We had a wonderful holiday season (more post and pictures to come), but on Christmas Eve Ross' dad got a call bearing sad news. His mother (Nanny to her grandchildren) had passed away in her sleep that evening. She had been battling health issues for sometime, and after a fall a couple of days before she was sent to the hospital. It was definitely a sad moment, but I was glad Ross and his brother were there with their dad during the moment of finding out the sad news.
I only had the privilege of meeting her twice, but was charmed by her southern ways and her soft voice. I'm proud to be a part of her family, if only by marriage and proud that Reid bears her middle name. One of Ross' relatives sent an email that shared some really neat stories and perspective on her life which I so enjoyed reading, and so I'm sharing it here, mostly so we'll always have it:
I had to share these thoughts with someone, and you (family) seemed best. We lost our dear Anne Phillips Moshell – our Phillips Women aunts were never “Aunts”… always Margery/Margie, Anne and Joyce – on Christmas Eve following a long illness. Her eldest son Mike/Michael was by her side.
I wanted to share this picture of Anne at Panama City Beach, where our family spent the very best of our best times. What a perfect, and perfectly beautiful, Phillips Woman she was.
Mom and Joyce always loved describing their middle sister Anne as the “timid” sister. They loved telling the story (and Anne loved laughing at it) of Anne’s first day of school. Anne had been in school less than two hours when she heard the fire siren blare. She immediately ran from the classroom and rushed home, terrified that her house was on fire. (The house was safe and from then on, Anne tried really hard not to run home every time she heard the siren.)
Yet Anne was the brave young Phillips Woman who fell in love with the perfectly wonderful man and Navy officer Jack Moshell at the beginning of World War II, and moved all over the country with him. The two of them raised three marvelous, unique and loving boys. After the war, Anne and Jack settled back in Cuthbert, in the house next door to her parents – Mom Addie and Daddy Vernon – which is how I was able to grow up with the exceptional, and sometimes wild, wonderful Moshell boys in my life.
There was a child between Mom and Anne who died, and I think that gave Anne a special place in Mom’s heart. Then there was Anne’s near-fatal battle with scarlet fever as a child. Mom and Joyce – both of whom had the constitutions of Daddy Vernon – had to leave the house and lived with Granny Phillips and Aunt Iva until Anne survived and thrived. It was tough on them all to be separated. Of course, when these Phillips Women remembered the story, they told it with equal parts of remembered fear, Phillips Women pragmatism and just the right amount of levity. Yes, it was terrifying; still, Anne got all kinds of special privileges; and of course, they felt, Anne would survive. Or not. That’s how things were then. Happily, Anne survived, and somehow became braver from the experience.
Until she lost Jack, I remember Anne with a playful sense of humor and a very pragmatic approach to life… probably because she had three boys and husband who was the man for all things boys in Cuthbert: Boy Scout troop leader, golf teacher… you name it, Jack Moshell was the go-to-guy for activities for boys. Of course, that meant that Anne’s house was overrun by boys, in addition to her own marvelously diverse family of three men… oh, and the incomparable Jack, too, of course.
Anne was blessed with a husband who worshiped her, and took very, very good care of her – it was very much like the relationship between Daddy Vernon and Mom Addie. Even when he was crippled and twisted and miserable with rheumatoid arthritis, Jack made it clear every day and with every action that Anne Phillips Moshell was the love of his life. Jack Moshell was the best man I ever knew. I judge all men by Jack’s standard.
Gradually, Anne began developing the health problems that were extremely painful and that plagued her until the end. The last I heard, they were never diagnosed. At first they were chronic, and because the doctors couldn’t discover what was causing her intense pain, Mom could sometimes be a bit impatient with her ailments. Yet when Anne was hospitalized for weeks, Mom was there by her side from 8 AM, staying the entire day, leaving only in time ensure that she’d be home before dark. All day, every day for weeks. Sisters, there’s no bond like it.
Naturally, because Anne began to feel so poorly all of the time, she became less playful and more querulous as her pain worsened and became constant. I had to send a smile up to Mom when I saw Anne last month – the first time I’d seen her since Mom’s funeral over three years ago – and her greeting was “My word, Marcia Killingsworth! You just fell off the face of the earth, didn’t you?” We ended up spending about a half hour together; the whole time she was in intense pain, yet she kept asking me about my life. It broke my heart.
The best memory I have of these three dynamic sisters, these Phillips Women, is of the weekend I spent with the three of them at the Lake Rabun house Scott and Pat had for years. The sofa was about 75 years old and they decided that the pillows needed to be pumped up… these are pillows and cushions that had been in the same configuration since 1953. They tried traditional ‘pumping’ – banging them between their hands – but that had no effect whatsoever. So then, laughing themselves silly, they jumped up and down on the sofa cushions and pillows until they could in some way change their configuration. SOMEWHERE there are pictures of this silliness. It actually worked, but I don’t think I’ve ever laughed harder. Every time I sat on that sofa after that, I had to giggle at the memory.
The other revelation of that weekend was that I came to terms with who I am. Sure, I’d spent my life listening to their stories, and – as importantly – Viola’s stories about them. But until that weekend – with just Margie, Anne, Joyce and me – I’d never really seen just their interactions: the sisters’ shared laughter and – something I’d never seen before – their comical teasing of each other, their back-and-forth argumentative and hilarious story-telling about each other, and exceptionally opinionated points of view.
All of this made me realize that I am truly a product of these women, of this family. As a matter of fact, after that weekend, I realized who I am. And I am so proud to have the DNA of these and all the other Phillips Women. Generations formed the person I am today. I am a Phillips Woman. I am proud to be another generation of the original Jenny, Addie, Margery, Anne and Joyce… the list goes on before and – with all the young women in subsequent generations, forever. Selena, Elizabeth, Catherine, Kimberly, Jenny…all all other girl children born of these women and their children and their children’s children. A true continuation of life, a wonderful legacy: we, and future generations are and will always be Phillips Women.
These are my memories and thoughts. I’m proud to represent our family tomorrow at Anne’s funeral. I loved – and love – Anne very much. I like to think of her reunited with Mom Addie, Daddy Vernon, Mom and – most especially – her beloved Jack.
