The Letter

A few weeks ago, my cousin, Buddy's wife, Phena asked for

my mailing address:

"... I was going through Mrs. Anita's scrapbooks

 (my daddy's sister, my godmother, her Mother in law)

and found a letter your Dad wrote to the family"

I sent her my address and expected a small postcard saying hi.

Yesterday, in my mailbox was a wet envelope from Phena.

(time to get a new mailbox but that is another story entirely)

What I received, what I will share with my siblings is a jewel

of a letter written in my Daddy's handwriting that immediately recognize.

Always, when signing his name he added that line underneath Freddie

with a dash going through the horizontal line.

  There is no doubt that he put the ink to this paper.

As I read the letter, my eyes fill with tears.

Mixed emotions as I read my Daddy's words to his parents.

1944, I was far from being thought of, born in 1963.

In his words I read through the lines so much.

His way of letting his parents know the inevitable, 

trying to sound brave but his fear comes through.

He trying to calm the fears of his family while I can only

imagine just how scared he was.

Bravery as he speaks of going to avenge the one he loves

as he had lost his baby brother months before at the age of 18

 in the very same war he was about to fight, WWII.

That he spent his morning in church touched me as I can 

count on one hand how many times Dad went to church 

with us yet he was steadfast in making sure us kids went every week.

At the age of 26, having my two oldest siblings being born

and raised by my Momma in the bar room he had opened, 

one my Mom ran and kept open until he returned home.

When you loose your Daddy at the age of 20, you know it was too young.

Yet, I was also glad he lived to see me grow to an adult and witness

me receive my nursing license, a dream he knew I had wanted since

the age of 5.

The letter had me realize though that I was too young to have lost my Dad.

All the questions and conversations we had not had because

I was just too young to know how much he had sacrificed

to raise us all, what questions I would have asked had I been older.

Here I share a rare jewel, a gift from a cousin, found in my Nannie's scrapbooks.

( here it is again in two parts for easier reading)

Daddy rarely spoke of the war. Most from that war did not.

Each story he did share with me is locked in my memories.

One of the rare things he did speak of was one I have always

kept close to my heart and shared with many as it 

says so much of what a terrible thing war is, even if

it is a necessity sometimes.

"The day I was shot was the happiest day of my life because

I knew I was either dying or going home."

The front line fighting was over for him.

I can't thank Buddy and Phena enough for returning this

to my siblings and I. The original will be framed and hung in

the cottage as each of my siblings will get a copy of this gift.

In closing, I would like to believe one of the things I 

was given from my Daddy was not wealth, not riches

but the wonderful gift of writing.

Mrs. Loretta, like no other...

Over a year ago, Boo took me to visit a lady.

No, I don't know if lady is the right word....

A matriarch, a classy woman, or maybe her name

stands alone with no subtitles,

Mrs. Loretta Beech.

It was one of those beautiful cool days where we

rode around Gonzales without me knowing where we

might be going next. 

Finally the truck pulled up in the driveway of this

huge home, I would say a Louisiana Mansion.

"I used to work with this lady and her sons"

He explained.

No other words were needed for the encounter I was

about to meet.

He rang the bell of this front door that seemed to be

as large as the whole front of the cottage.

When the door opened, there she was, 

a miniature lady with a cast on her arm who I had

now remembered meeting at Mrs. Barbara's memorial.

Her size meant nothing when this woman began

to speak and talk. The reason for our visit became

apparent when she led us around the home to a painting

she wanted Randy to have because he had given it to her.

As he looked at the huge, ornate framed painting of a bird.

she insisted he had given this to her and she wanted to return it

as she was selling and moving with her son to Mississippi.

He was almost speechless as she insisted this was his.

You don't argue with a woman like Mrs. Loretta.

From that moment on, the painting was his

"because she said so".

It is how she was, that little firecracker of a woman spoke 

and you listened. After she gave us the most awesome tour

of the Louisiana mansion that stood with a "For Sale" sign

in the yard, we sat in her family room

and did what we just don't do enough of

anymore, we talked. There was no rush in the visit. Although

the broken hand she held upright must have been hurting

she was going to command when the visit was over.

Then the stories began and I found out more about Randy

that I may have never known had it not been for this beautiful woman.

She and her first husband had began a boat business that Randy

worked for back in the 80's. When her husband died

she took over his duties along with her sons and became

like a second Mom to boo. 

Even with that said, she was a tough cookie back then.

They talked of old times,

the great work boo did along with some mistakes he made in life.

She said things like the way they were, but she also 

 made it clear that she saw the man he could be and

kept him close to her through the business.

 I believe Boo chalks up his work ethics and the man

he is today partially to this woman, from the way he speaks of her.

It was evident the way she spoke of him and to him that

she adored and loved him and the feeling was mutual.

There were a few times when her words put tears in Randy's eyes

making him choke up. This does not happen often with boo,

yet she was able to bring him to this point more than once.

She didn't care. If she had something to say, she was saying it

whether you were choked up, crying or laughing.

Funny, a story teller, I admired her, fell in love with her the first

time I met her. The type of Mother/woman figure you hope

to become when you are in your 80's.

Let me give you another glimpse of who this woman was.

Boo's mom had been cremated and although she was in 

a very sturdy jar she loved from Spain, it was not to be her

final resting spot. Boo was always looking for a better urn

to place her remains in. He questioned Mrs. Loretta about

one of her many beautiful things that surrounded her dwelling.

He explained his dilemma questioning where

he might be able to find one of her pieces to buy one.

  Without even thinking about it she tells him to get it.

He picks it up and brings to her and she says simply,

"It's yours"

He tried to protest, but her commanding voice again made me

realize, no one questions Mrs. Loretta.

After about a two hour, maybe longer visit, we begin to

say goodbye. As we leave I know I will never forget this 

little lady, no this woman.

Her body may have been frail but her commanding presence

reminded you she was still "the boss".

We may have left her beautiful home, but boo still had lots

of stories to tell. He shared of how this woman molded him,

never gave up on him, even when he didn't deserve it, she

gave him chances that not everyone who worked for her got.

Of course, she also was not afraid to chew his Arse if he needed it,

but she saw the man he was to become way before he did.

I know this visit meant so much to the both of them.

It even meant so much to me.

After that visit, we spoke many times of going back and visiting

her again. Because the beautiful painting hangs in his living room,

we think of her every time we look at it.

  Just as life seems to do to us, it got busy and complicated and

we never made it for another visit.

Yet, we spoke of her many times

and each time, just how much she meant to him/us was

present in every story.

This morning, Boo with a heavy voice says he got some

very bad news this morning.

His beloved Mrs. Loretta passed away at 88 years old.

We do not know of the specifics but we are both so very sad

to hear this news. We talk for about 15 minutes about what a loss,

and how we wished we had made it there to visit with her.

As much as I wish we had, one visit was enough for me to know

I will not only never forget her but her impression on my heart

will be there forever. RIP you beautiful little woman.

Many prayers for her family who I know are feeling a huge loss

this morning. I will end this extended blog, that still does not

seem like enough to try and put her character into words, with the words

of a song that I hope gives comfort to all those who loved her:

JUST 'CAUSE I'M LEAVIN'

IT DON'T MEAN THAT 

I WON'T BE RIGHT BY YOUR SIDE

WHEN YOU NEED ME

AND YOU CAN'T SEE ME

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

JUST CLOSE YOUR EYES AND SAY A PRAYER

IT'S OKAY, I AIN'T SCARED

I MIGHT BE HERE

BUT I'LL ALWAYS BE RIGHT THERE

EVEN THOUGH I'M LEAVIN'

I AIN'T GOING NOWHERE

                                                    Luke Combs lyrics

AUNT JEANNIE, THE LOVE OF SONS

I am so very saddened to write that my Daddy's baby sister,

his last living sibling, JEANETTE COLLINS ESERMAN,

 passed away on Saturday, July 4th 

due to complications from a fall at her home.

The last of my Aunts and Uncles on both sides of my parents.

A generation ended.

Let me share a bit about my thoughts during this time.

Just a few months ago, we buried my Uncle Roy, her husband.

It was before the quarantine and such a beautiful tribute to his

life of Catholic service. Now Aunt Jeannie has joined "Daddy"

which is the only thing I ever remember her calling him.

This couple, married over 55 years, were simple yet such

hard workers. A funny couple, always lovingly fussing with each 

other but there was no doubt of their love.

They never lived above their means, raised their two sons,

Reggie and Jude to be smart, caring men who have

contributed so much to the World.

How proud they both were of these boys and their families.

Aunt Jeannie, given the chance, was going to tell you all her boys

had achieved and what their children and daughter in laws were

doing. She was a "one of a kind" kind of aunt.

I loved going to her home when Reggie and I were young.

I loved old homes even back then and their home always had

things to admire. I know she is free from anything that ever

hurt her in this world.

Now I want to take a little bit of space to brag on my cousins.

First, Jude, their oldest, although lived away, did what he could

stayed in touch, came down when either of his parents needed him.

Good Sons...

and Reggie, oh my dear cousin, Reggie.

The epitome of a good son. 

Because Jude lived so far away, most of the care of their 

parents lay on the shoulders of Reggie.

Working in Golden Meadow Middle School and living in Raceland,

every day he stopped in to check on the both of them.

After his Dad died he found himself the soul caregiver for his Mother.

She did not want to leave her house to go to a nursing home or 

assisted living. She was always a home bound type of woman and 

he was going to do all he could to respect her wishes.

Pay bills, fill meds., doctor appts. Upkeep of the home,

all of this rested on him.

So I want to share what I shared with him as we spoke on 

the phone on that Saturday morning as he sat near his

deceased Mothers hospital bed.

I reminded him:

"You have nothing, not one thing to feel quilty about.

you have been the best son to both your parents and

even more so since your Dad passed away. When it would

have been easier and probably better for her to be in a 

nursing home, she did not want that so you made it possible

for her to stay in the home she loved."

I know Jude would have done all the same things had he

been closer. I say to my dearest cousin Reggie,

"AS I CONTINUE TO THINK OF THE LOSS OF SUCH

A BIG PART OF OUR CHILDHOOD I THINK OF YOU, 

REGGIE AND I AM COMFORTED BY THE THOUGHT THAT

WHEN MY TIME COMES THAT I NEED HELP, IF MY SON 
AND DAUGHTER ARE HALF

 OF WHAT YOU WERE TO YOUR PARENTS, 

I WILL HAVE DONE A FINE JOB. YOU ARE THE

EPITOME OF WHAT A GREAT SON LOOKS LIKE.

MATTER OF FACT, IF YOU LOOK UP THE

WORD SON IN THE DICTIONARY YOUR NAME MIGHT 

JUST BE THERE. LOVE YOU DEAR COUSIN"

...and I do, always have, loved both my Eserman cousins,

but because Reg and I were the same age,

we were close and continue to be.

So as her life, like this blog comes to a close, I understand

that his Mothers funeral will be so very different than his Fathers.

Very private, closed casket and immediate friends and family only,

I think how appropriate for Aunt Jeannie as that is who she was.

She quietly stood behind her Husband, never wanting the spotlight

on her, private and loved spending her days in her home.

RIP Aunt Jeannie, I know it was some type of reunion up in 

Heaven with all the Collins Clan together now forever,

and I am more than sure there was a choir to meet her

and Uncle Roy was waving his hands directing that choir

to be the best for his beloved "Momma" wife.