Emily Ruth Oakes

My mom went to Jeff Davis High School and played in the drum and bugle corps. She didn’t really know what she wanted to do next, and her Uncle Charlie Giraud and his wife, who was my Nanny’s younger sister Merle, lived in Ft. Worth and they decided she should come to live in Ft. Worth with them and go to nursing school. I was surprised when she said she never wanted to be a nurse, because I think she turned out to be a really good one. In September of 1956 she married my daddy, and they became inseparable, calling each other “Lover” for all their lives instead of by their names. She had me in December of 1957. She then received her registered nursing certificate from the Lilly Jolly School of Nursing in November of 1958. Through her career she worked as a scrub nurse in surgery at Southmore Hospital, worked for Dr. Ken Mathis in his office many times, and for Drs. Devine and Milner at their OB Gyn practice. She took excellent care of our family as well as others who were having injuries, like the time Vicky Martin got her fingers caught in the hand held electric beaters. Mom supervised, and Daddy carefully cut the beaters off, then mom cleaned and bandaged. And don’t forget the ointment!

Through these years we took some great vacations, mom navigating very successfully but if we got lost (like in San Antonio once) Daddy would always get mad. I was in the back seat thinking “I don’t see you up there reading that map, buddy!” On these trips she would sing the songs of her youth like “I love you a bushel and a peck,” and “I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream.” It was silly and hilarious.

She stopped nursing and went to work at the small art gallery next door to Helen’s Tea Room on Strawberry, where she became interested in art and artists. She somehow already knew about Van Gogh, Rembrandt, and Monet and we had prints hanging in our house and so learned about these artists at home. Then at the gallery she became familiar with many Texas artists and had quite a collection of signed and numbered prints from them, and many of those hung in our house as well.

Mom was an avid reader, and passed many books directly to me when I was a teenager (not sure if that was totally appropriate) but supplying me with books helped make me into a lifetime reader, which is one of the most wonderful gifts a parent can share.

Besides the reading, the most important thing in our house was music. As a child I found a stack of 45s with all her youthful favorites, but more important to me were the albums of Camelot, Mary Poppins, and The Sound of Music and others that she brought home and we listened to all the time. The greatest gift, for me, was the gift of music. When Kelly was two and a half or three Oklahoma! was available on VHS and they watched a million times. That tiny little girl could sing all the songs from that musical and it was adorable. It thrilled my mom and dad.

When I was pregnant with Will, both mom and dad were not very excited; very nonchalant about the whole grandparent thing. It kind of hurt my feelings. . . But the moment Will was born they were enamored with him and kept him all the time while I was at work. Mom would dance around with him in her arms singing this funny little song and he would laugh and laugh.

My mom also was very smart. She mastered the arts of sewing, cross stitch, crochet, and quilting. You’d better believe every stitch was perfect and if it wasn’t she would rip it out and do it again. She made beautiful clothes and Tshirts and lots of covers and quilts. I really think she could have done anything she put her mind to. She didn’t think so, but I do.

After daddy died I noticed an immediate change in her and looking back I believe she was already into her Alzheimer’s disease and things slowly became increasingly difficult. The past year was grueling with her saying she wanted to go home about 10 times each day, gathering objects on her walker seat to take with her, each time taking a strange assortment that made no sense to Kelly or me. My fastidious mother didn’t ever want to bathe during this time, and then when I’d say “Mom, you haven’t had a bath in 4 weeks!” she’d say, “I HAVE TOO!” insulted that anyone would EVER say that about her. We had to laugh. She could not remember anything that was going on in the house so we repeated things bunches of times. She did sleep a lot all during this time, which gave her a break and us, too. It’s the typical tragic Alzheimer’s story, with our own personal twists.

She moved to Sylvan Shores October 25 of last year, which was Will’s 40th birthday. That’s how I can remember the date. She went willingly, but wanted to come home every day and pretty much harangued me about coming home when I went to see her. The only thing I could say was “Mom, we just can’t give you the care you need at home anymore.” Then one day when I was visiting something she said made me realize that she didn’t remember that we had taken care of her at home.

She had a fall December 17 and hit something hard above her left eyebrow. Had a terrible black eye. She went into decline then and on Sunday, January 7th we were there all day with her until she died very peacefully around 6 o’clock. I know she is at peace now and will suffer no more.