My mother went to Heaven yesterday.
Lois Jane Kilgore started life on this earth just on the next ridge from where she ended it. She came and went in the very same bed (when Granny Kilgore died in 1963, mom got the ancient high-poster bed, dresser, etc). This was Route 3, Nauvoo, Alabama. (There are no more “routes,” due to the 911 emergency system needing every street and road to have a name.)
Mom was born July 14, 1916. She died June 2, 2012. Almost 96 years. Of her siblings, she was the last to go.
For most of her life, Mom mistakenly celebrated July 21 as her birthday. I’m not sure why, but no doubt it had to do with their being very rural, her being the sixth child in a family of nine children, and the way doctors kept records back then (meaning: haphazardly).
When she received a copy of her birthday certificate from Montgomery and discovered her birthday to be July 14, my dad feigned shock. “That’s grounds for divorce,” Pop teased. “She was an older woman than I knew.” Her being only 17 and he 21 when they wed–March 3, 1934–she could actually have used a little aging before taking on all she did.
She was the farmer’s daughter. She married a coal miner. Theirs was a hard life together for many years, due to a number of factors: he was no church-goer, he was a hard-worker but also undisciplined in his personal habits, and poverty was a constant companion. But Mom made the most of the life she had chosen.
She was a champion.