family; there was the Grandmother and the girl's brother he had
met earlier that day.
A woman whom he guessed was Sarah's mother stood by the bed,
gently pushing Sarah's thin hair off her forehead. And another
woman who he discovered later was Sarah's aunt, sat in a chair near the bed
with weary, sad look on her face. They were talking quietly, and Santa
could sense the warmth and closeness of the family, and their love and concern
for Sarah. Taking a deep breath, and forcing a smile on his face, Santa
entered the room, bellowing a hearty, "Ho, ho, ho!"
"Santa!" shrieked little Sarah weakly, as she tried to escape her bed
to run to him, IV tubes intact. Santa rushed to her side and gave her
a warm hug.
A child the tender age of his own son -- 9 years old -- gazed up at
him with wonder and excitement. Her skin was pale and her short tresses
bore telltale bald patches from the effects of chemotherapy. But all
he saw when he looked at her was a pair of huge, blue eyes. His heart melted,
and he had to force himself to choke back tears. Though his eyes were
riveted upon Sarah's face, he could hear the gasps and quiet sobbing
of the women in the room. As he and Sarah began talking, the family
crept quietly to the bedside one by one, squeezing Santa's shoulder
or his hand gratefully, whispering "thank you" as they gazed sincerely
at him with shining eyes. Santa and Sarah talked and talked, and she
told him excitedly all the toys she wanted for Christmas, assuring him
she'd been a very good girl that year.
As their time together dwindled, Santa felt led in his spirit to pray
for Sarah, and asked for permission from the girl's mother. She nodded
in agreement and the entire family circled around Sarah's bed, holding
hands. Santa looked intensely at Sarah and asked her if she believed
in angels.
"Oh, yes, Santa ... I do!" she exclaimed.
"Well, I'm going to ask that angels watch over you, "he said. Laying
one hand on the child's head, Santa closed his eyes and prayed. He asked
that God touch little Sarah, and heal her body from this disease He
asked that angels minister to her, watch and keep her. And when he finished
praying, still with eyes closed, he started singing softly, "Silent
Night, Holy Night - all is calm, all is bright." The family joined in,
still holding hands, smiling at Sarah, and crying tears of hope, tears
of joy for this moment, as Sarah beamed at them all. When the song
ended, Santa sat on the side of the bed again and held Sarah's frail,
small hands in his own.
"Now, Sarah," he said authoritatively, "you have a job to do, and that
is to concentrate on getting well. I want you to have fun playing with
your friends this summer, and I expect to see you at my house at Mayfair
Mall this time next year!" He knew it was risky proclaiming that, to
this little girl who had terminal cancer, but he "had" to. He had
to give her the greatest gift he could -- not dolls or games or
toys -- but the gift of HOPE.
"Yes, Santa!" Sarah exclaimed, her eyes bright.
He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead and left the room. Out in the
hall, the minute Santa's eyes met Rick's, a look passed between them and
they wept unashamed.
Sarah's mother and grandmother slipped out of the room quickly and rushed
to Santa's side to thank him.
"My only child is the same age as Sarah," he explained quietly. "This
is the least I could do." They nodded with understanding and hugged
him. One year later, Santa Mark was again back on the set in Milwaukee
for his six-week, seasonal job which he so loves to do. Several weeks went
by and then one day a child came up to sit on his lap. "Hi, Santa; remember
me?"
"Of course, I do," Santa proclaimed (as he always does), smiling down
at her. After all, the secret to being a "good" Santa is to always make
each child feel as if they are the "only" child in the world at that
moment. "You came to see me in the hospital last year!" Santa's jaw
dropped. Tears immediately sprang in his eyes, and he grabbed this little
miracle and held her to his chest. "Sarah!" he exclaimed. He
scarcely recognized her, for her hair was long and silky and her cheeks
were rosy -- much different from the little girl he had visited just a year
before. He looked over and saw Sarah's mother and grandmother in the
sidelines smiling and waving and wiping their eyes. That
was the best Christmas ever for Santa Claus. He had witnessed --and been
blessed to be instrumental in bringing about -- this miracle of hope. This
precious little child was healed. Cancer-free. Alive and well.
He silently looked up to Heaven and humbly whispered, "Thank you, Father,
’tis a very, Merry Christmas!"
Note: According to a popular website that investigates urban legends,
the validity of this heartwarming tale is undetermined, but Mark Leonard
worked as a professional Santa in the Mayfair Mall of Wauwatosa, Wisconsin
from 1994-1999. Mark’s wife Susan wrote the story.
Bodock Beau
Police Action
George Phillips, preparing to go to bed, opened the back door to go turn
off the light at his shed and saw that there were people in the shed stealing
things from his shed.
He phoned the police, who asked "Is someone in your house?" and he said "No",
they're in my shed."
Then they said that all patrols were busy, and that he should simply lock
his door and an officer would be along when available.
George said, "Okay," hung up, counted to 30, and phoned the police again.
"Hello, I just called you a few seconds ago because there were people stealing
things from my shed. Well, you don't have to worry about them now because
I've just shot them." Then he hung up.
Within five minutes three police cars, an Armed Response Unit, and an ambulance
showed up at the Phillips' residence and caught the burglars red-handed.
One of the Policemen said to George: "I thought you said that you'd shot
them!"
George said, "I thought you said there was nobody available!"
Born simply as Josephine Crausby,
with no middle name, my Aunt Jo Collins died Tuesday morning December 04,
at the Sunshine Health Care facility in Pontotoc. She was eighty-five years
old. Having borne no children in her marriage to Julius Lee (Pearlie) Collins,
she is survived by four nephews and three nieces.
