Bamber Hauenstein Wright, 1919-2012

My dad died yesterday.  I don't think he was in any physical pain and I hope that he was not afraid or sad.  I want to think that he died with my mom welcoming him to heaven in that gentle way that she had.  I can hear her saying, "gees, Bam, what took you so long?"

I have been most blessed in my life by the generous and good men who have filled it.  From my childhood, Dr. Jack Gunn, Phil Smith, Clayton Smith, Dr. Paul Howard, Floyd Ouderkirk, Denzel Kallenbach, Dewey Kallenbach, Bill Lawson, Jim Clark;.my teachers, Dr. Charles Jones, Mac Green, Charles Kendrick, Dr. Jesse Wheeler, Ted Tarkow, Walter Schroeder...my friends, Dale Schmidt, Larry Habel, Walter Bowman, Stuart Bintner, Bob Mobley...my family, Uncles Carroll, Cecil, Sam and Bud, my brothers Phil and Jack.  The best of these good and gracious men from whom I have learned so much was my dad, Bamber Wright.

In many ways he was a simple man.  He worked for Anchor Milling Company for over forty years, under the thumb of his wealthier, older cousin.  He enlisted in the Air Force at the dawn of WWII, dropping out of the University of Missouri.  He dreamed of becoming a pilot; but, he became instead a part of a combat mapping squadron in the little known China, India, Burma theatre.  When he returned from the war he meet and wooed my mom, Marcella Schell.  Their courtship last seven years and was in many ways tumultuous; but, somehow they persevered, despite his parents' misgivings about marrying a Catholic.  He watched as mom took us each Sunday to church at Sacred Heart in Eldon.  Dad went his own way, a deacon at the Tuscumbia Christian Church.

He was a faithful son who visited his mother each night.  My brother Jack repaid these visits, in part, during the last year when he faithfully trekked each evening to the nursing home to help dad with his teeth and to turn down his bed.   He was a devoted brother of Barbara and Betty, Betty who called each night when he could hear, ending their two minute talks with "I love you little Sister."  "I love you, Big Brother," she always responded.

Dad was a good husband.  He and my mom were married for fifty-six years.  He missed her desperately in the last few years.  When mom wanted to move to Jefferson City, dad moved, even though we all knew it was hard for him.  He missed the house he and mom had built before they married, pouring the foundation as he always told me on July 4, 1952.  Mom shared that more than once as their wedding date approached she thought of calling off the whole thing; but, then she remembered she had $2000 invested in the new house.

Dad was a terrific father.  I don't remember that he ever spanked us and he rarely raised his voice.  I never heard him swear in anger at my mother or any of us.  Somehow, we always wanted to please him.  We were good kids; how much trouble could one get into in Tuscumbia in the 1960s?  Dad took us on endless "cat arounds" to give our working mom a few minutes of peace on a Sunday afternoon.  Often these trips ended at the "station" under the hill with an ice cream for everyone.  Almost every summer night, Dad took us to the Eldon Pool where he and Vic Luetkemeyer talked and we swam for hours.  Dad and Vic undoubtedly consumed a fair amount of Jack Daniel in these sessions.

Dad liked butter brickle ice cream, red roses, Old Spice cologne, the music of Jim Reeves, and the stories of Louis L'Amour.  He always drove a red pick up and he drove after he retired for Belt Chevrolet in Eldon.  He loved to drive and when he couldn't, he didn't complain, although I know it bothered him and dampened his irrepressible spirit.

Dad took us on vacations that are still some of my best memories of time spent with him.  We traveled to Disneyland, Boston, Colorado, Wyoming, Michigan, Tennessee, visiting friends and family.  Every summer we trekked to Iowa and even as late as 2009 he made the trip in his pick up, me worrying at every mile.

Dad was a great story teller.  He could remember everyone's name, thinking that we would remember them too.  "You know", he would say, "X was the salesman for Lone Star Cement, Weyerhauser, etc."  Even recently, dad could remember long lost family from Tuscumbia and Miller County.

Bamber was a good friend and he had friends of all ages.  The closest friends of his youth, Judson Berry, Phil Smith, Omer Goode, are gone now too...I have an idea that they are sitting around a celestial fire ring, toasting each other with a good glass of bourbon, dad's "bellywasher."  Other friends were faithful visitors to dad in Jefferson City and later at the nursing home.  He would regale me with stories of visits by Jim and Nancy, Jimmy Mays, the family of Lessie and Bill Jenks, Alan Wright and Joe Pryor.  Children loved my dad and he loved children, especially his eight grandchildren.  Even last week when I visited he wanted to know "how are the kids?" and he smiled with pleasure as I reported the antics of my three and their respective jobs and romances.

It is difficult to sum up the rich, full life of my dad.  He lives in my heart and in the smile of my son, Matthew. I see him in the hug and wry humor  of my brothers Phil and Jack.

Say hello to mom for me.  I miss you.  I love you.  My dad, the best man I've ever known.

Mary and Marla

It's Labor Day weekend and I have been reminded, once again, of the fragility of life and the sadness that loss brings to family and friends.  Mary Downs and Marla Harris never met each other but they died on Thursday and I knew them, albeit not well.  Mary was the wife of long time teacher, Terry Downs, and over the past twenty years (or so), I have talked with Mary at the odd faculty gathering.  I remember when she gave birth to Sara and her son, Brian, a current sophomore at O'Hara.  Just last May I marveled at the fact that she was driving the kids to and from O'Hara, having suffered for many years from some kind of a neurological, seizure disorder.  I talked last with her at the faculty gathering in May.  Diagnosed with cancer in July, Mary had only a short battle with the vicious disease.

Marla was the mother of  Megan, Becca's first college roommate and still dear friend.  I bonded with Marla over the travails of moving our two freshmen into a 8 x 10 room at Creighton and shared stories that first semester at Parents Weekend.  Megan decided to transfer at semester and Marla and I shared a Mexican meal with the girls at Habeneros as they parted.  Megan and Becca have remained fast friends with numerous road trips between Sedalia and Kansas City by both girls.  And, I kept up with Marla through Megan, from the devastating diagnosis of leukemia, through last Thursday.

And, so, although I did not know Mary or Marla very well, I do know their children, and I happen to believe that it is possible to learn a lot about a woman when one knows her children.  I know that Mary had incredible determination and faith because her daughter, Sara, showed that each day at O'Hara as she took the stage for various plays and served as a leader for our senior Kairos retreat.  That determination and faith live on in Sara and in Brian, who is just beginning his sophomore year at O'Hara.  And, I could see the enormous capacity for love that was Marla's gift to Megan.  Throughout her battle with leukemia, Megan started "Hope for Marla", a prayer campaign complete with wristbands.  Megan carried on at Mizzou and spent as much time as she could with her lovely mom.  A warm and caring woman, Marla had a quick smile for everyone she met and it was like meeting an old friend when I learned that she had grown up in Jefferson City.  So, we bonded about growing up in a small town in central Missouri.

I feel so deeply for the Downs and Harris families.  I so cherish my adult time with my own mom, and I feel sad that Sara, Brian, Megan, and her brothers have been cheated of that experience with their own moms.  But, the gifts of their moms will live on in them.  And, so I am reminded of how precious and fragile life is.  We are here but for a short time.  Please don't waste that time arguing with your mom or wishing your child could be this way or that.  Hold on to each other.  Cherish each moment, even the arguments over hair length and curfew.   I know that I will do so.  It's especially important on this weekend.  Twenty years ago I gave birth to my last child, Matthew.  His name means "Child of God" and each day I thank God for bringing him (and his sisters) to us.  I plan to spend a little more time with these "gifts" because none of us knows what the future might bring.  I hope to live to be a very old grandma, but that is in someone else's hands.  What I can do is live life fully, in appreciation and joy.