Jay and I dated for two years before getting married. During that time, if I called his mother anything at all, it was Mrs. Jones.
After we decided to get married, she told me I did not need to be so formal anymore. I asked what I should call her. Jay suggested, "Just call her Mom."
Mary Jo was horrified. It was as if someone had suggested taking away something of infinite value she would never relinquish.
She told both of us, "Absolutely not. I am Mother to only one person in the world and that is Jay. You can call me Mary Jo or Jo, but not Mom."
And so began my life with Mary Jo that extended for 33 years.
She was totally loyal to anyone who gained her trust and totally confrontative with anyone who crossed her.
She was opinionated and always ready to take on any debate because she was convinced she was right and the other person just needed to be shown the error of their ways.
She was a financial genius. She and her financial advisor moved stocks around like they were day traders.
If we were going to buy anything, she was sure she could get a better deal. And she usually could. She was still "wheeling and dealing" a couple of weeks before her death.
She lived a fascinating and varied life. Even though she traveled the world, she always came home to Elizabethtown, Kentucky.
She, like her mother before her, was a genealogist. She was deeply rooted in the history of her native Hardin County, Kentucky. She researched and wrote extensively about the people and events.
While she was very skilled in tracing ancestry, she said a person's life should not be reduced to just a line on a chart. She made every effort to find all she could about the people themselves.
She lived the truth that every life has a story. She was keenly aware she had a story and she was quick to tell it to anyone who would listen.
Near the end of her life, she realized she would not always be around to tell her own story. So more and more, she began to trust me with intimate glimpses into her life.
For all her accomplishments, what I shall remember most about her is how she loved those close to her.
She was a devoted daughter to her aging mother.
She gave her heart to a young soldier named Jim Jones. Their love lasted a lifetime. She said she would not want to live one day without Jim Jones. She did not have to. She died four years before he did.
She was a devoted Mom, who was involved in every chapter of her son's life. She loved him totally and completely.
She was a doting grandmother. We never had to guess what our daughter should call her. As soon as she learned I was pregnant, she informed us she would be Granny and Jim would be Grampy. And they were.
And yes, even though initially there were some growing pains in allowing another woman to love her son, she adjusted to me.
Even though she never let me call her Mom, she showed her love for me. She called both Jay and me her children.
In her latter, reflective years, Mary Jo and I had many deep conversations about life, love, loss, the past and the unknown future.
No one would have guessed it, but she was a deeply spiritual person. She attended church, but her deepest worship came outside, walking in the woods, bird watching or simply reflecting on the wonder of God's Creations.
She would not have wanted to whither away in a failing body. God took her quickly and unexpectedly.
In some ways, the massive stroke was like her life, a grand finale of a fireworks show. When it was over, we could only sit and try to process what we had seen.
I delivered the eulogy at Mary Jo's funeral, carefully picking the parts of the story she was proudest of. I was very aware it was her story and she would liked to have been the one to tell it.
Mary Jo left us many things, both tangible and intangible. But one of my greatest treasures is on a scrap of paper.
Mary Jo had carefully written the last lines to Nancy Newhall's poem. She kept it near her and read it frequently. She knew wherever her earth journey was going, she would eventually reach the top. And it would be worth the climb.
She wrote it to read it. But I think she also wrote it so we would know where she had gone and where to join her one day.
You shall top a rise and behold creation.
And you shall need the tongues of angels to tell what you have seen!
Nancy Newhall
Happy Mother's Day, Mary Jo Jones!
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