FRONT-PORCH GOSPEL: This life story begins in 1973 (kind of) part 80

“We enjoyed our family so much,” Mama continued.” We went to church together, and while Zeke wasn’t interested in preaching or anything, he studied and knew his Bible with the best of them. He made sure his boys were at church, too. When he got sick and had to go away to the hospital, he would write letters back home every week. He wrote several just to Cliff – Squatlow now, I guess.” 

She smiled. 

“Cliff was up into his early teen years, and he told him how proud of him he was and how he needed him to be kind-of the man of the family, he needed to help me out, and he needed to watch out for ‘the little one,’ and we all knew who he was talking about. Those letters were so heartfelt. I would take them and read them over and over. Oh, Corrina, I missed him so much when he would have to be gone for a month, two months at a time. But I knew we couldn’t rush him home, that if he didn’t get the treatment he needed, he would have a relapse. I loved him much too much for that. It was so hard.”

I followed Mama’s tone carefully – changing back and forth from joy to heartbreak all along the way – and she entered that never-talked-about era of Daddy’s awful time in Milledgeville, part of which I had already told her. Corrina listened to Mama just as she listened to me, eyes and heart fixated on Mama as if she were the only person in the world. The more Mama talked about Milledgeville, the more her voice would crack. Just the sound of the name of that place had such bad memories. She said she tried her best to ensure they didn’t mistreat him. She talked to Daddy’s doctor, Dr. Hammonds, and the doctor always assured her that Daddy was getting the best treatment.” He even goes around to help the other patients, too,” Mama said, quoting the doctor,” and he always told me having Zion there was like having another doctor around,” he said.

Mama’s face lit up as she told that part of the story.

“I was so glad that Zeke was home in the summer of ‘67. That’s when Daddy baptized Billy Ray one Sunday evening, and I’ve never seen Zeke so proud as he was that night. He was in as good of health that summer as I could remember. He even let Daddy take Billy Ray to Michigan in June, Billy Ray’s first long trip, but he was so glad when he got home. He didn’t like bein’ away from our baby.”

Corrina looked at me and smiled, and I just shrugged as I always did when Mama would pull that one.

“That fall, Zeke started showing signs of going downhill. By Thanksgiving, I knew that he wouldn’t be able to stay home long. We talked about it, and he begged me not to do anything, that he wanted to be home for Christmas. I cried and cried, trying to make that decision. We had been together since I was just a little girl really, and he was always a gentleman and loving, except when he got sick. He wanted to buy the kids Christmas gifts early, at least the main ones. He wanted to get Billy Ray a Bible, since he was baptized, writing sermons, and working on giving lessons. So, we got him a leather Bible that zips up, and Billy Ray still has that little Bible. He wanted to buy the two boys hunting rifles. He said they needed to start hunting together and that he needed to teach them. I didn’t like the idea because, when Zeke was sick, I knew he didn’t need to be around guns. It would be okay when he was well, but you can see the problem. I gave in, and we went and bought two .22 caliber rifles.

“After Thanksgiving, when I knew it was time for him to go back to the hospital, I told him that we may not be able to wait until Christmas, that it may be too risky. I begged him to understand, and he said he did, and I agreed that we would give the boys their rifles early, in case he had to go back.

“Oh, how I wish I had taken him back in October so he could have gotten better by Thanksgiving, but it was so hard. You don’t know the best thing to do, and you keep telling yourself that it will be all right, or that you’ll wait and do it next week, that a few days won’t make any difference.

“After we gave the boys the rifles – that was the first of December – Zeke seemed better. He seemed more at peace, and it made it seem we might be able to wait until after Christmas. He was very romantic and attentive, and sometimes we would hold each other at night and talk about how much the Lord has done for us and how blessed we are to have four beautiful children. Part of hanging on, I know, was me, too. I loved him being home. Even though he wasn’t able to work full-time anymore, I could. I worked the cotton mill, and I didn’t mind it. It was hard work, really hard, but with Zeke at home, I knew I’d come home to a clean house, the clothes would be washed and hanging on the clothesline, supper was always made, and if I worked late, he’d make sure Billy Ray got his homework done or he’d make him promise he would get it done as soon as he got home from the Y. He was my full-time everything at home. Zeke was good at anything he did, and while it wasn’t exactly normal with my working and his staying home, it worked.”

Mama paused to gather herself. Corrina sat patiently and glanced down at the floor momentarily while Mama gathered the strength she needed to tell the rest.

“On the eleventh of December, we had one of the best nights we’d had in a long time. Zeke made his famous Brunswick Stew while I was at work, and he had the cornbread ready to put in the oven when we all got home. We made sure all the boys would be home for supper. We sat at the table and talked about school, work, and everything in the world before the older two were off, Cliff with Pee Wee and Pistol with his school friend Lee Pittman, I’m sure.

“Zeke, Billy Ray, and I sat in the living room right in there,” she said, pointing to the room where we had talked last Friday.” I asked Billy Ray if he would get his new Bible, which I wanted us all to read together before bed, and we did. We had the tree up, of course, and we turned the ceiling lights out so the colored lights on the tree would shine. We just left the lamp on so we could see to read. Zeke read some, and I did, and Billy Ray. I could tell after a while that Zeke was getting tired, so I asked him to say a prayer to all of us. He prayed the sweetest prayer I think he had ever prayed. He named all of his children, and he prayed for all of our families. He thanked the Lord that he could be home for Christmas and told Him that was what he wanted more than anything. He got a little emotional, so I squeezed his hand real tight, which helped him through it.

“When Billy Ray opened his eyes, he didn’t understand what was wrong. ‘Mama, are you okay?’ he asked. He was only 11, barely that, and he didn’t understand yet about tears of joy, not sadness, that I was as happy as I’d ever been that night, having us all together.”

Mama had to tell her story in segments and took an especially long time to tell the next part. Corrina waited, not knowing what came next. I knew, and down deep, I felt so sorry for Corrina to have to suffer the next few minutes, but I knew, too, she would be offended if we did not do it, that she loved greatly – and the sharing of this story would allow her love to shine more and more to people who were close to her. She was doing what Preacher Harvey would preach about,” bearing one another’s burdens.” She was made for that.  

“The next morning,” Mama resumed, talking slowly. It wasn’t like the other parts. She spaced the words out so that it seemed there was a mile between each word.” I got up as I always did. Zeke was already up. He was an early riser and already had the hot chocolate on the stove by the time I got to the kitchen. I buttered the bread and put it in the oven, and we worked together like the two hands of a clock. I had to leave by 6:30, so he walked me to the car, as he always did, kissed me goodbye and told me he loved me more than ever, hugging me tight. I smiled and told him the same but teased and said, ‘You know I’ll be home at 3:30, don’t you?’

“When I pulled out of the driveway, he stood tall and handsome by the same fig tree you see outside the back door. He waved one more time as I started pulling up the hill toward the mill.”

Mama paused there, then said softly…

“He waved one more time.”

Coach Steven Ray Bowen served as a teacher and basketball coach at Red Oak High from 1998-2012 and recently spent two years teaching and coaching at Ferris. He and his wife Marilyn (the “amazin’ blonde”) served many years with the Church of Christ of Red Oak at Uhl/Ovilla Roads, but now spend time evangelizing in several states in addition to Coach’s work as a writer and author, including the writing of the ongoing novel/memoir here in the Press. Call or text (972) 824-5197, or email coachbowen1984@gmail.com, or see frontporchgospel.com.