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Carol Perkins: The Porch Lights Previous Column: A Face with the Voice By Carol Perkins The porch light is on at my mother's house, shining in the night, with the only other light coming from the porch light at her brother's house next door. Neither is at home. My uncle, Bob Reece, passed away at age 100 in October, and my mother (Marguerite Sullivan), age 103, a week ago. For all their adult lives, they were next-door neighbors, and after both spouses were gone, they never went a day without knowing about the other. My cousin Roberta and I played daily and sometimes with our brothers Henry and Bobby. The community called them "Little Henry" and "Little Bobby" because they were named after their fathers. My daily routine was traveling through the field behind the house on my stick horse or, later, leading a group of teenagers to the creek for a wiener roast. We built playhouses, rode down the hill on our bikes, and explored the woods. My mother never lost her memory, but her body didn't cooperate. When she told she was tired, I would say, "I know, Mama." She assured me I didn't! When she'd say, "I'm ready," I'd say, "I don't think so because you are still telling us you want green beans, mashed potatoes, and apples for supper." When she complained about hanging around, I'd say, "If you hadn't eaten so well all your life, you'd be gone." We had that kind of relationship. My uncle loved me, and I felt it. I often cooked for him, and he was so grateful, especially for the sweets. He worried about my knee and my well-being even the day before he died. On one of my visits, I was helping him out his door to the sidewalk, and he fell straight back. He couldn't get up, and I couldn't get him up, but a truck came by, saw us, and helped "Mr. Reece." That's small-town living. My mother totally focused on family, down to her siblings' great-grandchildren. We Facetimed someone almost every day. The last call was to my niece Sharon in California, who just had the latest grandchild. She always said, "I love you" at the end of each call and she didn't say those words readily. It was a generational thing. The houses are lonely without them. I have consoled myself with this by knowing that Uncle Bob and my mother have simply changed residences. You can contact Carol at carolperkins06@gmail.com. This story was posted on 2025-02-01 10:00:00
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Have comments or corrections for this story? Use our contact form and let us know. More articles from topic Carol Perkins:
Carol Perkins: A Face with the Voice Carol Perkins: Sounds of Aging Carol Perkins: Be Shed Of Carol Perkins: Miss Christmas Happiness Carol Perkins: The Perfectionist Carol Perkins: Hip-Hop Nutcracker Carol Perkins: The Window Carol Perkins: Away They Go! Carol Perkins: Thanksgiving Carol Perkins: In the Pursuit of Happiness View even more articles in topic Carol Perkins |
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