My mother was born on January 2, 1915, in Anniston, AL. Her name was Mary Frances Merrill. Her mother was a schoolteacher, and her father was a lawyer and judge. She had four brothers and one sister. As a child, one of her jobs was to make sure their cow wouldn't wander off. The cow had a habit of chewing through the rope that kept her near the house. Mother would often have to find the cow. Her father became the circuit judge for Cleburne County in Alabama, so they moved to Heflin, which is where she grew up. As a teenager, she contracted rheumatic fever and almost died. Her mother homeschooled her for a while. She graduated from high school a year or two early and went to Alabama College in Montevallo. She majored in English and loved to write.
In 1936, she was called to attend Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary. She majored in Religious Education. She wanted to be a librarian, but she met my father there, and they got married in 1937 in Heflin. As they were serving at a church in Houston, TX, she entered a statewide poetry contest and got first place. First prize was a book of poetry that was written by the judge of the contest. She was the dutiful minister's wife, as my father was called to several churches. In Atlanta, my brother was born in 1945.
They moved to New Orleans, where I was born in 1953. I was named for her father, although one of her brothers laid claim to my being named for him, too. One of my earliest memories of her and me was when I got lost in the grocery store. I had gone to look at something, and when she turned around, I wasn't with her. Panic set in for both of us. A clerk found me and brought me back to her. After that experience, I had to hold onto the hem of her dress or be in the grocery cart. During that time in New Orleans, she was able to work part-time in the seminary's library.
When we moved to Columbia, we were renting a house while looking for a permanent one. Her desire was that the house had to have a nice kitchen. We looked at several houses, until we saw one on Belmont Drive. She saw the kitchen and told Daddy that this was the one. It was. Since Daddy was gone a lot with his work, Mother was the one who raised us. She loved music, especially Broadway showtunes. At dinner, there would be music playing in the background from "My Fair Lady", "Camelot", "The King and I" or "South Pacific". She heard a group called The Beatles on a TV show, and suggested I watch The Ed Sullivan Show to see them. I was zapped through the TV screen thanks to her.
She also loved to read. Mainly mysteries and spy thrillers. She was also in a Book Club of ladies who compared books they had read. One of the kind of books she loved was the James Bond series. She also loved movies. One of the earliest movies she took me to was "Shane". I also saw "Bambi". Two incredibly sad movies. When I became old enough, she took me to see my first James Bond movie, which was "Goldfinger". I didn't understand some of the references, but I really like the action. I was zapped through the screen at those films, too. We saw every Bond film together, with the last one being "Live and Let Die" in 1973.
She also loved to write. Besides the poetry, she loved to write inspirational stories. She had a strong faith in God which was in her writing. She wrote devotionals for the Southern Baptist Convention, and later teaching suggestions for Sunday School teachers in the Convention. She also taught Sunday School in our church to college girls. After church each Sunday, we would go out to eat at a cafeteria. We would put our Bibles in the car but not lock the doors. She would say that if anyone would steal our Bibles, then they really needed them. Mother had learned to drive, when we got to Columbia, since Daddy was out of town a lot.
Later in life, Mother developed macular degeneration. She had ignored the warning signs, until it was too late to fix. She could no longer read or write. Also, during this time, she developed depression. We didn't know it until much later, but she did. Her joys had been taken away. I would read to her. She loved me to read funny things from books or the comics. In 1991, she had a massive stroke. She was able to get back to some walking and speaking through rehab, but she was never the same. She mumbled a lot, but I could understand her and translate it to Daddy. Eventually, they moved to a nursing home in Laurens, SC. After Daddy died in 1999, the depression had gotten worse. By 2003, she had stopped eating and wanted to die. Her nurses would call us and ask us what to do, and we told them to force-feed her. It was getting worse in 2004. My brother and I realized that she wanted to go to be with her family in Heaven, so we told the nurses not to force food on her anymore. Mother died on July 8, 2004 and was buried next to my father in Greenwood, SC. She had wanted to be buried in Heflin next to her parents, but it was just too expensive to do that, so she relented in her last days to be buried in Greenwood.
In 2013, my brother and I dedicated a memorial gravestone in the cemetery in Heflin for Mother. It sits between the graves of her father and mother, and says that she is buried in Greenwood, SC. She would have loved that gesture. She was an amazing woman. She inspired many people to do good. She was very creative, which she passed on to me. She taught me to be strong but kind to others. She was my friend, my guide and my teacher. She loved to laugh. She was taught by her parents never to cry, because it was a sign of weakness. I only saw her cry twice. Once when Daddy died, and once when her favorite brother died. She cried a lot inside, but she always had a smile on her face. She never complained. She lives on in my heart.
