Cleone’s favorite holiday song was Joy To The World directed by the Philharmonic Orchestra and sung by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. She’d begin playing it as a daybreak reveille on December 12th and continued through the morning of her birthday, December 27th. We were reminded of the fifteen day musical salute while driving Elizabeth’s mother back to Arkansas in November 1990.
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“How come I don’t remember this tradition, Mom?”
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“You’re never home for the holidays more than a day or two, Elizabeth Ann. Besides, your daddy and I only began it after you left home.”
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During those long gone 30 years, Elizabeth’s father died and Cleone remarried several times. As a southern lady born and bred in Montgomery, Alabama, she was raised to believe a woman’s life wasn’t complete without a man in hand. Her current husband, Bill, was confined to a nursing home, diagnosed with violent hysterical dementia. He hadn’t recognized her (or anyone) for six months and never would again, but that didn’t stop Cleone from visiting him daily, ignoring his foul-mouthed curses and dodging food flung in her direction.
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We promised to stay with her through Thanksgiving, but those plans changed after she asked me to sort through stacks of personal papers to determine if any needed keeping.
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The first item of interest I came across was Bill’s membership in a local white supremacist group. He kept propaganda, recruitment paraphernalia and a loaded .38 in his desk drawer next to a box of hollow point bullets. I immediately disposed of everything burnable and buried the gun in his asparagus garden. Other discoveries were as serious.
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(more…)
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THE ABOVE EXCERPT IS FROM:
Seriously, Mom, you didn’t know?
by Marguerite Quantaine © Copyright 2019
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M A G P I E à la modus operandi 
What wonderful memories to have. That you could and did make her final days happy and secure must be a blessing for you both. You are truly remarkable. I’m just wondering if the gun was ever found in that asparagus patch. I can just imagine someone gathering some spears and pulling up that .38 in the process!
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It will certainly make the weeder wonder won’t it, Maf? Although, I recall finding a gun buried in the back yard of our NY home and wondering if it was used in a crime. It was very rusty and the fellow I took it to in an attempt to discover the answer said it disintegrated in the solution used to remove the rust. That was 40 years and 1300 mile ago — and yet I never quite believed him. Thank you for dropping by and chiming in.
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In so glad this ended the way it did and Cleone knew she was loved, and had someone to look out for her. ❤
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We concur, Mercedes. I keep journals so that all was recorded with accompanying photos 28+ years ago, but this is the first time I sat down and wrote the essay. It brought us a tremendous amount of peace then and still serves to provide comfort during the holiday season.
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Ok you have finally made me cry. What a beautiful story of love and justice.
Love you both LindaQ
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Thank you, Linda. It still makes us well us after all these years. Just the memory of the sight of our handiwork in her name for the benefit of others, without expectation of return. That was Cleone.
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What a touching, and cautionary, tale.
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Indeed, Elaine. I cannot hope that readers will pay heed to it as such. Thanks.
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Wonderful story in lovingly arranged words.❤️ Fay
Sent from my iPhone
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Thank you, Fay. You’re opinion is ever valued and appreciated.
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