My mother died on
December 15. She was 96 years old, had a good life, and was ready to go. She
didn’t want to be here for Christmas, and she got her wish.
Mama left her family a
number of legacies, including her love of God, her love of music, and her love
of each of us. She also left us a legacy of memories.
I’m not just talking
about the memories we shared, either, although those are important. She spent
her retirement years putting together a family history, which she later updated,
and writing down her own history. Her married life was included in my father’s
memoirs, so she concentrated on her childhood.
Mama published a few
memories and stories, but she didn’t strive to be an author. She wrote mostly
for her family. The family history was widely disseminated among the Wagners,
the Gugelers, and their various branches, and she shared her memoirs with her
children and grandchildren. That was enough for her.
I keep telling myself
that I should write up my own memories for my children and any grandchildren I
may have someday, but I can’t seem to find the time. And that’s a shame.
Because everyone should
leave a legacy of memories.
__________
The picture at the top of
this post shows Opal W. Page celebrating her 96th birthday. The others
in the picture are my son-in-law Pete, my daughter Caroline, and my brother,
Donald.
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