Vi

One July 3, long, long ago, in a place far - well, never mind, it wasn't so far away - Vi was born. Violet Marie Bales.

Vi grew up in Rock Island, surrounded by family. The average American family produced the average American girl. Except, she was anything but average. You had to know her, or have the good fortune to be related to her, to know that, though. She never was much of one to seek to get her name in the papers.

Vi graduated from Rocky High School. Then we had this little affair in Europe - World War II, which was really a continuation of World War I, after a 21-year hiatus. Vi went to work at the Servus Rubber plant in Rock Island. Then, in 1945 that little European business ended. Vi met a guy that was returning from that European unpleasantness. Vi and Walter married in 1946, and Vi became Violet Marie Hendrix.

And then they started something. A LOT of something. Vi and Walter (and they were and are a matched pair) became the parents of 14 - count 'em, 14 - kids. Eleven daughters, three sons. I married one of those daughters. Three sets of twins (the only way they could get a boy was to take a girl along with) - six babies in diapers at the same time. It's wearing me down just to think about it. Walt worked at the Arsenal, and retired from there. Vi worked at her family, and never really did retire.

There was joy and accomplishment. All of the kids graduated from high school. All grew up to become the best citizens they knew how to be. That, in and of itself, is a remarkable accomplishment.

There was pain that had to be almost unbearable and searing. Vi anmd Walt lost one of their sons, Paul, in infancy. Their two other sons served in Vietnam, and came back with their issues from that. Vi has buried grandkids.

And yet, through it all, Vi lived her life with integrity. Utter, complete integrity. She knew who she was, and she knew what drove her. She was a dedicated mom. She was a happy person, easy to get along with, but if someone - anyone - messed with one of hers, that unfortunate would find that they had aroused a tiger - a ferocious one, at that.

The part of her attitude that I remember best: Life is not to be pissed and moaned about, and it isn't all about you. Get over it, get over yourself, and you might actually enjoy the ride.

Walt passed in '88 after a bout with cancer. Vi passed a few years ago, after her own bout with cancer. They are buried side-by-side - as I said, a matched pair - in National Cemetery on Arsenal Island. Today, Vi's birthday, my wife and daughters and granddaughters, along with some of Vi's other daughters, visited the gravesite. In celebration of Vi's birthday. In honor of a woman worthy of honor. In celebration of a life lived long and well.

In honor of Mom.

I'll have another posting today, in continuation of a theme I've been writing on. This, though, is for Vi.