Everything seems sensitive. It's a new day, a new beginning that manifests itself out of the ashes of an ending. The four boys are on their own. Hell I don"t know what two of my brothers are doing. The family has disintegrated. The story is over and it is time to tell a new story.
Bettie was born on Tuesday, July 16, 1935, in Columbus, Ohio. She was preceded in death by parents Helen (Fleming) and Melvin Wilkinson, father Virgil Fleming and brother Fred Fleming. She graduated from Columbus West High School and was raised on the West side. She was married to Tommy Cheeseman for 54 years who died in 2010.
Bettie raised 4 sons, and dozens of pets and sheep, and worked for many years at Lovejoy Supermarkets in Plain City, Ohio. She was also employed by Ranco Industries and the local schools. She enjoyed gardening, collecting antiques with her husband, reading and the many people she worked with and knew in Plain City. She's rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. She has fought a good fight; she has finished her course; she has kept the faith.
She is survived by sons... The rest are names. This was written by my brother Nathan. The last lines make me cry.
I feel a terrible emptiness with mom gone. I didn't spent that much time with her but she was there. She is somehow gone now. Joined the choir invisible. I held her dead hand which was still warm and I talked to her as if she were still there. I just kept looking at her face to see a reaction but there was nothing. I didn't want to be in this place beforehand. I damn sure don't need to be here now. My purpose here is done.
This will be primarily about mom because mom deserves that. A few words is what she deserved.
My mother put her family before anything else. What she lived for was her husband, four boys, their children's children. When there came the time when the children were gone and all that was left was her asshole of a husband who did suffer from Parkinson's, I must say, a terrible thing, especially for the one caring for the person which was my mother.
My mother raised four hell raising boys and an asshole, to be fair, at times husband, not always, there were good times when I was a kid with dad but I digress. All four of us boys and dad had our moments of just being complete fuck ups. The alcohol and drugs helped this along and there was mother who never drank a drop now she did like diet pills but it took speed to keep up with the five of us. Six counting my brother's son, seven counting...
I continue to have images in my head of incidents that happened the day she fell out of her wheelchair to the day of her death. They are so real, so crisp and clear. They are emotionally based. There is a feeling attached to each image. That is what makes them so hard to deal with at times.
Why do we always say that someone passed. Is life a test and once you are dead means you passed and if that is the case lets remember that for most classes a d is a passing grade.
The strangest of all of the emotions is that I miss my three brothers. Nathan is understandable but I miss what it meant to be brothers. That seems to be gone even more now with mom gone. Dad was not the glue. My dear sweet mother was. She was the grand enabler always there with money, beer or cigs.
My daughter's birth changed me. I for a period of time, until drugs and alcohol took hold was a better man and now at the age of sixty two my mothers death has changed me again. I can't explain either I just know it's true.
The story continues to unfold.