Mrs. Elliott
Posted: Fri Sep 14, 2007 7:06 am
Phil asked me to post this... our condolences to him for the loss of his mom. bp
As you prob'ly know, I lost my little momma a week or so ago.
It is going to be very rough on me for sometime. Got back from mom¹s memorial late Tuesday night. Our memorial and tribute to her were beautiful... My trip home was unbelievably sad/morbid. But, life WILL go on and I WILL make my little momma proud.
The last few months have been a nightmare of her downhill trend, and my every weekend trips to be with her as much as I possibly could. Nine-hour drives each way have left me in a 100% fatigued state. My recovery will be long I think.
I hope you can post this in PhilZone. I'm not sure I can find the DragList "keys" right now.
Unconditional
by Phil R. Elliott
My mother was the sweetest, most precious human being I've ever known. She is the only person ever to have shown me unconditional love.
My earliest vivid memories were of her bundling me heavily to go out to toddle around on our beach with my “big” sister Eileen, then of turning back toward the big house and seeing her smiling and waving to us from the window.
My favorite times were during family reading. Since the word television was not even in our vocabulary, let alone in our home, almost nightly we sat around listening to mom read aloud the exploits of pioneers that didn't seem too far removed from our own minimal existence. However, with so little outside influence, I had no idea there might be something out there better than being curled up next to my warm, loving mother, with one ear pressed to her tummy, listening to her clear reading voice reverberating from within her diaphragm.
Throughout my life, from learning to walk and talk, through minor and major mistakes and errors in judgment and on to my successes, she has been several very important things: a tireless teacher, a sympathetic, supportive and understanding ear, a very proud mother, and most of all, a trusted friend.
And during the oft-rocky relationship I had with dad, you became a buffer, insulating, isolating and protecting me from danger in much the same way as a mother bird.
I may have been her biggest burden, because not long after carrying me around for nine months, she were forced into taking a job outside the home for the first time. My extra mouth to feed over-taxed our low-buck situation. But she didn't send me to daycare or a baby-sitter, I went to work with her, sometimes literally tied to her apron strings as she bustled around her duties as head cook at the school my sisters attended.
The big kids there treated me very well. As a four-year-old, I was sort of a school mascot. the baby brother of three popular older sisters. More importantly, the off-spring of one of the few women in history who could increase the portions of a recipe to feed several hundred starving school children, and still maintain flavor. Her response to the question, “May I have that recipe?” was always, “Would you like it for 100 or 200?” Her cafeteria was such a marvel, she were asked to take on similar positions elsewhere, even summer camp. Everyone loved my momma's cooking.
After lunch, her duties turned to the massive clean-up, so she put me down to nap in the adjacent pantry, curled up in a cardboard box amidst huge tin cans of various foodstuff.
Somehow able and willing to toil pre-dawn to long after everyone else went to bed, she taught me the work ethics I still follow today – to get all the work done first and do the fun stuff later. I don't believe she have ever reached that second point in her own life.
Daily, she provided me with love, care and never considered shoving me out the door without a hot breakfast. During my senior year of high school, though you certainly didn't like my long shag hair style, you still stood behind me while I ate my breakfast and installed hot curlers in the back of my hair to make sure it flipped under instead of flying all over the place.
On other things too we might differ in opinion, but never have we strayed from mutual admiration. There has never been another relationship in my life with remotely as much pure love as the one I've had with my mother.
Thank-you mother for first giving me life, then sustaining my life, teaching me to live and love life, and providing me with alot of the fun parts of my life.
There is no way to repay her for the many things she gave me except by just saying that I love her so very much.
If there is a heaven, and I am skeptical, I hope that God and my mother are talking about me right now, because I would sure like to see her again.
Her baby boy (and favorite son),
Philip Roald Elliott
Ruth W. Elliott
November 16, 1915 – September 3, 2007
As you prob'ly know, I lost my little momma a week or so ago.
It is going to be very rough on me for sometime. Got back from mom¹s memorial late Tuesday night. Our memorial and tribute to her were beautiful... My trip home was unbelievably sad/morbid. But, life WILL go on and I WILL make my little momma proud.
The last few months have been a nightmare of her downhill trend, and my every weekend trips to be with her as much as I possibly could. Nine-hour drives each way have left me in a 100% fatigued state. My recovery will be long I think.
I hope you can post this in PhilZone. I'm not sure I can find the DragList "keys" right now.
Unconditional
by Phil R. Elliott
My mother was the sweetest, most precious human being I've ever known. She is the only person ever to have shown me unconditional love.
My earliest vivid memories were of her bundling me heavily to go out to toddle around on our beach with my “big” sister Eileen, then of turning back toward the big house and seeing her smiling and waving to us from the window.
My favorite times were during family reading. Since the word television was not even in our vocabulary, let alone in our home, almost nightly we sat around listening to mom read aloud the exploits of pioneers that didn't seem too far removed from our own minimal existence. However, with so little outside influence, I had no idea there might be something out there better than being curled up next to my warm, loving mother, with one ear pressed to her tummy, listening to her clear reading voice reverberating from within her diaphragm.
Throughout my life, from learning to walk and talk, through minor and major mistakes and errors in judgment and on to my successes, she has been several very important things: a tireless teacher, a sympathetic, supportive and understanding ear, a very proud mother, and most of all, a trusted friend.
And during the oft-rocky relationship I had with dad, you became a buffer, insulating, isolating and protecting me from danger in much the same way as a mother bird.
I may have been her biggest burden, because not long after carrying me around for nine months, she were forced into taking a job outside the home for the first time. My extra mouth to feed over-taxed our low-buck situation. But she didn't send me to daycare or a baby-sitter, I went to work with her, sometimes literally tied to her apron strings as she bustled around her duties as head cook at the school my sisters attended.
The big kids there treated me very well. As a four-year-old, I was sort of a school mascot. the baby brother of three popular older sisters. More importantly, the off-spring of one of the few women in history who could increase the portions of a recipe to feed several hundred starving school children, and still maintain flavor. Her response to the question, “May I have that recipe?” was always, “Would you like it for 100 or 200?” Her cafeteria was such a marvel, she were asked to take on similar positions elsewhere, even summer camp. Everyone loved my momma's cooking.
After lunch, her duties turned to the massive clean-up, so she put me down to nap in the adjacent pantry, curled up in a cardboard box amidst huge tin cans of various foodstuff.
Somehow able and willing to toil pre-dawn to long after everyone else went to bed, she taught me the work ethics I still follow today – to get all the work done first and do the fun stuff later. I don't believe she have ever reached that second point in her own life.
Daily, she provided me with love, care and never considered shoving me out the door without a hot breakfast. During my senior year of high school, though you certainly didn't like my long shag hair style, you still stood behind me while I ate my breakfast and installed hot curlers in the back of my hair to make sure it flipped under instead of flying all over the place.
On other things too we might differ in opinion, but never have we strayed from mutual admiration. There has never been another relationship in my life with remotely as much pure love as the one I've had with my mother.
Thank-you mother for first giving me life, then sustaining my life, teaching me to live and love life, and providing me with alot of the fun parts of my life.
There is no way to repay her for the many things she gave me except by just saying that I love her so very much.
If there is a heaven, and I am skeptical, I hope that God and my mother are talking about me right now, because I would sure like to see her again.
Her baby boy (and favorite son),
Philip Roald Elliott
Ruth W. Elliott
November 16, 1915 – September 3, 2007
