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Newsweek.com
"Did I wake you?" With that considerate question preceding her calm plea for help over the phone just before dawn, she faced death with the serenity of an 81-year-old saint. It was a heart attack. As we raced to the hospital she said softly, "Don't worry about me. I have had a wonderful life." Then, following the best hour of my life with her, Mother joined the heavenly choir. Everyone who knew Alberta Wetterling loved her. She taught me how to be a friend, to say my prayers, and aspire to the Golden Rule. She spent her last winters on the Gulfcoast of Florida in a condo near my family, migrating from the Midwest on November 1st . She always arrived cheerful as a mockingbird at dawn, and the sun shone brighter for the rest of the season. I owe Mom for everything I have, am, or hope to be. Two generations of Illinois farm folks owe her for a great first grade education. She taught hundreds more the joy of music. At her wake I heard scores of tearful testimonies to her impact on lives young and old. Her work ethic was beyond my reach. As a fatherless child she hired out, with her mother, as a live-in maid at an age that's now illegal. As a farmer’s wife she cleaned a big old farmhouse devoid of indoor plumbing, cooked 21 meals a week for 6 mouths, tended a large garden and hen house, push-mowed a huge lawn, and interrupted her teaching career to raise four children with abundant love. In the evenings, as Dad rested from his labors, Mom hummed her favorite hymns as she stood and worked at the ironing board till bedtime. Then she sat at the foot of the stairs darning socks as we trooped up to bed and said our prayers in unison loud enough for her to hear. God blessed Mom with many other gifts. She could bring an ax to bear on a chicken's neck with finesse, drive a team of horses and milk the cows when Dad worked late in the fields. Those same hands played the piano in accompaniment to her beautiful soprano voice. She could wield an elm switch across my behind like a Puritan schoolmarm…or cheer louder than any teenager in the stands when I scored a touchdown. And she got more Christmas cards than anyone I know--the fruit of selfless friendship. Sunday was her favorite day because singing God's praise was her passion. She directed the church choir all her working life, leaving monotone Dad down in the hard oak pews riding herd on four small, squirming sinners. No one in Henderson County was properly married or buried unless blessed by Mother’s solos, and from age 4 to 81 Alberta's ageless vocal cords were in demand. By Grace alone I'm adjusting to life without her hugs, but when Mom's favorite hymns are sung, I can still hear her angelic voice above everyone else in church. |
