Backroads, crossroads and connections

Saturday was the celebration of life for my Aunt Amma Belle, who on Tuesday joined my Dad, their sister and their parents in heaven. She was a sweet and gentle woman, and her death at age 95 marked the end of an era for that family.

Like me, she was married and had no children. But she loved and was loved by her nieces and nephews and their families. Many of us, along with other relatives and friends from the church and community, were able to attend the service at the Methodist church in Whitesboro, Texas.

I was surprised to see at least 15 cars in the procession from the church along the relatively backroads of Highway 377 and Farm to Market 922 over to the cemetery at Valley View, to avoid having to travel on Highway 82 through the larger town of Gainesville and on Interstate 35.

The death of a loved one brings a tangle of memories and emotions for me, because I'm aware of how much more I've forgotten than I remember about people, places and experiences.

When I think of Amma Belle, what I remember most are the summers from my childhood when my younger sister and I would spend two weeks with her and Uncle Bo at the mobile home park near Lake Tawakoni. I think of that narrow home; the bunk beds in the tiny room where we stayed; the kitchen with all of her decorative plates and ceramic figurines, where we ate pudding and pound cake and played Yahtzee; and the living room with some kind of a decorative horse, maybe a clock. I think of  steeply sloped property filled with trees and rock pathways; beautiful flowers and bushes; and a two-seater swing. And I think of the tall trees along the lanes my sister and I walked most afternoons through the trailer park. As I recall, I was intimidated by Uncle Bo and didn't mind that he was at work most of the days when we were there. And I may have been scared of, or at least uncomfortable around, Amma Belle's chihuahua, Buster.

I also clearly think of Amma Belle as part of a unit with Daddy and their sister, Ella Frances. Now, they and all of the spouses are gone except for my Mom. I realized Saturday that I don't associate Mom with that group; to me, she represents her family line, the Siegmunds. But now I see her also as a treasured link to Daddy's family.

So -- traveling along unfamiliar roadways through rural communities with familiar names (Collinsville and Tioga) to get from one familiar place (Whitesboro) to another (Valley View) added to the tapestry.

I also pondered anew why Granny and Grandpa -- Daddy's parents -- are buried in Valley View. I'm told that's probably where she grew up. Did I ever know? Would I remember if I tracked it down now? I don't have answers.

But I do have more fascinating connections from the weekend. The next day, quite unexpectedly, I had the opportunity to go with Mom to what is called a charge conference of her church, Whaley United Methodist in Gainesville. This was interesting to me on several levels. First, I knew that my church, Goodrich UMC in Norman, Oklahoma, was also having its charge conference that Sunday. I also knew that Goodrich, like Whaley, was having it in conjunction with several other churches.

In Gainesville, the fun surprise came when I read the list of towns from which the churches at the  Northwest District, North Texas United Methodist charge conference came: Gainesville and Sherman, of course, but also Whitesboro, Valley View, Tioga, Collinsville, Bells, Callisburg, Denison, Era, Forestburg, Howe, Saint Jo, Sivell's Bend, Tom Bean and Whitewright. As I wrote on Facebook, "If I can’t be at the one with my Goodrich family, this is the next best place. So many connections in this United Methodist family!! These churches are places where my family has roots!"

Many of those names are tied to memories of people and places from the past, including school competitions and hometowns of friends and relatives. The only one missing was Marysville, but unfortunately, that Methodist church from my childhood closed long ago.

I wish my memory was better, and in absence of that, it sure would be nice if I was organized enough to keep records of family and friends and places and experiences I don't want to forget. That's not likely  to happen.

For now, I'm grateful to enjoy present moments along with the treasured reminders of the past when they come.