Good Bye, Mommy, See You Again One Day.

Willene "Sissy" Crenshaw

     Sunday morning, October 27, 1968. Mommy was up early. Daddy had left very early that morning to go fishing, and she was taking care of my younger sister. I was still in bed, being quiet and as still as possible, pretending to be asleep in hopes of missing church that day.  My brother was really sleeping in his room. Just a quiet, sunny Sunday morning like so many others. Our Sundays were always the same. Breakfast together, change into our church clothes, then Mommy would drive us kids and herself to Pembrook Road Baptist Church for Sunday School and church. Then home, and Daddy would drive us down to Little River to have Sunday dinner with Grandmother and then go to my Grandma Crenshaw's house for a visit before returning home. A typical Sunday that would never happen again.

     "Donna Jo. Donna Jo, come here." I turned over and buried my face in the pillow, pretending not to hear her. "DONNA JO!! I NEED YOU NOW!" The tone of Mommy's voice was one I had never heard before. She wasn't angry; she was in a panic. I jumped up and ran into the living room. My sister was standing there, with Mommy sitting behind her, holding her in her arms. Mommy looked up at me and said, "Donna Jo, walk me over to Mrs. Enterline's, and ask her to take me to the hospital." I understood what was happening; Mommy was having a severe asthma attack. She leaned on me as we made it across the street. She was able to whisper one last instruction to me--"Take care of your sister." 

     Mrs. Enterline met me at her van; we helped Mommy up into the front seat. Mrs. Enterline got in, turned the key, and the van would not start. She tried again and again, but the van would not start. By this time, Mommy was no longer conscious. In tears, Mrs. Enterline told me that we couldn't lift Mommy out to the other car, so she would call for an ambulance. I stayed with Mommy while Mrs. Enterline ran inside to call. At twelve years old, I really didn't understand what was happening. I held Mommy's hand. I watched as her lips turned blue. I watched as a white froth came from her mouth. And I still didn't understand. When the ambulance finally came, I ran back across the street to be with my sister. I thought that when Mommy came back from the hospital, like she had always done before, I wanted her to know that I had obeyed her and had taken care of my sister. 

     Once the ambulance had gone, a police officer came to our door. I remember feeling so self-conscious because I was in my nightgown, bare-footed, and with my bangs taped down. The officer didn't tell me anything, but he wanted to know where my father was, when he was expected home, and if there was anyone I could call. The rest of the day went by in a blur. My grandmother didn't have a phone, so I had to call my Uncle Dave and have him take a message to her. My daddy's family started arriving from all over Miami. I still didn't understand what had happened. Finally, Daddy came home from his fishing trip. I was watching from the window when he was dropped off by his buddies. I saw the Enterlines and Grandmother walk up to him, speak to him, and then I watched as he turned white, started sobbing, and collapsed into their arms. And I still wasn't sure what was happening, but I knew it was hard for me to breathe and that my heart was quaking within. Finally, Daddy came into the house. He called my brother and me to him and told us, "Mommy is dead. She's gone to heaven." 

     What to do? My brother disappeared for a few hours; he climbed up in our tree and cried there, all alone. I was too stunned to cry. I felt that I had to be strong because Daddy and Billy were so upset. Dana was just too young, only two years old, to know what was happening. My neighbor Carol asked if she could call someone for me, and I asked for my best friend, Dana Jones, to be called. Dana came straight from church, and, when I saw her, I was able to let go and finally cry. 

      As that Sunday continued, family from Okeechobee and all over Florida began arriving. I went with Daddy to pick out her coffin. I went with Aunt Nancy to pick out flowers for her from us kids and  for a dress for her to wear. We shopped for new clothes for us kids. We accepted all the food people were bringing over to the house. Aunt Nancy, Granny, and Grandmother arranged for the supper after the funeral and meals during the week. So busy. Then it came time for the private family viewing. I did not want to go, but I had to. It was very hard to see my daddy so vulnerable. It was hard to see my little sister cry out, "Mommy! I sleep with her!" and try to climb next to Mommy in the coffin. I absolutely refused to go to the public viewing, until Mrs. Enterline convinced me to go. All I could think was that Mommy had her nails done--and she never had them done before.  

     Finally, the day of the funeral came. I was determined to be strong, and I was. My two uncles, James and Larry, escorted me down to the front of the church, but I was the one with the broad shoulders that they were leaning upon. Their Sissy, my mommy, had helped to raise them. She was their second mother, so they were as grief-stricken as her own children were. I don't remember much about the service, except that there were hymns and lots of tears.I remember the hundreds of flower arrangements that were in the church, and, later, at the graveside service. I remember knowing that my life was forever changed.

     Once home, there were so many people crowded into our small house. People were sitting everywhere, both inside and outside. There was plenty of food. And, as it had been at Granny Skinner's funeral, the supper was a time of fellowship, laughter, stories, and love. I realized just how much my mommy, my daddy's love, my granny and granddaddy's dear daughter, my aunts and uncles' Sissy, my cousins' Aunt Sissy, and her friends' Willene had been loved. I realized just how many people would miss her. I realized just how many lives she had touched in her short 32 years. She still is touching lives today through the influence she had on her family and friends. I will see you again, Mommy.