CELEBRATING BERNADINE AND FRANCIS

GOODBYE MOM AND DAD

Recently my father died. He was 95 years old, and had lived a fairly good life. Since we knew his death was coming I thought I was prepared and there really wouldn't be a big impact on me. I was wrong, really wrong. Below is a picture of my father, Francis Daniel Small, when he was a few months old. Back in 1987 my mother died. Her death was a shock to all of us. Since we did not live near my parents at the time there really was little impact on me. I had two children, 13 and 15, to keep me busy, and I felt I was in a better position than people who lived next door to their parents. In August of that year my mother decided to have a family reunion--insisted everyone come. 20/20 hindsite is amazing, and after the fact we all realized my mother knew her death was coming. She had conversations with each of us that seemed odd at the time. Earlier in the year my mother had been diagnosed with cirrhosis--she'd had gall bladder disease for many years, but there was always a reason not to take care of herself--her children were too small, she had foster children, my grandmother was living with her and not doing well.

Eventually she was taken, as an emergency case, to St. Agnes Hospital at about the same time on the same day about 25 years later from when she was taken there to have me. She was told at the time she had liver damage from the gall bladder disease, and after many years the liver damage led to cirrhosis. Ironically, she died on August 24, 1987, my 37th birthday. What can I say about my mother? She was kind, patient, understanding, strong and loved being a mother. She allowed us to make our own mistakes, and didn't say "I told you so." I asked her once, what she wanted to be as a child. Her answer, "All I ever wanted to be was somebody's mother." Whenver she held a baby she rubbed it's cheek with her finger and kissed their neck. I think the one regret she had was she didn't live closer to and get to know her grandchildren better. For her the best part of the swiss cheese was the holes, and my kids used to save them for her. Was she happy? I think so. She never had a diswasher and I remember her doing laundry, with four foster children, using a ringer washer. Yet she had time to play Uno for hours with my kids and pretending she didn't understand so they could win.

When she died she did so quietly and unobtrusevly. She was there one minute and gone the next. She'd had her family reunion--even cooked dinner for at least 15 people, and had matching dishes. A week later, when everyone had left she became confused, complaining of thirst. She fell. Dad wanted to take her to the doctor, but she said no, it was the weekend and it would be a bother to him. She was eventually taken emergently by ambulance to the hospital, where within 12 hours she died.

Her death was a shock to everyone, especially my dad. It was the worse thing that had ever happened to him--but he never took into consideration my brothers and I lost our mother. She died on my birthday, was buried on the feast day of St. Monica and one of the priests who offered her mass was Fr. Augustine--St. Augustine was St. Monica's son, and my son, Christopher, was an alter boy. I remember Fr. Augustine saying she was in heaven making lunch for everyone and asking if they wanted mustard or mayonnaise, white bread or rye.

After her death dad visited each of us at various times, even taking the train out to California to see Pat and Stephanie. At first he would spend one of the holidays (Thanksgiving or Christmas) with me and the other with Bobby. He also usually spent Easter with me too. Eventually he spent all the holidays with me until he could no longer drive. By this time he lived in North Carolina at St. Joseph's of the Pines, which was only about 3 hours away, so we would go viswit him for the day and have lunch or dinner with him. He never had a problem communicating with my son Christopher or Mike or me or even in later years my son-in-law, Christopher Stein. He did have a problem talking to Victoria. Who knew why. If you have ever read poem Children Learn What They Live, Dad was the model for it. He came from a family who did not talk about the past and at any given point someone was angry and not talking to someone. But while he had his ways, I always somehow knew my father loved me.

There were times when you wondered where he was coming from. I remember when Pat got married for the first time and he was ironing a shirt. Dad told him he could still back out--it wasn't too late. The things he said to Bob and Gay shouldn't and won't be repeated here--just suffice it to say they were mean and hurtful. For years Bob and Gay would visit my mother when they knew Dad would not be there and they would leave before he came home. And When I got married he ignored Mike for months and for at least six months didn't talk to me, but yet walked me down the aisle. I think it shcocked him that I was not constantly barefoot and pregnant as everyone knew sailors had a girl in every port and was faithful to none. We were never even on welfare.

This is Mom and Dad's wedding picture. They were married on November 20, 1941--Thanksgiving Day. In the picture is Arthur Sylvester Small, Jr., Dad's brother and best man; Doris Wimpling Bichy, Mom's cousin and best friend, Mom and Dad.

This is my brother Bobby at about one year.


This is Pat. The horse he is riding was made by my father's father, and years after I got to ride it too.

I was about 3 in this picture and it was taken in front of our house on Carey Street. That must have been a really gentle cat.


And this is the entire family in front of our house on Carey Street.

Dad seemed to start to mellow about the time grandchildren started being born. When Anna was born then went to New Mexico to visit. Mom almost cancelled her trip becasuse she couldn't leave me home alone. After all I was ONLY 19. She need not have worried--the entire neighborhood looked out for me, fed me and made sure I didn't stay out too late.

Four generations of one family--Clara Marie Regler Wimpling, Bernadine Wimpling Small, Robert Daniel Small and Anna Gay Small.

Ths is Anna--the first of five grandchildren.



And this is an older Anna.

This is Bobby holding a new born Jeremy.

And a little older Jeremy


And then there was Pat and Jason.

Is this not a great picture? I'll bet Dad was telling one of his generations old jokes.

Christopher Michael Mullikin

Victoria Regina Mullikin

Jonathan Michael Stein

Clara Elizabeth Stein

Donovan Barner

Matthew Caleb Stein

Matthew Caleb Stein

This was one of the last pictures taken before my mother died. In the front row, left to right, are Christopher Mullikin, Francis Small, Bernadine Small, and Victoria Mullikin. In the Middle, left to right, Gay Small, Bob Small, Monica Mullikin and Michael Mullikin. In the back row, left to right, are Jeremy Small, Anna Small, and Jason Small.

Francis Small, Bernadine Small, Jeremy Small and Anna Small

All the grandchildren--Christopher Mullikin, Victoria Mullikin, Jeremy Small, Anna Small, and Jason Small.

Three of the Great Grandchildren--Khyman, Kai Pat and Keil.

Dakota Small

Ailene and Jason Small

Montana Small

Jason Small

This is a picture of Bobby, me and Pat. I was about a year old in this picture. My father carried this picture in his wallet until the day he died.

In August of 2009 Mike and I went to visit Dad. By this time he was in the skilled nursing facility and when I frst walked in the room he recognized both Mike and me. I was shocked. I hardly recognized him. He didn't look like my dad. He was clean and dry and had his lunch there--even offered it to us, but he just did not look like my dad. This was the last time I saw him.

To continue on with his life, after several years of living in Alabama by himself it was decided he should move to where he could at least be clower to Bobby and/or me. Bobby found a Catholic faclilty in Southern Pines, North Carolina--St. Joseph in the Pines--and Dad was actually glad to learn he could still drink his beer there. He moved into independent living at first and did well for a few years. At the age of 89 he was taken to the hospital for the first time in his life where he had 4 liters of fluid removed from his lungs. Soon after this he was no longer doing as well as he should be in Independent Living, so he was moved to Assistant Living. Over the years he received a pacemaker, a supra pubic catheter, hearing aids and multiple meds. He once told me that as he got older the one thing that scared him was that one of his children would die before he did. If someone had told me he would live 22 years after my mother's death I would never have believed it.

I December 2008 my daughter announced she was pregnant with her third baby. The baby was due in August 2009, and since my son-in-law would be deployed Victoria asked me if I would come to California and go to the OR with her. I said I would--I was so excited. The baby was due the 31st of August, but between the doctor and Victoria they decided on a c-section on August 24th, my birhtday. Now I was even more excited.

The end of July 2009 dad was taken to the hospital. At first the doctor thought he had a bowel obstruction, but after x-rays and testing he decided dad was just wearing out. He told my brother Dad would not be able to go back to assisted living, so it was arranged to put him in the skilled nursing section of St. Joseph's. The doctor also said once he went back to the SNF it would only be a week to 10 days. Mike and I went to see Dad and I knew it would be longer than 10 days. The doctor might be saying a week to ten days, but no one told Dad. Bobby told me under no circumstances should I change my plans to go see Victoria. I was relieved Bobby made that decision for me.

As it turned out, Matthew decided he was not going to share his birthday with anyone--not even his grandmother, and to make a long story short he was born on August 15th. Mike and I went to California, stayed about a month and when we returned Dad wa still hanging on. In fact Bobby had received a call from the occupational therapist asking if she could start to ambulate dad as he was doing better. When he first went to the SNF he fell several times, but now he seemed to have improved. But as so often happens, patients rally before the end. On November 11, 2009 his blood pressure had dropped and he was having difficulty breathing. He was taken to the hospital where it was determined nothing could be done for him. He was sent back to St. Joseph's and within the hour he died. The nurse I talked to said he didn't suffer and that she had turned away from him for a minute to do something, and when she turned back, he closed his eyes and was gone. Shouldn't we all die so peacefully. The nurse said he was one of their favorites and all the nurses wished they had known him when he was younger. I could only think, "No you don't."

We had dad cremated and decided we would take him back to Alabama in the spring to lay him to rest next to my mother. On March 12, 2010 we did just that. My dad had odd ways, but all he ever wanted to do was to save enough money so he could be comfortable in his last days and maybe leave a little for his children. I am privelidged to have had two parents who reached the goals they set for themselves.The trip to Alabama was very difficult. There were too many memories--there was the Motel 6 in Brunswick, Georgia where dad wuld stop on his way to our house. Guess they don't have to leave the light on for him anymore. All the odd names of rivers and cities my mother used to think were so neat--she was going to find the oddest one and live there some day. Marianna, Florida where dad used to stop on his way back home. The Suwanee River Bridge where they have a sign with the music of "Suwanee" on it. Mom thought that was cute. Jacksonville and Jacksonville Beach, Florida, where we used to live. Mom liked our house there because she didn't have to climb up steps to get into the house like she did in Meridian, Mississippi.

So good-by Mom and Dad. I love you both and believe we will all meet again someday. I never imagined how difficult it would be to say good-by to both of you.
At Dad's "funeral" the only attendants were Bobby and Gay Small, Pat and Stephanie Small, Mike and Monica Mullikin, Anna Small, Brian Barner and Donovan Barner, and Jeremy Small. Three Generations aren't bad for a very humble man who really didn't expect much of anything from anyone.

The following are Bobby's words at the funeral, Jeremy's reading, my children's responses to Bobby's words and a reading I particulaly like.

Read by Bobby Small at the Funeral of Francis D. Small, March 12, 2010:

"When a person lives 95 and a half years it deserves some comment. By today's Fox News celebrity standards our father was not a great man. He was not involved in any important way in great events. He was just an average person of his time. His frequent comments and concerns made clear that the Great Depression was the defining event in his life. The stress and uncertainty that it brought to his family stayed with him until he died. During his life there were a great many changes to the world in which he lived. This was difficult for him. He was often frightened of the unknown or unusual. Yet his children dispersed a great deal from Carey Street, he ended up moving to Alabama and spent the last 10 years of his life in North Carolina. These would have been unimaginable events when he was growing up in Baltimore.

He was often unhappy or frustrated because he felt the burdens of society and the responsibility of husband and fatherhood and he worried that he might prove inadequate. I believe that many of his problems of this kind came from the family that he grew up in. It doesn't seem that he got the emotipnal support that he needed to be the confidnet functioning person that he might have been. This might sound harsh but there is no reason to be dishonest in this small group. It may have been the economic difficulties or it may have been other things. Whatever the case, Francis was often neither well suited to, nor well prepared for, the world in which he had to live.

What do we, the living, take from this? It seems important that we recognize that we have a hugh effect - one that lasts 95 years--on our families and the people near us. For most of us here our children have matured and their lives are to a great extent set. But we can still influence them and our grandchildren.

We can also learn from him. Though he found life hard, was not a naturally friendly person and had alsmost no idea how to approach people, he did some things right or even well.

He was never unemployed. The bills always got paid. The house was not luxurious but it was safe and paid for. We also have to say that though the paths that his children eventually took were inconceivable to him we managed to take them. Therefore there must have been some support or at least little opposition and in the end begrudging acceptance.

We all know and have joked about how frugal he was but we need to be thankful for that. Surely sometime in the first 60 years of his life he wanted something frivolous--a more expensive beer, an eclair, some really good chocolate, some good coffee. In fact he worked hard and successfully in convincing himself that the cheapest way was the best. The last 35 years of his life were probably the most happy and that had to do with the fact that he felt financially secure. He lived well in retirement with mom until she died and then well alone in his retirement home. Indeed he left us some money. It was enough money in fact to pay for the car that his great grand son drives to college. I am sure that this an extremely rare event for any one who was born on Carey Street.

Though he had an extremely hard time expressing his emotions and feelings, I think that by the end he appreciated that he had been lucky to have a phenomenal wife and a good family. Despite all of his difficulties in dealing with life, thanks in part to him, we started with more so we should strive to do better."

I was surprised at the responses I got from my children after they read Bobby's comments. It was nice to know both my children had good remembrances of my father:

From Christopher:

"What a nce letter of remarks. I have always had great thought of grandmon and grandad.I feel that Uncle Boby's remarks made me understand granddad a little more. Please know that while I am busy, I have thought of the family all weekend.

Though I may not act it, show it or even say it often...And we all know I've had MY problems in the past getting in the way of everything...I still love you all and miss you all as well. As mom always says... We may not always agree but we are always family. I love and miss you all.

Christopher"

From Victoria:

"I think that is sad...maybe I'd see things differently as grandpa's child, rather than his grandchild - but I don't think those remarks give Grandpa the honor he is deserving...yes, he had his ways, and I understand that perhaps Bobby needed to say those things aloud for some closure, but I think there was much more good to grandpa than being a good provider. The man had a big heart, a great sense of humor and loved his family very much--though it may have been hard for him to express. He was proud of each one of you--his children..and us, his grandchildren. He had intelligence far beyond his education...and while he may have not been full of hugs and sentiments, he never hesitated to fix a bike or build a train platform when visiting. So he found it hard to show his love in conventional ways, but there was no doubt the feelings were there.

Did he miss out on things because of his insecurities? Could he have lived a fuller life? Could he have afforded to be a warmer person? YES - but was he a failure or a bad man? Not in the least. He did the best with what he knew and that's all any of us can ask of our parents.

I understand Bobby may have needed to say those things, but I feel it was the wrong platform. You were there to celebrate Grandpa's life, not point out the ways in which he fell short...I don't think it's being dishonest--even in that small group--to spend just one day concentrating on his good points and for just one minute forgetting about his ineptitudes..

I'm sorry if I've spoken out of place, especially since I wasn't there. I simply think it's sad--95 years and that's the way Bobby remembers him."

Jeremy Small read the following from Ecclesiastes, Charpter 7, Verses 1-8:

"1 A good name is better than precious ointment; and the day of death than the day of one's birth. 2 It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting; for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart. 3 Sorrow is better than laughter: for by the sadness of the countenence the heart is made better. 4 The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, but he heart of fools is in the house of mirth. 5 It is better to hear the rebuke of the wise, than for a man to hear the song of fools. 6 For as the crackling of thorns under a pot, so is the laughter of the fool: this also is vanity. 7. Surely oppression maketh a wise man mad; and a gift destroyeth the heart.8 Better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof; and the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit."

And lastly, this is a reading I have like for many years; It is from Sirach, Chapter 38, Verses 16-23:

"16 My son, let tears fall down over the dead, and begin to lament, as if thou hadst suffered great harm thyself; and then cover his body according to custom, and neglect not his burial.17 Weep bitterly, and make moan, and use lamentation, as he is worthy, and that a day or two, lest thou be evil spoken of: and then comfort thyself for thy heaviness. 18 For of heaviness cometh death, and the heaviness of the heart breaketh strength.19 In affection also sorrow remaineth; the life of the poor is the curse of the heart.20 Take no heaviness to heart; dirve it away and remember the last end. 21 Forget it not, for there is no turning again: thou shalt not do him good, but hurt thyself. 22 Remember my judgement for thyne also shall be so: yesterday was for me, but today for thee. 23 When the dead is at rest let his remembrance rest; and be comforted for him, when his spirit is departed from him."

Francis and Bernadine didn't do bad. They leave behind three children--Robert Daniel Small, Patrick Francis Small and Monica Small Mullikin; five grandchildren: Anna Gay Small, Jason Isaac Small, Jeremy Daniel Small, Christopher Michael Mullikin and Victoria Reginia Mullikin; and ten great grandchildren: Khyman Bliss, Montana Small, Kai-Pat Tao, Dakota Small, Ailene Virginia Small, Kell Justice Joy, Donovan Lucas Barner, Clara Elizabeth Stein, Jonathan Michael Stein and Matthew Caleb Small. That's not a bad legacy. And I know Mom has held each one and protected each one of her grandchildren and great grandchildren and will continue to do so. She really was somebody's mother.