The Essence of Grandma Wilcox

Mom passed away on July 6, 2021. My brother, Steve, wrote an inspiring obituary. My nephew, Austin, created a wonderful slideshow featuring photos of my mom throughout her life. And Mom’s children and grandchildren paid tribute to her at her funeral. The obituary, slideshow, and funeral service can be view at this link: https://www.lindquistmortuary.com/obituary/Mary-Wilcox

My tribute to my mother follows:

Had Mary Yvonne Wilcox been born under different circumstances, she might have been a scholar, a Ph.D. historian or a college professor, but none of that would have changed the essence of who she was and will ever be—a mother to her posterity as well as a mother to countless others.

Mom learned from the best. Thelma Over raised her two children, Vonnie and Butch, in both scarcity and in abundance—a scarcity of basic necessities and an abundance of care, love and service. As children, my siblings and I were doubly blessed as we grew up immersed in the abundant love of both Grandma Over and our own mom.

I was one or two years old when our family moved from the old house—now torn down—on Main Street in Clearfield to the green house on 100 North, the home, yard, garden and adventure land we grew up in, the home Mom’s grandkids played in, the home Mom and Dad grew old and died in. Mom and Dad grew an amazing garden filled with peas, cucumbers, green beans, spinach, onions, zucchinis, potatoes, corn, grapes and the best tomatoes on Earth as well as several fruit trees. Mom turned those garden blessings into Sunday feasts and wonderful meals most every day of the week.

Yes, Mom and Dad grew gardens, but more importantly they grew a family—rooting us in Gospel principles, protecting us from life’s bugs, thorns and weeds, nurturing our minds and bodies, feeding and watering our souls.

Over the years, Mom and Dad did the same for countless individuals, filling their bags and boxes with fresh garden fare while feeding their souls in the living room or under the shade of our magnificent sycamore trees.

Mom mothered everyone in need who stepped in the house because that’s who Mom was. I didn’t think anything of it at the time because I didn’t know anything different.

Joel Turner lived up the street from us when we were kids. Joel is Steve’s age. When Joel was 12 years old, his mother was murdered in her own home. Losing our mom at the end of a rich life is hard enough. Losing your mom as a child in such a horrible way is incomprehensible, perhaps unless you’re a mother. Joel said to me a couple of days ago,

“After my mom was killed, Vonnie took me in and raised me as her own. If she hadn’t done that, who knows how I would have turned out?”

Joel was not the only child who experienced Mom as a second mother.

Kenny Watkins—an adventurer from his earliest years—is Kristi’s age. This is what Kenny said about Mom:

“Vonnie was a 2nd mother 2nd to none.  She fed me, sat with me, talked with me and I’m sure more than one time kept me safe and out of the road!  I would collect for the newspaper from the Wilcox’s last because I knew Vonnie would bring me inside and feed me dinner.  That was just her way.

“When I saw her for the last time a few short weeks ago she called me her angel.  She still saw me as a little child.  And I still see her as my sweet second mother.”

Another young man from the Clearfield 3^rd Ward, Evan Heise, blessed our home for years as an adolescent. I have fond memories of his dry wit and understanding beyond his years. Evan said this:

“Vonnie made me feel special, like I was important. She knew what I needed to hear and freely shared her knowledge and wisdom, messages I still hold in my heart. I’m a better person because of Vonnie and the love I felt in the Wilcox home. I often think of Vonnie and my own mom, Devon, when facing decisions. I don’t want to let either down. Tears are running down my face wishing I had shared these thoughts with Vonnie before she passed, but I feel and hope she’s listening now.”

Mom was thrilled when—at the advanced age of 28—I finally found someone who would marry me. She was less than thrilled when I explained to her that Kris and I were moving to Japan shortly after our wedding. The concept was inconceivable to her. “How can you do that to her? How can you take her away from her family?”

Family connection was everything for Mom perhaps because she didn’t always have it as a child.

Eleven years later, we left our home in Clinton and headed North to Alaska with our four children and more importantly with Mom and Dad’s grandchildren. Erika—our oldest—was eight at the time and Olivia was only three months old. After we drove away, Mom and Dad held each other and sobbed. “How can they do this to us?” Mom cried. “How can they take away our grandchildren?”

Mom forgave us a few years later after seeing how our children were thriving in Sitka and after joining us on a road trip through Skagway, Whitehouse and Dawson City, a trip she described as one of the best of her life.

At the age of sixteen, all three of our daughters—Erika, Brittany, and Olivia—ventured to foreign lands with foreign languages. True to form, Mom was horrified, struggling to understand how their parents could send her grandbabies into this frightening world at such a tender age.

Grandma never stopped mothering her grandchildren with love, affection and chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven.

Erika remembers the following:

 “Grandma always supported my interests. When I was 6 or so, I loved to draw. Grandma bought me a how-to-draw animals book that I spent hours and hours working out of. When I was 12, I began to read Shakespeare, so she found and sent me a hundred-year-old Shakespeare anthology. Around that same time, I danced as much as I could, so she sent me the movie Silk Stockings and told me all about Cyd Charrise and her perfect legs. A couple years ago, Russell and I started to preserve our own food and, you know where this is going. She sent me home with boxes of jars and canning rings.”

Erika continues,

“Around Easter time this year, Grandma wanted to do something fun for the little girls in her life. She and Kristi collaborated to create the ultimate sleepover. Grandma planned the whole thing, down to the menu, snacks, and activities. This wasn’t the strong Grandma of my youth, either. She was only walking with considerable help, but she used her energy to plan a party for her granddaughters and great-granddaughters, then she sat in her big comfy chair and watched the girls as they played.”

Brittany had this to say:

“When I was 17, Grandma told me I was iridescent. Yes, iridescent. Whenever I visited or called, she’d share her knowledge of the gospel and history, family and bits of decades old gossip, and that I was and that I am iridescent.

“I saved the wrapper of a small hard candy because of the way the plastic refracted light and illuminated colors. I stuffed the wrapper in my wallet and whenever I glanced at it, I heard Grandma Wilcox’s voice telling me that I’m iridescent.”

David called me a few months ago from Mom’s house. “Dad,” David said, “Grandma’s trying to give me money again—a lot of money. What do I do?”

I wasn’t surprised by the call. Mom, Dad, and Jesus never really understood the way most Americans keep their money to themselves. When Mom and Dad saw a need, they filled it. They didn’t have a lot to give, but they gave a lot to a lot of people. I’m sure I’ve never heard about most of their giving.

Olivia shared the following:

“I remember Grandma as an incredible storyteller, drawing stories from her rich life. And she was an avid learner.

“One recent conversation illustrates her love of learning. I had just returned from Alaska and I was showing Grandma photos from my trip when she stopped me on a picture of a tide pool. I thought it was one of the least significant images I had taken but Grandma thought otherwise. She pointed at one corner and said, ‘Those little things are barnacles. How the heck are they supposed to live like that?’

“I was confused. ‘Like what?’ I asked.

“‘Well, they’re just stuck on a rock. Where’s the food come from?’

“So I told her. ‘Barnacles use a feather-like foot to wave through the water when the tide comes in, sweeping up the tiny plankton.’ I told her that we usually only see them when they’re above the water line, so we don’t see them feeding. She was fascinated and kept zooming in and out on the image.

“Eventually, she asked Dad to hand her a large barnacle she had gotten from Alaska years ago. I continued reciting barnacle facts as she inspected every nook and cranny in her gnarled hand. She asked me to light up the inside of the barnacle with my phone light so she could see it better.

“Why was Grandma so interested in barnacles? I wondered.

“Then it hit me. Even as she was approaching death, Grandma was still very much alive and still learning.  And she had no plans to stop.

“I’ll always remember and admire her love of learning and hope to live out my life doing the same.”

I also experienced Mom’s love of Mother Nature in recent months. When Mom could no longer make it outside, I took photos from my runs on the Shoreline Trail East of Layton. She loved those photos. I did the same with photos from her yard and garden. When I showed them to her, she named the bushes and flowers and she told stories about the old wheelbarrow and her beloved plants.

Mom and Mother Nature got along splendidly. Erika captured that special relationship in a poem she wrote in high school, the same poem that’s printed on the program.

As Mom aged, we had the privilege of mothering Mom just as we had done for dad eight years ago. Mom said as she declined that she was surrounded by angels. We’re not the most angelic family, but we did a great job caring for Mom. Steve and Aletta spent hours at Mom’s place on a near daily basis since Dad’s passing. The rest of us stepped in when needed or as able. Mom specifically asked me to thank Rob and Stacey’s daughter-in-law, Amanda, who cleaned Mom’s home nearly every day for months. Just as Mom protected us from the bugs, thorns, and weeds of life, we protected Mom from an increasingly heartless and senseless world. I believe Mom lived as long as she did partly because of our care and protection.

I saw Mom for the last time several weeks ago. Erika and her baby, Axel, were by my side. Axel had just journeyed from heaven and Mom was about to make the trip back. Grandma, lying in bed, lit up when she saw Axel’s face just as she always did in the presence of her youngest angels. She held on to Axel’s hands and arms as if to give and receive as much love as possible. Looking at me, she scolded, “Now you drive carefully. Don’t let anything happen to these kids.”

On the morning of Mom’s passing, Kristi called and gave Kris and me the news. “Dad came and got Mom this morning.”

I’m not sure why it took Dad so long to come, but we’re glad and heartbroken he finally made the trip. It was time. Mom had fulfilled her mission and was at peace.

I don’t know how things work in heaven, but if Mom has any say in the matter, she’s near us now doing what she’s always done, watching over us, encouraging us, protecting us, and loving us because the essence of Mom is mothering, mothering her posterity and mothering countless others.

We are forever grateful, Mom. Please hug Dad and Grandma Over for us. We love you and look forward to a Celestial feast  with you and the rest of our heavenly family.

In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.