The YouTube video of my mom’s service. For an extraordinary video-within-a video, put together by my brother-in-law, 47:05.
My eulogy.
Mom
Mom took a memoir writing class from 2009 until 2011, and excerpts from her stories are in this eulogy. What better way to convey her life than through her own words?
I was born in Silverton Colorado on July 17, 1937.
I am the third child of Edna May Corlett Michael and Enos Samuel Michael (Shorty), and the baby sister of Frederick William Michael (Freddy) age 5, and Clarence Richard Michael (Dickie) 15 months old.
Mom’s dad, Shorty, was 5 feet, 2 inches tall, but he was the tallest person in his family. He had a seventh-grade education and began his career as a hard-rock miner when he was 15. He married Edna in 1932 and they divorced in 1939, when Mom was two.
Daddy was granted custody of us kids. I asked if Edna had fought for custody. When he told me no, I cried. I wanted to be wanted by her. I have often wondered what my life would have been like with both a mother and father, even if they were divorced.
It was the tail end of the Great Depression, and Shorty had three children to support. He couldn’t bring them with him to the mining camps, so he had to find people he could pay to take them in. Sometimes the children were split up. When Mom was four, the father she had rarely seen came for her and Freddy, to take them to a new lady in a new town, Winnemucca, in northeastern Nevada.
Daddy told us that . . . we were going to live with a lady called Mrs. Mayo.
I’m always reminded of May Mayo whenever I hear the phrase ‘cruel and unusual punishment.’
Mom wasn’t exaggerating. The slightest transgression got a whack from Mrs. Mayo’s razor strap. Backtalk, as she called it, got a slap across the mouth. There were endless chores.
Unless Daddy was visiting, we were served small portions that never filled us up and were never allowed to ask for seconds. Usually, we had to sit on the floor behind the stove and wait until the grownups were finished before we could eat. . . . I stole food every chance I got.
When she was seven-years old, tragedy struck that would literally stay with Mom her entire life. Brother Freddy had run away and Brother Dickie had joined Mom at Mrs. Mayos’. Dickie had a friend, Robert Woods, who had made a bow and arrow from a willow branch. Mom wouldn’t let Woods and Dickie in the house, trying to stop them with a broom.
When I wouldn’t budge, he pulled the string back and let the arrow fly. I felt a piercing pain in my left eye and it was wet when I put my hand up.
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