Some of you may know that my Mom, Arleta Campbell Whitaker, fell ill and eventually passed away this past week.
My wife Ally and I have driven almost every night back and forth to Nashville over the last several months to visit mom at the hospital or our father at his rehab hospital following his past stroke. It's been busy. Now we may be entering the same thing with my father.
She, mom that is, was worried over the last several years that her funeral would be a lonely one and void of family, people, and friends.
After all, she had gotten up there in years and her "people" just were not around "anymore."
As my brothers, father, son, and grandchildren entered the sanctuary at Hillwood Presbyterian Church in Nashville I noticed my hand being gripped with force. My wife Ally gripped my hand as she walked in front of me. She was preparing me as the family entered. When we passed through the door to the sanctuary I glanced at the pews... the full pews... "the full pews." They were packed.
As bagpipes played and Scotsmen in kilts sang hymns, I glanced backwards at the crowd that had come to my mother's funeral. Ally held my hand and our son Mace, decked out in his Army dress uniform, gripped my shoulder.
Following the funeral, and during the visitation a blinding number of people, aside from our family and close-knit friends, approached the three sons and our father. They said things such as "she was a great teacher," or "She was our daughter... or son's favorite teacher." We even heard things such as "She taught us about fossils, or rocks, or stars, or the moon, and even about music." Neighbors approached and said their children considered her the "Coolest Granny" ever.
We, the brothers, wives, and family, realized that "Mom" was more than just our mom and teacher. She was something special. My dad already seemed to know this as he nodded in agreement that his beloved wife was something special. She was special to a huge number of people... and, she will be missed.
The good news is that Mom was a teacher. And her lessons will live on. Not just in three sons but in her grandchildren as well as countless students and their children who were also her students.
Kent Whitaker
thedeckchef@hotmail.com