Remembrances: A Final Farewell To Mom.
In the beginning... Once upon a time… two of the most infamous opening lines in literary history, and perhaps of all time. And so, I pause, reflect, and remember the humble beginnings, and storied life of Carol Jean Stepleton-Wittler; otherwise known as Mom to some of us.
For today let us remember a little dark haired child perched upon the back of a pony. She is wearing her finest Annie Oakley hat, and leather chaps with silver buckle, and fringe down the seams. Born into hard times never made her bitter, perhaps a better person because she could always appreciate the good times as blessings, and bad as classrooms of knowledge to teach how to get through anything that life put in her way. She grew up knowing the value of a dollar, and held on to the belief of an innocent child where Roy Rogers always rode along to help her travel the next unknown bend in the trail, or traverse an unseen mountain top ahead. In her own story she could gallop off into the sunset to brave another adventure.
She knew in her adult world that life was like a good book shared with a child at bed time where happy endings were as real as Sleeping Beauty awakening, or Harry Potter riding his thunderbolt for the first time. Where Fast Friends meet, and frenzied haste makes us waste not of the opportunities that God grants us to make the world a better place. She could always make the hurts less powerful, and the bruises less ominous to a tear filled eye. For you see, she was a mother; always there, and always carefully watching over her beloved offspring.
In the intervening years she held many roles, and portrayed many characters familiar to friends, family, and neighbors. She was more than just Mom, her wings covered many more lives than six children, but generations of young inspired minds destined to go in every direction imaginable. She was a babysitter, homemaker, playground monitor, teacher's aid, Girl Scout leader, and responsible town council member. She even went back to school in later years to further her professional career as an elementary school librarian. I remember sitting next to her in an evening psychology class at OSU/Lima. She got an A, of course while I was content with a B. So, not only was she "Mom" but a student as well; always building on her repertoire of many colors like the cross stitch patterns she completed over the years.
Mom had an eye for beautiful things, like the spray of flowers displayed on her casket. She loved to plant all kinds of them in boxes around the outside of the house each Spring, and Dad watered them religiously every day in the heat of Summer; they were a pair those two. On one hand there was a rainbow of colors, and on the other precision, and detail. Some of us remember shined hardwood floors slick enough to slide across in stocking feet, and cleaning registers with a butter knife, and rag making sure every cobweb was cleared away.
And then there was her Catholic faith. The folks had a permanent pew for us in the very front row beneath the pulpit every Sunday morning as we grew up. Mom made sure we knew our prayers, and Dad would doze off slightly during the homily, but always monitored us for horseplay, or the occasional uncontrollable giggle. And as I wrote this morning out on the front porch, a brilliant red cardinal perched upon one of the blue bottles on our bottle tree. Perhaps it was Mom stopping by to say "good morning son." Yes, I believe faith comes in many sizes, colors, and instances, and Mom would agree.
Well," I'm so glad we had this time together, just to have a laugh, or sing a song; seems we just get started, and before you know it, comes a time we have to say so long." For you see I could go on, and on until eternity with memories of Mom, but I guess it will have to suffice to say: "Happy trails Mom, until we meet again."
D.A. Wittler 7/19
