My mother, a genuine Georgia Peach, wasn’t yet twenty when she boarded that train headed to California on a journey to say goodbye and not knowing what Daddy would face or whether he would return. She piled in a train car full of soldiers and their wives. These travelers were stuck together for a weary week in close quarters. Little wonder, I suppose, mother arrived in San Diego with a full-blown case of Scarlet Fever.
The reunion between the young husband and wife never happened because mother was quarantined immediately upon arrival in San Diego.
Daddy could only come over to the hospital grounds hoping to catch a glimpse of Mother through the window. He found a wall outside Mother’s hospital window from which he could climb up into a tree to look longingly inside and talk with her from a distance.
One afternoon, Daddy brought his best buddy to see his “pin up girl.” When they arrived, mother was asleep. Daddy was bitterly disappointed because he had described Mother’s beauty in glowing terms, and he wanted to show off his wife to his friend. Sadly, all they could see through the window was Mother’s feet.
We have laughed down through the years at the response of Daddy’s friend. He loyally declared that Mother “sure had pretty feet.” Even now, despite her age, at the beach or other situations where Mother is barefoot, someone is sure to comment about her beautiful feet.
Mother is still beautiful — on the inside as well as on the outside. At 84, she drives her 60-year-old friends to night meetings because they cannot drive after dark. She visits 70-year-olds in the nursing home to offer them hope and a listening ear. She cooks and serves the 65 of us who show up at her house for holidays. Her character and steadfastness are a heritage that each of her seven children treasures. Through her life and daily example, we know that love is more than just a card or red roses once a year. We know the cost of caring, and we know the importance of faithfulness.