Week 12 #52Ancestors Misfortune

Valley of the Shadow of Death

     Our family had been in Guadalajara only a few months and my mother became ill. She went into the hospital with pneumonia. Apparently she had been given many different prescriptions in California by her doctor (he spoke with thick German accent which she couldn’t understand) so that by the time her condition worsened after the stress of moving to another country, they couldn’t find a medicine that would cure her easily.

     They persisted and indeed she recovered from it, came home and took a turn for the worst. In hindsight, she had Alzheimer’s disease, and this final illness kicked it up a notch. She had to be put onto oxygen, lost the strength in her legs and needed help getting to the bathroom. Even putting up her Christmas tree and favorite orange and purple ornaments on it didn’t raise her spirits. The ladies from church came to visit several times a week, but all she could say was that she didn’t want them there. Her personality changed from a gregarious Relief Society Secretary to an angry, contentious old woman.  

     I had to scold her occasionally when she spoke roughly to Brianna, whom she loved. The medical system in Guadalajara was fantastic however. Dr. Menesis, a member of our ward, came to the house frequently. Imagine, house visits from a world famous doctor (He specialized in Bach Flores and had an office in Switzerland) and oxygen and supplies delivered to the home. Her mind became confused and she began repeating words over and over again. I asked her if she could stop doing that and she said no. Within three days of this symptom, she died on 15 Dec 1995. She was never convinced that she didn’t have pneumonia anymore, but she died from something else entirely.

Bob’s Journey in the 

Valley of the Shadow of Death

     The reason I’ve told the story about my mother’s death in Guadalajara is because when the #52Ancestors prompt was Misfortune, I couldn’t think of anything. I’d always thought of myself as Fortunate. However, after thinking about it I wrote quite a long story about my husband’s death on 9 May 2012 at the age of 82. It’s been almost six years ago.

     If you go back through my blog you will see that I stopped writing soon after this date and had good intentions but never really became consistent again until now. Thanks Amy Johnson Crow.

     At Bob’s death I kept a detailed journal so that I could remember to thank all of the people who came to comfort us during his last days. Indeed I thought that I would blog about my journey through the valley of the shadow of death. But, I wrote, “I thought I’d be able to write about grief and how I handle my beloved’s death, but quite frankly it’s just so subtle and too personal.” I did write daily in my journal and have two full notebooks for 2012. However, I just couldn’t keep up this blog.

     In rereading these journal pages, I found a wonderful story of funny moments, tender caring moments, weird bizarre moments, and surprising sacred moments that led to a revelation or two when Bob died.

     Just as friends and family gave comfort, advice and service, shared great food, so did the new friends we’d made in Guadalajara when my mom became bedridden. Our American Legion friends and ward member friends came to serve. At least in Guadalajara it is a law that the body cannot be moved for 24 hours. This gave time for the Relief Society Presidency to clean and dress my mother in her white temple clothing and for us to cuddle and cry and say our goodbyes.

     So when Bob died in Arizona, Brianna and I took an hour or so to say our goodbyes before we called the people at the hospice company we used and they sent a nurse over to listen to his heart for a minute and declare him dead at 2:15 am, even though he actually died at 12:34am. Brianna was pregnant at this time and she needed to use the bathroom. Bob’s breathing had gotten more shallow and longer between little pauses and deep breaths, so when she left the room, I said to him, “Bob, Don’t die before she gets back!” And he didn’t. Two minutes after she returned, and was sitting at his head, and I at his feet, he took his last breath.

     Brianna stood up and looked at me and said, “I thought I’d be crying, but I’m happy instead.” We both felt lifted up. The Holy Ghost, the comforter was at work in our lives. Yes as the months went on, I noticed that the handwriting in my journal began very scratchy, confused and rambling, but finally became more coherent and I began setting short term goals again. I am so grateful for the gospel of Jesus Christ and the eternal perspective it provides. I know where our spirits came from, and where it goes after we die. And one day, we will all rise again and unite with our bodies because of Jesus and his great work.  

     Next week is Easter and this post is appropriate for the week before and all of the stories that go along with His last days upon the earth and the gift He has given to us.

Psalms 23:4 

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will 

fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

52 Stories in 52 Weeks

52 Stories #52Ancestors

     Blending my own family story of moving to Guadalajara and my ancestor's stories helps me to be diligent in recording both personal history and ancestral history.

Week 10 Strong Woman

     A Strong Woman: My grandmother, Anna Mae Gough, met many of life’s challenges head on. After loosing a baby daughter, she had two sons, then her husband, as he later confessed to my Dad, Joseph Marvin Eckles, was “foolin’ around with a teenage girl that lived round the corner and down the street,” she found the strength to pack up and leave him. The record of those years until she married Golder Winebrenner in California, Moniteau, Missouri in 1924 finally yielded the story of what she had to do to survive.

     I’d inherited her letters, and written notes. Gathering them all in one place I began piecing them together with the transcripts that I had had made of my interviews with my dad, his uncle Anson Gough, a young friend, Effie, of my grandmother who lived in Shirley, Arkansas to compile her history. Yikes, I simply couldn’t figure out why she lived in so many places scattered from Illinois, Missouri, Nebraska, Iowa, Wyoming, Kansas, Oklahoma and Arkansas between the years of 1905 and 1924. Eight states in 19 years equaled a move to another state about every two years. About the time I figured out where exactly she was, to find proof or sources, I would find something else to add.

A Timeline

So I began to establish a chronological timeline and printed this form to help me.  

     Although I have not finished this project and this is only an example, I’ve come to some conclusions.

     Mae was described as a nervous woman, afraid of Arkansas’ terrible storms and tornados, by her young friend, Effie, who knew her; she had the strength to pluck chickens after raising them; to work in a slaughter house; run and clean rooming houses; live in a tent during winter in Wyoming, and finally driving a covered wagon with horses, household goods, chickens and two small boys diagonally from Northwest Kansas, through Oklahoma to Northeast Arkansas, then to central Arkansas.

Her story doesn’t stop here, but it was her sisters and brothers support that gave her the courage to move on. Researching their lives gave me the sources and proofs that I needed to document this very strong woman who was my grandmother.

Anna Mae Gough Eckel Akers Winebrenner 1889-1962

     Now I find myself telling the story of how my family ended up living in California, Tennessee, Arkansas, then to Kwajalein, Marshall Islands and finally to Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mexico and ending up today in Arizona. Guess I’m a strong woman like my grandmother, moving and living all over the world.

     Here is the photo of me with my mother, Ruthe, and my husband Bob at our first dinner date at the American Legion in Guadalajara. The Barbie doll on the table represents our daughter who is busy running all around the place, playing. 

#52Ancestors Week 11

Lucky Me

     I’ve concluded that all of my Grandmother’s moving around was embedded into my genetic cell memory.  After 73 years I have started to have shaking hands, a tremor… It is something I began to experience when I was called to lead the music in Sacrament meeting, so I bought a baton and that controlled my hand. I’ve never called myself nervous, but I can see why a young girl would see this and think of it as being nervous. That’s what Effie said about my grandmother when I interviewed her in Shirley, Arkansas while I was living in Little Rock, AR. I’m so glad I was Lucky enough to find her when I only thought I was looking for the house my grandmother had lived in.

Homes in My Life

     I love to travel and growing up in Southern California, I drove all over in my car. Sometimes I’d just turn up the heater onto my feet, roll down the windows and just go driving the freeways at night with the radio turned to some music station.

     I’ve even lived in 17 or more home over the years. I documented all of the So Cal ones with photographs and later on Zoom Atlas I won a contest winning third place in the nation. Partially the points that I racked up was that I had before and after photos of the houses where we lived. I can’t remember how much the prize was, but I think it was $2000. Pretty nifty.

     All of those moves made it easy to make the one back to Tennessee and Arkansas from my home in California, when I met my husband, Bob. He worried about my reaction when he told me what the father of his second wife had said to her, “You could end up anywhere in the world with him, you know.” Indeed he had lived a year in Paris, France on a Fulbright Scholarship; spent a couple years in the Army in Germany; Lived in England while working for Proctor and Gamble; finally, while working for Holiday Inns, International Division spent more time in Europe than in the US.

     So what was my reaction to his father-in-law’s worrying statement? I replied, “I’m more worried about staying in one place too long and getting bored.” So, aren’t I Lucky to find a man that provided me with the opportunity to live in Tennessee, Arkansas, Kwajalein in the Marshall Islands, living in Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mexico and finally returning to the US and Arizona.

Travel via Cyberspace

     Indeed now that I’m forced to stay in one place because of my disabilities, I’ve found ways to travel in cyberspace so it’s less boring. Aren’t I Lucky that I can do my family history research online rather than actually having to go to courthouses, and stomp through cemeteries?

     I have lived a wonderful exciting life built around family history and moving around a lot; not so very different from my grandmother. She and I not only shared the “moving around” gene, but we looked like we could have been sisters when we were teenagers. Sadly the photos of her at that age have been lost, although I did get to see them during a visit to my step mother’s house long ago.

     My life is far richer than hers ever was because I have the gospel and an eternal companion. This was like discovering a four leaf clover starting about age 21. Very March appropriate. I AM THE LUCKY ONE.

52 Stories about My Family and Guadalajara

This is the photo we had taken before we left for Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mexico when living in Ontario, California in 1995. Our family included Bev, Bob, Brianna, Ruthe, and Harriett our cat.