The Good Life of Georgia

By Charlotte Collins Bond
Click here to view this article on its page of The Good Life.

I think my Mom and Dad were just about as close as any two people could be. Though they married in the midst of the Great Depression and had to move away from their parents and friends, the struggle to survive from one day to the next not only strengthened them, but made the bond between them that much tighter.

I was two years old when we moved to Kannapolis, NC, so my parents could seek work at Cannon Mill. From the day I was born until the day my mother died, Dad always called his wife “Mama.” It seemed to be the custom back then to do this, because it trained the child how to address their parents. And so, Ruth Teate Collins, from that time on, addressed her husband, George Collins, as “Daddy.”

Eighteen years later, with their tribe of five children, they moved back to Madison County to take care of my dad’s parents, Charlie and Savannah Collins. My mother subscribed to every magazine in print so she would “have something to do” in the quiet peaceful environment of the country. The magazines came, but were never opened. They were just stacked away for another day that never came, because she had entered into a world of 18-hour days… gardening, canning, and cooking three meals a day for nine people (soon after the move, they took in two foster children, George and Edward Brown). The hum of the washing machine and dryer seemed to be continuous.

As time went on, death took the grandparents, and marriage took the children. George and Ruth had to get re-acquainted. Dad retired and joined Mother in her Farm Bureau adventures, and they began to travel. Finally, Mother’s dreams were coming true: trips to Hollywood, Chicago, Hawaii, Alaska, and other fascinating places. But life comes on fast… and so does death.

Mother died June of 1997 at the age of 84. So did Dad; not in body, but in spirit. I think he cried every day and would look at me with tears streaming down his face and say, “I miss Mama.” No amount of company or children or grandchildren could ease his loneliness. He had lost his reason for living. Day after day he would tell me, “I want to go be with Mama. Why won’t God let me die?”

Dad’s health had begun to fail even before Mother died, and he grieved away until March of 1998. At the hospital, with throngs of family around his bedside as he lay dying, he spoke to all the children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. He was aware that he was dying and was happy that he was able to say his goodbyes to his family. My daughter, Ruth, was beside him, as were other ones of the family, when he fixed his eyes high on the wall in front of him, gazed straight ahead, and with the most beautiful smile he said, “Ruth!” My daughter, Ruth, said “What, Pop?” He never answered her. He wasn’t talking to her. His eyes never wavered, and he broke into the biggest smile and tears rolled down his face.

We all watched and listened and realized that our mother’s presence was in the room. Dad never took his eyes off the wall, and he had such a joyous and peaceful expression on his face that I felt like an intruder as we all continued to listen to him talk to his wife. He asked her why it was taking so long. He told her he was supposed to have died the day before and wondered why he was still here. Then he would just listen to words that we couldn’t hear, and his eyes would glisten as the tears fell. The broad smile on his face told us that finally, after 66 years, he was seeing his young sweetheart and bride, the love of his life, Ruth, and not just the Mama of his children.

Within a few short hours, Ruth walked her husband home. Did we grieve? Sure. We grieved about the empty place in our lives, but not for Dad. He was with his wife and with his Lord. He was at home and we were left alone… except for a lifetime of great memories. Thank you, Mother. Thank you, Dad.