Celebrating Life With My Mother
Bonnie Jean Liedtke Wagstaff
By Debra Taylor, Daughter
Read by Anna Taylor, Grand-daughter
January 2011
My dearest family:
Today I write my feelings and memories of my Mother to be read at her funeral in January, the month of her birth and the month of her death.
I wish I could be with you in person to see and hold you all. My heart and soul are with you.
I want to address my Mother today; forgive me if some of you may feel a little left out.
My dearest Mother,
Today I share a few of my memories and stories with you. I wanted to write this earlier. Still, it is better late than never. As the White Rabbit says in Alice in Wonderland,“ I’m late, I’m late I’m late, for a very important date! No time to stop, no time to wait, I’m late, I’m Late, I’m late!”
Since I am the first child, Tug the second and Craig the third, I was the experiment in the family and the one who needed to be responsible and perfect.
My first conscious memory was always having my clothes changed a million times. You had us wash our hands and then you smelled them to make sure they were clean. To this day I hate washing my hands and changing my clothes. Mom I’m sure you got tired of ironing my diaper, undershirts, and all the ruffles. You really tried hard to make me into “Shirley Temple” with curly ringlets using white rags each night. But nature prevailed, and I still have straight hair.
I remember sitting in the my high chair with a white dish towel tied around my waist, so I wouldn’t get out of the chair, while you fed me Campbell’s Chicken Gumbo soup for lunch.
You used to paint your fingernails with bright red finger-nail polish. One day when I was alone for a moment, I climbed up upon your yellow flowered bedspread and tried to paint my finger nails myself. Of course the bottle spilled all over the bedspread and the stain never came out.
One day I wanted to play with the neighbors across the street and you helped me pack my suit case and Tiny Tears, my first doll, and then watched me as I pushed my buggy across the street.
You were always cleaning, singing, sewing, and working. It was a great sorrow for you to lose your beautiful singing voice because of allergies, and then later to lose the ability to find the right notes. I loved to hear you sing. You have one of those naturally perfect voices.
You taught me to sew at a very early age and I made my first green dress at age eight. I don’t know how many times I unpicked the threads to make every seam straight. I would sit for hours at the Kenmore sewing machine that was in your basement bedroom room in our Murray home. You taught me well.
We always prayed and went to church as a family. One evening when we were kneeling at the side of the bunk bed in Murray, I was not paying attention. I don’t know what you said or what you did, but I knew from that moment on, that prayer was more important than anything; I knew that my reverence to my Heavenly Father was crucial, even if I couldn’t see Him. That sweet primary children’s song by Janice Kapp Perry makes me think of you.
Love I Spoken Here
I see my mother kneeling with our family each day.
I hear the words she whispers as she bows her head to pray.
Her plea to the Father quiets all my fears,
And I am thankful, Love is spoken here.
I can often feel the Savior near when love is spoken here.
You kept this belief to the end as you tried to kneel in prayer and couldn’t.
Oh, how grateful I am for your example, to let me know that “I’ll never walk alone;” that I can always go to my Father in Heaven for His love, help, blessings, comfort, and forgiveness. There is nothing you could have taught me that is of more worth.
I would often come home alone after school while you were helping Dad set-up Doug’s Paint and Decorating. You have always been his right and left hand enabling him to do what he has done. I have never seen such a supportive spouse.
You wanted to always be home when we were home but you couldn’t. I was afraid of the quiet house and the scary furnace noises. I hated it when you were gone. My job was to put the clothes in the dryer, fold them, and wash the dishes before you came home. I still remember getting a chair to stand on and leaning over the sink. This experience made me decide that I wouldn’t be a working mother if I could help it.
You would have us clean our rooms each Saturday and go through our things we didn’t use and then give them to others who had less.
When you got your first dishwasher you required us to put the dishes in according to the instructions--No variation. I know I drove you crazy as I stuffed them all in and shut the door. I would find you later reorganizing with the booklet in hand after I left the room.
You taught me to make the beds with mitered corners, fold the sheets to the square, and fold your pillows in half for your bed.
You wouldn’t let us play with our friends in the afternoon because we needed a nap. I came to find out later that the nap was for you as you begged for just 5 more minutes.
I learned to make a roast for Sunday dinner; I will never forget Tug putting the grease on his head to train his unruly hair before he applied the nylon stocking to sleep in.
Oh, the dirt, the transplanting of flowers, and the care you gave to the yard. You loved beauty of every kind; you placed and planted each root with love. Sandy became a “Garden of Eden” one vine at a time.
You were an artist with decorating and flower arranging. You grieved when the doctors said that that you shouldn’t have live plants and flowers in the house, so you filled our home with beautiful artificial flowers.
You were a wizard with finance. You should have been the CEO of “Wall Street.” You seemed to have had a money tree because we always believed we lived in abundance. I never found the location of the tree! No one could manage more with less as well as you!
You were a master with fabric. I will never forget the lesson in bias and straight. I had a friend over one day and I wanted to make a jumper for school in Jr. High. I asked you to help lay the pattern down before I cut it out. You said that I needed to wait a moment. Well, needless to say, I was impatient and went ahead without you. I should have known better--it was a mistake. I cut out the jumper and sewed being careful with the finish-work and then put it on. You knew it was crooked, but didn’t say a word. To my horror the vertical lines curved to the horizon. Because of the cost of fabric I couldn’t waste anything--I had to wear it. I think I stood on an angle to appear straight.
On my 16th birthday you made a beautiful blue wool suit for me to wear on my first date to General Conference at Temple Square.
One of the things I feel badly about is not being more considerate as to the time I returned home from my dates. You stayed up on my bed waiting patiently for my return.
Since you were the “whiz” on the typewriter and the English critic, you more than helped me on all of my school papers. You should have gotten the grades and degrees. You were well educated in the school of life!
You were my example for reading, using the dictionary, poetry, and “World Book Encyclopedias,” one of your favorite poems being, “The World Is Mine.” You had such a gift of words and could write so well. I really don’t know why you didn’t write more.
Christmas was always very special when you made white butter fruit cakes, rice pudding, and Special K Treats. When we were younger you would make us flannel pajamas and cover our old quilts with matching fabric. Every year we delivered secret packages on Christmas Eve.
You and dad were gracious hosts offering all that you had to our guests. Mom, you went without in order to provide for others.
You were able to fulfill part of your dream of being an Orphanage Matron when you took Sharmeon, Maylee, Cindy and Mitzi as foster children into our home. I know you wanted to do more than you were able.
Thanks to you I was able to save most of my money to go to college. You took the tithing I kept in my piggy bank to the Bishop and my savings to the bank.
I would have never succeeded in anything in my life if you had not nurtured me and my sick family every weekend for so long. It was exhausting for you, but you held the fort down while “I slept!” We would never have been able to serve or survive our first mission without your support. That experience among so many others drew my children to you and to dad.
That experience together investing in the St. George home was priceless! As we furnished the house, and like slaves in the south, we worked in the hot summer sun—it was a chance once in a life-time of working together. Not many families have had the mutual agreement of four generations about so many decisions. I loved having your mother, Grandma Liedtke with us.
There are many debts that I owe you; one of the biggest is for you and dad’s care of our son Douglas while we served our mission in Las Vegas. I felt feelings of guilt that I could not do my job as Douglas’ mother, but I couldn’t think of a better choice than having you and dad watch over him.
As I spent that last Sunday with you alone reading, singing, and praying, I had to laugh as my tears dripped upon your face and you looked to the ceiling and told me that there must be a leak. You returned my kisses and told me that you loved me as I left the room. I knew then that I could now leave you in Heavenly Father’s merciful care.
As I prepared your temple clothing for your burial I pressed them with love. I traded your worn apron for my new one so that you would be with me and I with you. I went to the Philippines Temple on the day that you passed from this world; I felt your presence as my hands touched the satin embroidered apron. I knew you lived and died in the Lord. I know you live now and I will see you again in the flesh because of the temple covenants you made and kept to seal me yours. Oh, how blessed I am!
I love you mom!
I know that the Lord loves all of His children and waits patiently each day to communicate with us. I pray that I may so live to be as “straight an arrow” as you are so that we may live eternally together.
In the name of Jesus Christ!
Amen.
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