Can It Really Be Only a Year? 
In Loving Memory:  Meme – July 21, 2024

It’s hard to believe it’s been a year since my mother passed away. Her loss still echoes through every part of my life, just as the years leading up to that moment continue to haunt and humble me.
In July 2022, our home in Dallas was filled with plans for laughter, celebration, and family. But one phone call—my niece's daughter saying something was wrong—changed everything. A stroke. A bad one. That day marked the beginning of a long, painful journey. Surgeries. Rehab. Silence. For two years, her world shrank to the walls of a nursing home. Her body failed her. Her spirit flickered. Her stories became dreams more than memories.

I drove to Lake Charles every few weeks, sitting with her in a room full of longing. Rita—my sister—was her lifeline, visiting often, supported by her daughters. We all did our best to bring a little dignity, a little joy, a little reality into a place where the future had stopped.

In February 2023, we lost Dean—my mom’s youngest—to cancer. We couldn’t bear to tell her. Instead, we lied and told her he was still out there, driving his truck and sending love. It was a small mercy. Another quiet heartbreak.

Then came July 2024. My mom said Dean visited her, looking better than ever. Maybe he did. Maybe she was already halfway between this world and the next. The day before she passed, I drove down from Dallas to spend some time with her for one last time. I read Springsteen lyrics to her, the Bible, and whispered prayers. She passed the next day.

Four months later, Rita lost her husband Troy. Another devastating blow in a storm of grief.

Today, Rita and I carry these losses with us—not just the sorrow, but the bond they forged between us. A connection formed in heartbreak and held together by love.

I don’t share this for sympathy. I share it as a reminder.

📸 Hug your people. 📞 Call them. 📝 Tell them stories. 💬 Laugh, cry, and take pictures.

Because life is short

Thanks to everyone who had had kind words to say about Mom. She was a force in all our lives and she will be missed.  But as they say, Death is not the end and we will see her in our dreams.

I will truly miss Miss Glenda.  She and my mom were roommates at Resthaven. Miss Glenda was so sweet and always had something nice to say about Mom's visitors.  Her room was always decorated so cheerfully.  Her family was really good to my Mom too.  She loved her Dr. Pepper and loved to talk! Visits just won't be the same.  Sending prayers for comfort and peace to her loved ones. 


Donielle Chonko

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She preceded in death by her her husband Jesse J. Jackson; her parents, Claude and Virgie Walker; and her son, Dean Jackson.


Those left to cherish her memory include her son, Jesse Wayne Jackson and wife Linda of Dallas, Texas, her daughter Rita Hudson and husband Troy Sr. of Merryville, Louisiana; her two siblings, Raymond Walker of Rosepine, Louisiana, and Claudette Cantrell of DeRidder, Louisiana; as well as 4 grandchildren &amp; 7 great-grandchildren.

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Glenda Joan Jackson

15 septembre 1941 – 21 juillet 2024

Hixson Moss Bluff

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