Personal Stuff
My beautiful Mom passed away on Wednesday, May 10, shortly after 12 noon. My sisters and I were with her. I always considered it a compliment whenever anyone said I looked like my Mom, and in fact, our high school senior pictures looked almost identical! She had the most generous spirit, as you might see from reading my own personal tribute to her.
Geneva Estelle Beggs Hazelwood
August 21, 1932 - May 10, 2023
It was always supposed to be “Geneva.”
But the nurse mistakenly wrote “Genevieve” on her birth certificate. And because New Jersey was anal about the name on her driver’s license matching exactly what was on the birth certificate, a number of people who didn’t really know her very well, called her “Genevieve.” Which is a pretty enough name, but not the one she was meant to have. She was meant to be named after a beloved home economics teacher who taught her Mom (Vercie Gunter Beggs) and was still teaching when the younger Geneva went through the school system.
She also had a nickname among some family members: “Tine,” or sometimes “Tiny.” She acquired this as the youngest of three sisters (after Opal and Claudie), who declared that she was such a “Tiny” baby.
But to me and my siblings, she will always be “Mom.”
Mom was beautiful, inside and out. And smart, too! She was salutatorian of her high school class, president of the National Honor Society, and was accepted with full paid tuition and room and board at Berea College. Only, she didn’t go to Berea because her controlling father refused to give his permission for his then minor daughter to attend an out-of-state college, even when it was at no cost. Instead, her father was only willing to loan her the money to attend nearby Concord College, where she worked while attending classes and living as cheaply as she could in the household of one of her professors.
And she paid her father back—every cent.
She was devastated when, while working and going to school, she got her first “B.” But she also learned from this that it wasn’t the end of the world.
Her life was always characterized by the sort of determination that led her to repay her father’s loan. While raising 6 kids, she also worked, putting that college education to use by filling in as a long-term substitute teacher, or working in the office of Mazzeo’s, or working at (and eventually managing) the Accounts Payable department at Resorts International Hotel/Casino. The desire to broaden her experiences led her to request a transfer to General Ledger, where she was eventually forced into retirement to make way for a younger woman with higher connections. At that point, she took more physically demanding work as a grocery store shelf stocker, until the store permanently closed. Plus whatever temporary jobs she could get, including as a poll worker for elections.
Money was always tight. Yet she would typically give up her own small comforts to provide gifts for her children. Somehow she managed to make each one of us feel uniquely loved and cherished.
She looked out for a number of others who were not her kids, too. She took in quite a few strays, or creatures needing a home—dogs, cats, relatives, and even non-relatives. She provided her niece, her niece’s husband, and their rambunctious toddler with a place to stay for a number of years until they could get on their feet. I remember a high school kid she took in for a while, to whom she wanted me to give my good silver-flair trumpet. (I found a good second-hand trumpet I bought for the kid, and my son now plays the silver-flair trumpet.) She took in her grandsons when they needed a place to live. She took in her adult son when he had no place to live. (She would be heartbroken to know that her son is now imminently homeless.) “Home” and “family” were of over-riding importance to her.
Robert Frost once wrote, “Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.” When you had to go to Mom’s house, she always let you in.
She loved animals, especially cats and dogs. She appreciated having a dog to help guard the house by alerting when strange people were nearby—even if it was almost always just some random innocent person walking down the street. But she took an especial delight in the antics and idiosyncrasies displayed by the animals in her home—Gabby, the neurotic chocolate lab, sucking on an old blanket. Or Sasha flawlessly catching a chunk of dog biscuit dropped near her head. Or the crippled cat pulling itself quickly by dragging its paralyzed hind quarters—as fast as an able-bodied cat could run—into the kitchen every time the refrigerator was opened, to beg for a piece of cheese. Mom was never more content than when she had a cat curled up next to her, or a dog curled up by her feet.
She always supported the underdog. Even a Charlie Brown type of Christmas tree was more special to her than a perfectly formed tree. She made the house I grew up in—a small house with lots of issues—into a home. I am saddened by the imminent loss of it.
If there was one person who did not deserve to be afflicted with Alzheimers and dementia, it was Mom. She was such an intelligent, good-hearted, selfless person. I am thankful beyond words that her passing was peaceful, that she seemed to be largely “out of it,” and that she simply…stopped breathing.
A few days before she passed, as I was just sitting there and holding her hand, she pulled her hand out from under mine and laid it on top of mine, as if she was comforting me, instead of the other way around. And she had a ghost of a smile on her face. That was her final gift to me. Even at that stage of her life, she had that much generosity of spirit to try to comfort me.
I will miss her more than words could ever express.
But the nurse mistakenly wrote “Genevieve” on her birth certificate. And because New Jersey was anal about the name on her driver’s license matching exactly what was on the birth certificate, a number of people who didn’t really know her very well, called her “Genevieve.” Which is a pretty enough name, but not the one she was meant to have. She was meant to be named after a beloved home economics teacher who taught her Mom (Vercie Gunter Beggs) and was still teaching when the younger Geneva went through the school system.
She also had a nickname among some family members: “Tine,” or sometimes “Tiny.” She acquired this as the youngest of three sisters (after Opal and Claudie), who declared that she was such a “Tiny” baby.
But to me and my siblings, she will always be “Mom.”
Mom was beautiful, inside and out. And smart, too! She was salutatorian of her high school class, president of the National Honor Society, and was accepted with full paid tuition and room and board at Berea College. Only, she didn’t go to Berea because her controlling father refused to give his permission for his then minor daughter to attend an out-of-state college, even when it was at no cost. Instead, her father was only willing to loan her the money to attend nearby Concord College, where she worked while attending classes and living as cheaply as she could in the household of one of her professors.
And she paid her father back—every cent.
She was devastated when, while working and going to school, she got her first “B.” But she also learned from this that it wasn’t the end of the world.
Her life was always characterized by the sort of determination that led her to repay her father’s loan. While raising 6 kids, she also worked, putting that college education to use by filling in as a long-term substitute teacher, or working in the office of Mazzeo’s, or working at (and eventually managing) the Accounts Payable department at Resorts International Hotel/Casino. The desire to broaden her experiences led her to request a transfer to General Ledger, where she was eventually forced into retirement to make way for a younger woman with higher connections. At that point, she took more physically demanding work as a grocery store shelf stocker, until the store permanently closed. Plus whatever temporary jobs she could get, including as a poll worker for elections.
Money was always tight. Yet she would typically give up her own small comforts to provide gifts for her children. Somehow she managed to make each one of us feel uniquely loved and cherished.
She looked out for a number of others who were not her kids, too. She took in quite a few strays, or creatures needing a home—dogs, cats, relatives, and even non-relatives. She provided her niece, her niece’s husband, and their rambunctious toddler with a place to stay for a number of years until they could get on their feet. I remember a high school kid she took in for a while, to whom she wanted me to give my good silver-flair trumpet. (I found a good second-hand trumpet I bought for the kid, and my son now plays the silver-flair trumpet.) She took in her grandsons when they needed a place to live. She took in her adult son when he had no place to live. (She would be heartbroken to know that her son is now imminently homeless.) “Home” and “family” were of over-riding importance to her.
Robert Frost once wrote, “Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.” When you had to go to Mom’s house, she always let you in.
She loved animals, especially cats and dogs. She appreciated having a dog to help guard the house by alerting when strange people were nearby—even if it was almost always just some random innocent person walking down the street. But she took an especial delight in the antics and idiosyncrasies displayed by the animals in her home—Gabby, the neurotic chocolate lab, sucking on an old blanket. Or Sasha flawlessly catching a chunk of dog biscuit dropped near her head. Or the crippled cat pulling itself quickly by dragging its paralyzed hind quarters—as fast as an able-bodied cat could run—into the kitchen every time the refrigerator was opened, to beg for a piece of cheese. Mom was never more content than when she had a cat curled up next to her, or a dog curled up by her feet.
She always supported the underdog. Even a Charlie Brown type of Christmas tree was more special to her than a perfectly formed tree. She made the house I grew up in—a small house with lots of issues—into a home. I am saddened by the imminent loss of it.
If there was one person who did not deserve to be afflicted with Alzheimers and dementia, it was Mom. She was such an intelligent, good-hearted, selfless person. I am thankful beyond words that her passing was peaceful, that she seemed to be largely “out of it,” and that she simply…stopped breathing.
A few days before she passed, as I was just sitting there and holding her hand, she pulled her hand out from under mine and laid it on top of mine, as if she was comforting me, instead of the other way around. And she had a ghost of a smile on her face. That was her final gift to me. Even at that stage of her life, she had that much generosity of spirit to try to comfort me.
I will miss her more than words could ever express.
In other news, my brother was not (yet) forcefully evicted from my Mom's house, as I expected him to be a few weeks ago. And because he had not vacated the house (where else was he going to go?), a legal process to have him evicted was going to occur. But because Mom passed away before the actual closing could take place, "everything changed." So now there is something of a reprieve, though for how long I don't know. In this case, legal delays are actually working in my favor. However, my brother's situation is still untenable. The only hopeful news on that front is, a woman whom I used to babysit when she was a toddler now works for a faith-based social services organization, and was able to help me connect with another organization that will have him cognitively evaluated. My brother agreed to go along with that "only to prove me wrong" that he has any cognitive issues, and on the assumption that they will help him get a job. (He doesn't understand that they will only help if their evaluation does show that he has cognitive issues.) That evaluation won't be for a couple of weeks yet, but at least it's something. Meanwhile, utilities are on countdown to be turned off, and some of my other siblings don't particularly care whether he ends up living under a bridge--a fact that drives me nuts. I can't take him in, nor can I afford to buy my Mom's house or even to pay the utilities, and my other siblings are either unwilling or unable to take him in, or would require him to complete a 12-step program before they would (and he refuses to even "go through the motions," as I advised him to do, because he won't acknowledge that he ever had a problem with drinking and continues to downplay his seizure history).
My Mom's decline and passing, her misery of having been in a nursing home for the past year, my brother's issues, my husband's declining health, and other issues involving my kids are all working together to give me a bad case of IBS, and I find I can't be too far from a bathroom these days. If the Mary Ferrell lawsuit is successful, it will be some much needed good news.
My Mom's decline and passing, her misery of having been in a nursing home for the past year, my brother's issues, my husband's declining health, and other issues involving my kids are all working together to give me a bad case of IBS, and I find I can't be too far from a bathroom these days. If the Mary Ferrell lawsuit is successful, it will be some much needed good news.
This picture is special to me, because it was taken in her senior year of H.S., and my own my face in MY senior H.S. yearbook picture looked exactly like this. It was always a compliment whenever someone told me I looked like my Mom. I miss her dearly.