Barbara Joan Wackly

In Barbara’s preschool years she was known for her affinity for sweets, primarily cookies. Where Barbara was present also were cookies; always in her hand or mouth. Her nickname, “Cookie”, came easy and was soon adopted by her family and neighborhood.

Her father, a night shift chemical factory worker, and her mother, a homemaker, made their home among the walk up row houses of Riverside, New Jersey; A working class community across the Delaware River from Philadelphia.

At age 12, Barbara lost her mother to cervical cancer-Barbara had known her mother to be ill, she had been in hospital for some weeks. But she had not known she was terminally ill. Her family had not shared that prognosis with her. Barbara would visit her mother each day after classes; walking just steps to her mother’s room immediately across the street from her grammar school.

Barbara arrived at the hospital on the day of her mother’s death as she had each day before, only to find her mother’s room now empty. The confusing realization about the reason for her mother’s disappearance growing in her with each panicked breath. Barbara’s father and brother, failing to intercept her at school, would arrive soon after.

Occasionally Barbara would tearfully recount the shock of that unforeseen trauma to her husband in her later years. She did not speak of it often. Her foresight would be better after that.

Barbara’s hardscrabble childhood years in a tough neighborhood during the upheavals of World War II and the subsequent death of her mother were formative experiences which instilled in Barbara a swagger, toughness and ambition which she carried throughout both her personal and professional life.

After the passing of her mother, Barbara’s upbringing was shared by her father and brother, George, Jr. Her mother’s death had thrust her into the dual roles of primary homemaker and grammar school student. Barbara spoke her entire life of the financial and emotional difficulties of the time.

She admired the hard work her single parent father endured, remaining on the higher paying night shift at the Rohm & Haas Philadelphia chemical factory to better provide for his daughter and son. His work life provided Barbara an example hard work. But his struggles at the plant became her motivator to seek better work, to work smarter.

Barbara always spoke gratefully of her brother as well. After their mother’s death George, Jr., 13 years older than Barbara, had chosen to attend a local engineering school instead of a faraway university. He had admirably stayed close to home and had delayed or modified his own professional and personal plans by several years to attend to Barbara’s upbringing.

George eventually went on to be a lead designer and construction superintendent of the U.S.S. Kitty Hawk. An aircraft carrier built in the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard not far from their neighborhood. It launched not long after Barbara’s high school graduation. Barbara recalled many times that brother George often assisted with her homework lessons in the evenings before turning his attentions to his own complex engineering work on the Kitty Hawk as Barbara turned in for the night.

Barbara’s brother had been valedictorian of his high school class. His academic achievements so great he had his choice of colleges. His accomplishments were long remembered and were mentioned time and again to Barbara as her brother’s former teachers became her own. Her brother had set a high family/academic bar. Barbara’s teachers reminded her often. The New Jersey girl with the sweet nickname was up to the task.

In high school, Barbara also excelled academically; primarily in English language and secretarial science courses. In 1956 Barbara won a local contest of the New Jersey state spelling bee; she advanced through several regional rounds and eventually achieved second place overall in the state finals. Her losing word was “Baloney”, the informal noun meaning foolish, deceptive talk or nonsense.

Without asking for a clarifying definition, Barbara quickly uttered the spelling of her word’s homonym; “Bologna”; correctly spelling the word we know as a common lunchmeat, but not the word requested.

For the perfectionist in Barbara it was a bitter loss. It was a loss her son would eventually learn of and mischievously chide her about. Often Bologna would mysteriously appear on her grocery list…In her son’s handwriting…Placed there not as an actual purchase request but, instead, as a subtle dig on his mom.

Barbara’s dark sense of humor made her tolerant of his teasing - Though often her discovery of the word on the list would frequently result in the list’s conversion to a paper wad, subsequently launched playfully at her son.

The spelling bee was an early defeat for Barbara that generated of lifetime habit of good natured humor with her son. But her recollections of that event often left her wincing and shaking her head. She didn’t like to lose…But didn’t mind the losing so much as making the mistake. She made fewer errors than most after that.

In her high school secretarial endeavors, Barbara was admired by classmates for her shorthand abilities and typing accuracy and efficiency. She was well known throughout her career for her flawless 120 word per minute typing proficiency: This in a time before speed enhancing electric typewriters and eventually computer keyboards.

Typing and shorthand were highly sought after skills in that era. Combined with her English language and spelling skills Barbara excelled in numerous, increasingly complex employment opportunities in her early career.

Barbara’s first high school job was as a clerk typist for the Philadelphia Police Department, typing warrants and other legal documents on evenings and weekends. This provided Barbara with a familiarity and confidence with law and legal concepts which assisted her later in her career.

After high school graduation and a few years with the police department, Barbara accepted a secretarial position at RCA/Victor, Inc. While at RCA she met a new employee, “Jack” Wackly, a former U.S. Army electronics and missile guidance technician who had recently moved to the area for a position at RCA. The two courted and married in 1963. They remained husband and wife for 58 years, until Barbara’s passing.

In 1965 Jack and Barbara welcomed a son, Terry, into the world. Soon after Terry’s birth the family moved from Philadelphia to Jack’s hometown of Kansas City, Missouri where Jack had accepted a position with the upstart Hewlett Packard Corporation.

In Kansas City, Barbara’s charismatically brash “Philly swagger, office skills, and intellect got her some notice in her early jobs; allowing her to eventually thrive in several male-dominated industries throughout her career.

Barbara worked initially and for many years as a secretary for a large Kansas City commercial real estate company. However, in 1978, unhappy with infrequent promotional opportunities, Barbara transitioned to a position as secretary for a large trucking company; American Freight System (AFS).

AFS was a company of some 12,000 employees which operated in 25 states at the time of her hiring. AFS had recently relocated its corporate headquarters to Overland Park, Kansas from Atlanta. Within a few years at AFS, Barbara had become office manager in charge of many of the day to day personnel and administrative activities occurring at the corporate headquarters during its ongoing expansion.

Along the way, she had also assumed the additional role of secretary to the Chief Executive Officer. As the CEO’s secretary she was tasked with hand recording the details of all his various meetings, managing his calendar, arranging travel, etc.

In the early 1980s, after the company’s transformation into a publicly traded company, Barbara’s duties for the CEO matured further. He had tapped Barbara to manage the formal recording of the company’s board meetings, create the associated minutes, document “insider” stock transactions and other corporate legal filings now required by the United States Securities and Exchange Commission. The New Jersey girl with the sweet nickname was up to the task.

As the company grew, so too did Barbara’s corporate responsibilities. She eventually left behind her secretarial and reporting duties and became a top floor executive in the company. Barbara had risen in the ranks from the secretarial pool to the sole female executive in a company of 13,500 employees at its zenith – She had done so in just eight years.

In her ensuing executive years at the company, Barbara spoke adamantly against senior executive’s plans for expansion which she thought too aggressive. While her concerns were heard, they were not heeded. In 1986 the company commenced with a massive corporate acquisition which, while looking good on its face- Doubling the company in most business measures, soon left the combined company in dire financial straits.

By late 1987 the merger, troubled from the start, had been concluded. But the business challenges Barbara had somehow sensed soon overwhelmed the company. The firm ceased operations in 1988 and began court-ordered bankruptcy liquidations in 1989.

In bankruptcy, Barbara’s former federal reporting duties became critical again. Her ability to rapidly locate and provide all manner of financial and accounting information to the court and creditors made her crucial to the bankruptcy proceeding. She was soon designated by the federal bankruptcy judge to be corporate agent to the court.

This designation eventually left her as the company’s only remaining salaried executive. Her court ordered role now geared to management of the company for the bankruptcy court. She undertook the grim tasks of terminating the remaining employees and selling the firm’s real estate and otherwise winding down the 50 year old company. The New Jersey girl with the sweet nickname was up to the task.

It was a painful time for Barbara, witnessing the slow death of a company which had provided her so much personal challenge and professional success. She assumed the undesirable tasks of managing the termination of many dear friends and longtime co-workers. Many commutes home then were tearful. Many days in-office were filled with difficult legal wrangling or fiery sales negotiations with far away businessmen; Most of them mistakenly presuming they could intimidate and low ball a female adversary. The New Jersey girl with the sweet nickname was up to the task.

At the time of her retirement in late 1993, Barbara had completed the liquidation of the company’s real estate, trucks, trailers, swivel chairs, typewriters, etc. Barbara’s efforts successfully generated enough liquidation income to repay all creditors at their bankruptcy-negotiated levels. More significantly, she had managed to generate nearly $10 million of excess cash to be used for future investment…Roughly $20 million adjusted for inflation in 2021.

After Barbara’s retirement, her corporate successors used the surplus funds to create an investment capital firm. That company eventually purchased a small Iowa-based trucking and logistics firm which, though subsequently acquired by a larger firm, remains in operation to this day.

Barbara, from such humble, working class beginnings, armed with only her wits and a high school education, had managed to resurrect her company from bankruptcy. More importantly, she had created a corporate business legacy which ultimately outlasted those of the former senior executives; many of whom had the letters “M.B.A.”, “J.D.” or “PHD.” following their names. The New Jersey girl with the sweet nickname had been up to the task.

While her work life was busy, Barbara and Jack worked hard at having fun on weekends and holidays in her working years. Many water skiing trips to the Lake of the Ozarks and canoe trips to the clear rivers of southern Missouri would take place over the years. These were places Jack had shown Barbara in her early years in the Midwest. These became “their” places.

Barbara and Jack’s early trips to the lake were to Possum Hollow resort. Most trips of that time were with the Woody Meyer and Dean Holliday families; Woody and Dean worked with Jack at Hewlett Packard. Their families had ostensibly adopted each other and the Wackly clan as their own. For Barbara, a long way from her own home and family, these were cherished friendships; this was family...3 Moms (one named Reva, two named Barbara), 3 Dads, 10 children.

Possum Hollow was a 1930’s-era lake resort with string of a dozen or so pink lakeside cabins. The resort’s amenities included a swim beach, a common boat dock for dozen boats and a separate fishing dock all situated on a long, quiet wooded cove in the southern reaches of Lake of the Ozarks. The kids, at least, likely didn’t notice the peeling paint, crumbling shingles other imperfections of the aging place. And the six humble, practical parents didn’t mind. It was the perfect place for their families to relax and enjoy lake life.

From the perspective of the other guests, Possum Hollow likely appeared to be under invasion when the Meyer/Holliday/Wackly caravan rumbled down the red and rocky dirt of Possum Hollow road around dusk on Friday evening of those magical weekends.

Among the three families on these trips would travel six parents, up to ten children, three boats, throngs of sleeping bags and pillows, dozens of water skis, gallons of Coppertone, and the varied weekend boating, fishing, water skiing and even some scuba diving aspirations among the arrivals.

For the kids some unwritten covenant to abandon footwear was invoked immediately on arrival at Possum Hollow. For the remainder of the weekend an uneasy and constant give and take among the moms and kids over this covenant would ensue. The moms would often cross parental/jurisdictional lines in this matter…Bleating high decibel foot hazard warnings as easily to kids not sharing their surname as they would their own. Barbara, though not alone in her warnings, was likely the most adamantly concerned for the shoeless.

Barefoot or not, food, sun, swimming, skiing, worms, bluegill fishing, boats, naps, stories, soda, snacks, jokes, pranks and tears melded into weekend happenings which, somehow, always seemed shorter than a weekend possibly could.

Left behind, though properly disposed of, after these trips were countless empty cans of the kid’s cheap soda and the dad’s cheap beer, half-eaten sandwiches, potato chip crumbs, unfound bits of Reva’s addictive brownies and skin from scraped knees, elbows and, as you might expect, shoeless feet.

What returned home at the end of these Possum Hollow weekends were tired, sore armed, sun-soaked kids and parents…And many cherished memories. None cherished them more than Barbara. The Meyer/Holliday/Wackly children were collectively termed “The terrible ten” by their parents during these early trips. None of the ten are terrible. All are loved by Barbara.

A written eulogy seems an odd means to recount such memories. But in Barbara’s case she spoke fondly and frequently of these trips throughout the remaining lucid years of her life. These were among her best and brightest lifetime friendships and memories. After immediate family, the first two phone calls regarding Barbara’s passing were to the Meyer and Holliday families; Terry calling the Meyer family, Jack calling the Holliday family.

Later, as the terrible ten began their own lives and authored their own schedules, lake life changed for Jack and Barbara. Trips to the lake moved away from Possum Hollow and took the form of RV camping. A travel trailer was purchased and placed on a semi-permanent RV lot at a lake area campground.

The caravans became smaller; the logistics less massive, the trips more frequent, the fun and enjoyment were equal. Skiing and boating occasions with invited friends; old and new, were no less memorable for Barbara. Lake time became an increasingly invaluable retreat to Barbara, allowing her to unwind from work duties which became increasingly challenging over the course of her career.

Soon, the travel trailer lived up to its job description-Leaving the lake occasionally to trail the Wackly family station wagon to many parts of the country. Frequent summer trips to Barbara’s home state and family were interspersed by trips to Florida, Texas, Colorado, Yellowstone and the American southwest.

As the travel trailer years and miles progressed, their trailer began to show its age. One spring as the summer’s RV plans began to simmer Barbara brought about a “discussion” with Jack to purchase a larger, more modern trailer requiring less maintenance. The discussions apparently moved too slowly for Barbara, a woman known throughout her life for her decisiveness and “get it done” attitude. Soon after their discussions commenced, Jack arrived home from a short business trip, finding to his surprise a newer, larger RV parked in the driveway. RV chosen by Barbara…RV purchased by Barbara…RV discussion complete.

Barbara, though strong in most intellectual disciplines, was perhaps only slightly above average in her physics comprehension. She had overlooked one important detail in her secret, unilateral RV purchase.

Understanding the issue requires the consideration of two numbers: Four and six. Barbara had overlooked the dual physics challenges of hauling and stopping this new FOUR bed, FOUR wheeled rolling slumber shack with the family’s underweight SIX-cylinder station wagon. The RV purchase would soon lead to an unexpected but well deserved windfall for Barbara.

Potential tow vehicles were considered; Barbara now wisely deferring acquisition duties to Jack. For the legendarily pragmatic Jack the candidate vehicle must fulfill two roles: First, the vehicle must keep Barbara’s new slumber shack from slinging the youngest shoots of a very tenuous Wackly family tree (total worldwide population equaling 6) off some remote cliff hugging mountain road.

Second, the machine must convey Barbara to and from work in style and comfort. The perpetually thoughtful and kind hearted Jack had realized his ascendant trucking executive wife had driven his hand-me-down Hewlett Packard station wagons for long enough…These station wagons would soon be ominously re-tasked to endure the ditches, snowbanks, mud pits, curb jumping and land speed record attempts of Terry’s fledgling driving career. They would not survive long.

Jack’s eventual solution for Barbara: A 1975 Cadillac Coupe de Ville…All white with white leather interior. Jack spent a winter in their garage re-painting and fine tuning Barbara’s scuffed but generally sound “Caddie” into a trailer-hauling badass. Jack had matched Barbara’s planet-sized trailer with an automotive colossus of comparative magnitude among its automotive kind.

More importantly, Barbara had a car fitting of both her unabashed persona and hard earned station in life. She had become the alpha female employee in her corporate office. Her car was now the alpha cruising vessel in the corporate parking lot. Often times a fellow executive would grumble to Barbara that she had parked her beloved, acres-wide Caddie outside the lines of designated parking spot; breaching into his own space. She ignored him. She didn’t care. He drove a Honda.

RV and other modes of travel continued to be a constant for Jack and Barbara prior to and well into retirement. Summers were highlighted by river cruises on the Nile and Amazon rivers as well as the Rhine, Seine Elbe and Danube rivers in Europe. Her love for river cruises expanded into ocean cruises to the Caribbean, Alaska, Venezuela, and a lifetime highlight- A 12 stop, west to east circumnavigation cruise around Cape Horn in South America. Cruises became a favorite of Barbara based on their one-room travel convenience and of course, the cruise line’s legendarily ample cookie and dessert offerings.

A motorhome replaced Barbara’s travel trailer in the early 2000s. These trips eventually would take Jack and Barbara to nearly all of the lower 48 United States. Some trips would last for many weeks in winter months. Some shorter trips now included their son Terry, daughter-in-law Melanie and their growing family. A highlight trip became their weeks-long group caravan re-tracing of the Lewis and Clark expedition route; their trip organized to commemorate and occur on its 200th anniversary.

Later expeditions were aimed toward quenching Barbara’s newfound retirement passion for quilting. She now navigated (and occasionally drove) the Motorhome toward U.S. quilting meccas and superstores around the country. The motorhome returned home from each trip heavily laden with that year’s latest and greatest quilting gear, how-to books, fabrics, thread and cutting patterns.

Handmade quilted goods of all types soon followed during Barbara’s time at home. Blankets, diaper bags, pot holders, swaddling blankets, placemats, bowl cozies, etc. were created and distributed almost as quickly as Barbara could replenish her supplies...Almost.

In retirement her passions had changed from pursuit of a successful corporate career to a similar “all- in” approach to her family, travel and leisure interests. Barbara had transformed her intense work ethic into an ambitious retirement campaign. The New Jersey girl with the sweet nickname was up to the task.

But one passion superseded them all- Barbara’s grandchildren. Lexie, Brian, Mason and Kevin were always her true loves and became her primary inspiration in her remaining healthy years. Travel to “snowbird” destinations continued for Jack and Barbara but often concluded just prior to the birthdays and other important childhood milestones of her grandchildren. She was insistent that she always be near her grandchildren at these times. She always scheduled their trips as such.

Jack and Barbara’s annual months-long snowbird trips to Arizona or Texas always were intentionally scheduled to begin shortly after a Christmas celebrated with the grandkids. They always concluded prior to her granddaughter Lexie’s birthday in March, the first grandchild’s birthday of the calendar year. Shorter summer and fall trips would often include them.

Likely unknown to her grandkids, Barbara’s desire to be near them grew stronger as she grew older. The rural home with pasture land and stables Barbara had once wanted to reacquaint her with a childhood passion for horses was let go. In it’s a place followed a maintenance provided cul-de-sac life minutes from her grandkids.

The winter trips also got shorter in succeeding years, starting progressively later and ending sooner, often earlier than scheduled to allow a heartsick Barbara to return north to her grandchildren. Snow and cold weather was now tolerated, her disdain for winter now thawed by love for each of her four grandchildren.

When not travelling, Barbara cooked feasts for her family on most Sunday afternoons. The occasion of a phone call to advise of a missed Sunday dinner was met with Barbara’s urgent flurry of alternate scheduling options; as if this would be the only meal her grandkids might eat for the week: “Saturday night?”, “How about Monday?”, “Could we do Wednesday instead?”, “Maybe we do Sunday morning pancakes before basketball…” The scheduling phone calls which led to Sunday dinner impasse were concluded in a disappointed silence from all sides- Barbara missing her grandkids, the grandkids missing their Grandma Barbara’s secret Sunday recipes.

Her recipes led to kid favorite food creations; “roast beast”, sour cream mashed potatoes, hamburger soup, strawberry shortcakes, “sprinkly” powdered sugar brownies and cookies of all kinds were among the grandkids’ generational favorites.

Two of Barbara’s other recipes were of special importance to her son, Terry. In the early 2000s, under the mistaken belief his perfectly healthy, 50-something mother to be imminently near death sought to archive her heirloom recipes into perpetuity before their loss to the ages. Of particular interest to Terry were her Cole Slaw and pumpkin pie recipes…His favorites.

Early recipe requests were made in casual passing: “Hey can you write down that recipe for me, mom?” These Barbara deftly avoided. Once she stated “The Cole Slaw, it’s a tricky recipe, lots of preparation. Maybe I should just make it for you.” These types of comments only deepened Terry’s craving to document Barbara’s enigmatic recipes.

Years later, Terry still seeking, his recipe quests morphed into devious schemes to locate and copy the recipe cards himself. These schemes were quickly cracked down. The recipes could not be found, apparently committed to Barbara’s memory, inaccessible. Terry’s need to know somehow apparently still equaling zero in Barbara’s mind.

Eventually Terry’s actions turned to subtle social pressure: “I need that Cole Slaw recipe, mom, we were invited to a cookout and I’ve committed to bring “your” Cole Claw. My friends are looking forward to having it again.” For Terry’s small crew of tight knit friends, she eventually relented. For these were her beloved friends too.

After many stubborn years the official recipe handover date had come. A warm spring Sunday with her grandkids was to be accompanied by her trademark roast beast, glazed baby carrots, dessert and, of course, mom would make that that famous Cole Slaw as Terry would watch.

Before dinner, Terry, expecting to witness some sort of wonderful alchemy, eagerly awaited the production phase. Terry expected he would soon witness her shredded cabbage and carrot wizardry. There, Terry stood before Barbara in anticipation, feeling the culinary spirits hovering over his shoulder, salivary glands at the ready.

The moment had arrived! Terry’s culinary spirits went quiet awaiting Barbara’s revelation. Barbara, holding the recipe behind her back, eyes deviously agleam and holding back laughter, looked Terry squarely in the eye. With tongue firmly in cheek Barbara held forth the recipe and said “here it is…”

Years of goading, begging and craving the recipe had come to this crucial moment. Terry, expecting a hand written linen recipe card or similar from some mysterious 19th century relative named Krieger or Schmidt stood confused. Resting in his hand instead of ancient German linen was the backside label of the Marzetti slaw dressing Barbara had purchased at Hy-Vee that very weekend.

Stunned, Terry barely noticed as Barbara pulled pre-packaged Cole Slaw mix and the dressing bottle, now naked of label, from the refrigerator and unceremoniously dropped them on the kitchen counter…Her next comment; would ride to Terry’s ears on waves of Barbara’s snickering laughter: “Hey: will you grab the seasoned salt from the cabinet behind you?”

Some months later as Thanksgiving approached a second cruel recipe dance ensued. This time the ruse was a little shorter…This time Terry was wise. This time the recipe was pumpkin pie. This time the recipe was supplied courtesy of Libby’s pumpkin pie filling.

Some years later, a slight but mysterious change came to Barbara’s pumpkin pies. A peek into the pantry revealed the “secret” family recipe had been slightly modified on the HyVee brand pie filling she found to be to be less expensive than the Libby’s brand.

The recipes of two giants of Terry’s gastronomical palate had been reduced from seeming ancient, generations-old family recipes to the stuff of common packaging gimmicks. Terry was crestfallen, but he had his recipes. And Barbara had her revenge: A playful ruse and mind game had been played out over many years had become turnabout for Terry’s sneaky bologna jokes from long ago. The years-long turnabout so masterfully engineered and executed Terry would later write admirably of it in, this, Barbara’s written eulogy.

By 2013 Barbara’s typically passionate, energetic demeanor had begun to change. Her quilting activities slowed. Her family genealogical research reaching back to 1700s Germany was set aside. A lifetime habit of reading the daily newspaper from front to back slowed to coupon clipping, and then ceased.

Beginning to diminish around this time also were her emotional farewells with family. Be it a return to Missouri after an annual trip to Philadelphia, with a return date unknown or a Sunday dinner with the kids, next meet up at the Wednesday night middle school concert; The waterworks were the same: Tears flowed and her gasps of emotional, barely articulated goodbyes preceded her tearful watchful gaze as Terry and Melanie’s French fry hauler made its exit from her cul-de-sac…She was always ferociously in love with her family.

By 2017 Barbara’s Memories were becoming more vague, grandkid’s birthdays were missed. The trip planning ceased. Cards and letters to friends and family waned. All a result of inability and not conceit. In larger chunks, now, the disease was now concurrently robbing Barbara of her incredible mind and Barbara from her family and friends.

Hip surgery in 2018 seemed to hasten her decline. The so called long goodbye of Alzheimer’s was now well underway and became a final goodbye, as we well know, two Sundays ago.

Her life, though shorter than some, had quietly become a long list of personal and professional accomplishments. She retired young. She was happily married for 58 years. She was a strong willed but loving mother and grandmother. She had scrapped her way the executive boardroom. She would mentor other female business women who went on to their own successes. She became a world traveler, finally walking in the places she had read and dreamed about on the steps of her daddy’s walkup row house as a girl. She became a passionate patron of Native American arts. She was loved by many.. She had come home from Las Vegas with surplus gambling money. She had seen Elvis in concert more than once. She had done it all before the age of 70 when dementia began to shackle her living.

We can only wonder what new goals she might have accomplished had good health favored her for longer. She had spoken of learning piano. She had spoken about seeking a college degree after retirement. She had spoken of travelling to Australia and more of Africa. She had spoken of watching her younger grandchildren’s graduations. These are all accomplishments she will not fulfill on earth.

Barbara’s eulogy would not be complete without mentioning two last stories. The first occurred long ago. The second played out in Barbara’s last days. The first events will inform her fantastic final story.

Throughout her life Barbara was blessed with an uncanny foresight. Her father and brother knew of it. Her husband and son would learn of it, too.

Barbara was able to make sense of hunches better than most…More clearly than most. “Clairvoyance”, Terry would confidently come to term her gift... He directly witnessed her clairvoyance, and benefitted most often from its protections.

Early examples include planned activities cancelled by a Barbara’s hunches. Jack and Terry’s disappointment would be followed up by some later news that an intended destination or activity had been stricken by some calamity at a time a Wackly might have been there: A microburst at an air show; Flash flood on a canoe trip, Boat crash on a ski trip. These were all events which Barbara couldn’t define or articulate in advance but would successfully steer her family away from on a hunch.

In her work life her clairvoyance seemed to have provided her some foreshadowing of the business gloom in her company which all the corporate executives, accountants and Wall Street hot shots had somehow missed.

Each instance on its own could be discounted as coincidence. Taken together in their totality; Jack and Terry had come to trust Barbara’s hunches. They were not always keen to listen.

By 1988 Terry had returned to college after a few years of full time work. He was a few years older, wiser and more ambitious, but now was suddenly lacking employee sponsored health benefits. Terry was also nearing the age he would become ineligible for student coverage under Jack’s company health insurance plan.

Barbara had proposed paying for individual health insurance through their State Farm insurance agent. All that Terry need do was sign the necessary forms. Terry, settling in at college, ignored his mom’s requests to travel to KC to sign the forms for many weeks. Barbara’s undefined clairvoyance and agitations grew more acute with each passing week.

Barbara somehow urgently sensing this insurance business must soon get wrapped up engineered what Terry later termed the “puppy caper”. Barbara’s caper involved surreptitiously luring Terry home from college to help her “pick up a new puppy”. Terry would have travelled to Siberia and back for promise of a puppy. Terry agreed to come home to see the “puppy”. He’s a sucker like that.

After securing Terry’s puppy commitment, Barbara secretly arranged a Saturday appointment with her insurance agent. The appointment was made, coincidentally, in clear conflict with the supposed puppy appointment.

Terry arrived home in time for said puppy “appointment”. A short car ride with Barbara commenced and ended in an office parking. Once parked, Barbara sternly chastised Terry, telling him there was no puppy, only health insurance paperwork on the fourth floor to be signed.

Terry, now duped, heartbroken and puppy-less, quietly and intensely signed the needed documents. A quiet ride back to Jack and Barbara’s home followed, a driveway squabble over the gasoline Terry had needlessly spent to get home came next. Terry’s rapid, tire squealing departure back to college followed. Barbara sarcastically yelled through his open window and smell of burnt rubber “send me a bill!” No goodbye for Barbara or Jack. Terry was back at college in time for lunch.

Soon bills were sent…Medical bills…Many of them. Terry, just one Saturday removed from the puppy caper and driveway squabble, had appendicitis. A weak call home from Terry to mom from the pre-op room advised of his condition. Likely somewhere around Lenexa, when Jack and Barbara were speeding toward central Kansas, Terry’s appendix ruptured. A fairly straightforward surgery had now become quite perilous. The surgeon’s fear of sepsis brought orders for two days in ICU. Another six days in hospital on intravenous antibiotics would follow.

At the time of the appendectomy in 1988 electronic insurance transactions were not at all common. Paper medical bills were mailed to Terry’s college address by the dozens. Terry began to send Barbara the bills, just as she had prophetically, likely clairvoyantly, requested through the smoke of burnt rubber tires just weeks before.

Barbara, ever the record keeper, photocopied, filed and mailed each bill to insurance for processing, adroitly smoothing out the insurance disputes and discrepancies all along the way no doubt. This all happening, remember, when her own company was in the midst of its own financial demise.

All bills were ultimately covered by insurance. At Christmastime that year Barbara and a now healthy Terry tallied the now fully paid bills. The total: $87,000. Not one dime owed by Terry. His only expense the postage on a few packages home.

Terry would later be chilled at the revelation Barbara had inexplicably, and just days prior, cancelled a getaway in Branson which coincided with appendectomy weekend.

Terry and Jack were now god-smacked, fully convinced of Barbara’s extraordinary clairvoyance. This was no longer coincidence. Barbara had a gift. It would be the most dramatic evidence of her clairvoyance.

But Barbara had one last story to write in her final days. Her epilogue is the most touching evidence of her extraordinary gift of clairvoyance. It is her finest chapter.

Barbara had been cared for in a memory care facility since September 2018. Since COVID she had lived there isolated from family; able to see them only through a glass fire door; a makeshift intercom the only direct audible link to her family.

Barbara had steadily persisted in this way until mid-summer 2021 when even her love of sweets began to wane. Two weeks prior to Barbara’s passing, after completely dodging the first wave of coronavirus and getting vaccinated, she became afflicted with the Delta variant. She remained in ICU completely isolated from family for six days. Telephonic updates from nurses were her family’s only access to her. Her fever eventually subsided. Her lungs had also cleared by her final few days. She had recovered.

She had dodged COVID’s first attack and then had beaten its nasty follow up. But the damage was done. She seemed to have chosen to end her fight on her own unspoken terms. Her vital signs began to deteriorate. The time of her passing now seeming imminent, Terry called to Barbara’s grandchildren.

They came from near and far to visit and share some memories with her and say their final private goodbyes to her. The hospital had loosened family visitor restrictions for Barbara on a Sunday morning. Melanie, Jack and Terry came and said their farewells. Lexie, Barbara’s oldest grandchild, and only granddaughter, visited that day also. Barbara persisted into Monday.

Brian’s visit followed on Wednesday after a hastily scheduled Tuesday evening flight from Arizona. Terry, fearing Barbara’s passing by morning had brought Brian directly to hospital from the airport just after midnight early on Wednesday.

Barbara’s transfer to Hospice care followed later on Wednesday. Mason’s, visit followed the next day, coming home from college to see her on a Thursday free of classes. By Thursday’s end all close family who had wished to see Barbara had done so. Coincidentally, the grandchildren had somehow come to visit in age order, oldest to youngest to see their grandmother. Only Barbara’s youngest grandchild, Kevin, had not visited her. He had been reluctant to see her in a diminished state. Fearing it would be too upsetting. He was unable to muster the courage to visit. Barbara persisted.

Jack and Terry continued to visit often and watched her peacefully rest for extended periods. Some of Terry’s visits came with whispers to Barbara that it was ok to go; Also indicating to Barbara that all able family members had already come to say goodbye.

Friday, came and went, then Saturday. Funeral arrangements were initiated that day. The grim paperwork of her passing was beginning. Yet Barbara stubbornly, peacefully lingered on, now surpassing doctor’s estimates of her passing by days.

Then, on Saturday evening, Kevin told Terry he had changed his mind and would like to visit Grandma. His siblings had gently coaxed him. He found the courage. Terry and Kevin were in the car and on their way in moments. Kevin shared some memories and had his own private farewell with Grandma. And perhaps Grandma had her farewell with Kevin.

Leaving hospice after Kevin’s visit, He and Terry walked outside into the Saturday sunset. As they walked to the car Kevin mentioned he was glad he had come. Terry replied he was glad Kevin had come, too. He told Kevin he felt grandma might pass overnight now.

Barbara passed away at 3:53am on Sunday. Just a few hours after her remaining and youngest grandchild visited her; and nearly a week after all lifesaving medical treatments were ceased. She had lingered days longer than her physicians had expected; but passed away just hours after the last and youngest of her grandchildren had said his goodbyes.

Somehow Grandma knew Kevin would be coming.

Somehow she managed to wait.

Somehow the New Jersey girl with the sweet nickname had been up to one final task.

Barbara Joan Wackly was stubborn, tough, loving and clairvoyant to the end.