“A Simple Love Like That”
As the sixth anniversary of my mom’s death looms, I pause to think and honor the legacy of love my folks left us. My parents had an amazing relationship that spanned over six decades—63 years when Mom died at age 88, December 9, 2010. They met in a registration line at the University of Georgia—Daddy was back from WWII and set to finish his undergraduate degree, and Mom was beginning work on a graduate degree in art that ultimately was traded for an “MRS” degree.
My folks 
complemented each other so well. Daddy was a brilliant dreamer, quite comfortable in the world of words and ideas, and generally lacking in more practical skills—though it didn’t stop him from trying. Mom was brilliant as well, and provided a good sounding board for Daddy’s ideas and editorial skills for his writing. Both had amazing empathy and tolerance for others, and delightful—though different—senses of humor. My dad was a nut and delighted in telling silly jokes, puns, and in poking fun at himself. Mom’s humor was a little more subtle, but clever.
I think Mom saw a lot of potential in Daddy and his dreams, and also figured he needed someone to keep him grounded in the day-to-day realities of life, like knowing where he’d left his coat or hat, or which way to turn on a route he’d taken hundreds of times before but easily got lost in thought.
Rarely did they argue, and they knew an argument had to be resolved. Together they were a team, personally and professionally. And even as their last years were plagued with Mom’s memory issues and a broken hip and Daddy’s stroke that pretty well sealed the deal as far as them being able to continue to live at home, they were connected in a way that was truly special. Right up to the end. And therein lies a tale….
Early in December that year I had a trip planned for a meeting in New Jersey. I was standing in line waiting to board our plane in Nashville. It had been delayed 45 minutes and was finally on the ground and unloading passengers. And my cell phone rang.
It was my sister. She was calling to say she’d heard from the assisted living center in Marietta, Georgia, that Mom was unresponsive and it didn’t look good. Tearfully, I headed to the Continental check-in counter and told them I couldn’t get on the flight. They suggested I fly to Atlanta instead, and found a Delta flight I could take in a couple of hours.
I headed to the Delta gate, and was told that a flight to Atlanta was all but ready to close the door and head out, and there was room for me on that flight. They held the plane long enough for me to get on.
I met Merrilyn in Atlanta and we headed for Marietta, not knowing what we’d find, but fearing the worst. When we arrived at the center, everybody was getting ready for dinner—including Mom. She’d rallied!
So I spend the next four days with her, and got to tell her multiple times how much I loved her, and got to hear it in return. How special that time was—especially in retrospect. When Sunday rolled around and I had to leave, Mom just looked “spent.” I told her we would all be back for Christmas, essentially telling her she was NOT going anywhere.
She smiled a knowing smile.
The next morning, Daddy started telling the staff at the assisted living that Mom had “three more days.” They humored him. Tuesday—“two more days.” Wednesday—“one more day.”
Thursday morning, Daddy got up early and put on his suit and tie. A staffer asked, “Mr. Clark—Why are you up so early, and why are you so dressed up?”
He replied, “I don’t want to be late for my wife’s funeral.”
And that afternoon, Mom died.
How did he know? Did he know?
I think he was so intimately connected to Mom that he was able to read the signs that her body was giving out, and that she was ready to go. When the staff called me to tell me Mom was gone, I could hear Daddy in the background saying, “You go on home!”
What gifts they gave each other! Daddy was sure when she would go, and had the opportunity to spend that time with her, and (presumably) tell her how much he loved her and hear it in return.
And such a legacy for the rest of us.
I want a simple love like that;
Always giving, never askin’ back.
For when I’m in my final hour lookin’ back
I hope I had a simple love like that
—Sarah Siskind
Epilogue:
Daddy died 18 months later, at age 90. The night before he died, he was at an ice cream social at the assisted living center, eating strawberry shortcake with Merrilyn. He was the consummate gentleman to the end. He stood when the women came in the room, and greeted them with his usual charm. And that night he made it a point to go around to all of the other residents in memory care and all of the staff and shook their hands. He died the next morning. I think he knew his time had come.
For more stories about my folks, see:
- As the Train Pulled Out of the Station
- I Remember This Time Last Night
- Of Pens, Perseverance, and PhDs
- If I Had a Fitting Celebration
- The Cedar Chest Time Capsule
- “If You Were Here, Everything Would be Next Thing to Perfect”
© Melissa Clark Vickers 2017
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December 8th, 2016 at 9:09 am
What a lovely story. Thanks for sharing.
December 8th, 2016 at 1:39 pm
HI Melissa,
Thank yo for sharing such a dear and touching story. Made me cry and think of my own parents (father passed, mom still kicking – lterally – and driving! at 97).
Michele
June 14th, 2017 at 4:18 pm
Melissa, this was beautifully written! I was so very blessed to have known your parents and spend so much time with them. They both watched my daughter grow up, and were so kind to her. I think of both of them so often. They are so engrained in my memories. They were the epitome of what a happy marriage is and should be.
I am enjoying your blogs on them. I can picture it all, just as you wrote it. What a gift to have these amazing individuals as your parents! ❤️
December 9th, 2017 at 8:51 am
I. Love this touching tribute to your parents.
And if you don’t already know,Alison Krause recorded “A Simple Love” on her album “A Hundred Miles”
God bless, Melissa.
December 9th, 2017 at 8:58 am
That’s where I heard the song! I really didn’t know who Alison Krause was until I heard a couple of songs on Sandra Boynton kids’ CDs! Thanks!
January 22nd, 2018 at 2:51 pm
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