I think, 1943, I first met Rebecca, or Becky as we called her. At that time she was dating my brother, and I think I remember the instant I met her.
She has been gone a long time, Lou Gehrig's Disease. I was not around her then, but for that insidious disease to attack her, was, well, something that never should have happened. She was the epitome of graciousness. I am sure a loving Mother to three children, and a gracious wife to my brother.
I remember my heroes were race car drivers, midgets, went to all the races, I was probably 11 or 12. For my birthday, she got me calling cards, aka, Dood Dooley, one of my heroes was Sod Sanders. Never forgot those.
Prior to the end of WWII, my brother was stationed in Cuba, and was going to get leave and fly to Miami. Mom, Dad and I and Becky, took the train to Miami to spend a few days with him. We were a day early, so she wanted to get a tan, to look her best. She was out too long, she was a little burned and swollen when he arrived.
They got married after the war. They took his first job in Monrovia, Indiana, a crossroads town, they lived in a farmhouse with a wood stove for heat, cold and drafty, no indoor facilities. My Dad made her a nice, blue and white, "indoor" "one seater."
I was not around her as her health failed, it was a fairly long, heartbreaking time, I am sure. The last time I saw her was at her son's wedding. She was in pain, moving was difficult, but she put on leg braces, and a stiff upper lip, and danced, the first dance, with her son. I think back on that, often. I am sure it took more than we will ever know, for her to do that.
As we left, and said our farewells, we knew it would probably be the last time we would see her.
This was all brought to my mind today, as her Son, Kevin, paid his respects on Facebook.
