Mom was naturally blonde, attractive. She had a mild personality and was never angry. She was not opinionated. She was easy going and spent her lifetime in her hometown of Normal, Illinois. Mom was born in 1911, and she was well educated.

She held a master’s degree in voice from Illinois Wesleyan University. She had a beautiful high soprano voice and even cut a long play album of her singing, which was probably part of her master’s thesis.

Our family of seven included five kids all born in the 1940s. Some would say we were a typical Midwestern family. We were born and raised in the same house, grew up in the same town (Normal, Illinois), attended the same schools, had the same neighborhood friends. We had very few squabbles.

I was the middle kid. My brother who was 11 months younger was the closest in bike riding and other activities. My other brother was five years older, so his friends and interests were close to another generation. My sisters were one year older and three years younger. Being girls, they did their own thing. My younger brother and I spent our free time playing sports during the school year, but in the summer, we were 100 percent at Dad’s trucking company. Those summers were the most memorable of our growing up years.

Though the words were never vocalized, I think we all secretly loved each other.

Mom and Dad had always been church goers, but it wasn’t until my sophomore year of high school when they came into a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. They had become personal friends with a contemporary couple who shared with them the “born again” experience. Dad was the first to jump in; he went on a 40-day prayer and fasting journey.

Mom had such a mild personality that outwardly I didn’t notice too much difference other than her singing. She began beautiful singing of worship songs and hymns, which I’d never heard at home. She had always sung publicly but not at home.

The day my mom had the heart attack was very sobering. As a family, especially for us children, it was a realization things would never be the same again. I was 16 years old, a junior in high school.

Our uncle was our family doctor. He was married to my mom’s only sister. He told my dad to take Mom to Presbyterian-St. Luke’s Hospital in Chicago for a heart evaluation. We all went up there (120 miles), and it was diagnosed her heart had been severely damaged years before as a teenager when she had rheumatic fever.

This was in the early 1960s, and there was nothing doctors could do. She came home, but she came home to die.

A pastor and his wife opened their home, which was 20 miles away, for her to rest and recuperate. Being home with the full family of five teenagers present wasn’t a good environment for rest.

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I had never told her, “I love you, Mom.”

I realized Mom was on borrowed time. Even though I’d always loved her and many times felt sorry for her trying to corral five teenage kids, I had never told her, “I love you, Mom.”

It might sound strange today, but back in the 1950s, 1960s, it seemed unmasculine to verbally express your feelings. I had cousins who expressed their love verbally, and my brother and I would make fun of them. (Yes, I know we were the weird ones.)

It was hard to break the ice, but I knew I had to tell Mom, “I love you,” before she was gone.

She put her arms around me.

And said she loved me.

At that time, I had opened my heart to the Lord and had received Christ as Savior in the church whose pastor had opened his home to Mom. I knew Mom was going to Heaven, and I think it resolved my determination that one day I would be with her.

Mom passed away a week or two later. I had enough of Jesus to know He came “to heal the brokenhearted and set the captive free.” I sat at our dining room table and cried over the loss, but as I asked the Lord in prayer for His comfort, He came via the Holy Spirit and healed my broken heart and set me free.

My senior year of high school became a laboratory of learning to live as a real Christian. My girlfriend became a born-again Christian also, and we began to have an impact on our generation. I’ve never looked back. Mom and Dad definitely paved the way for me to follow. Praise the Lord.

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