Amber's Abode

Francis

My friend and neighbor, Francis Witherspoon, died this morning at 4 a.m..  She was 92 1/2 years old.  She had been in this house since the day after it opened.

As far as depth of conversation goes, I didn't know her very well because the dementia was pretty far gone by the time I met her.  But she always had something nice to say to me every day, usually about my outfit.  She was a true Southern Belle.  When she could she spent warm days out on the back porch with her sweet tea.  I never ever saw her wear anything other than a dress, and her makeup always had to be done, even at the end, even if it was just blush.  She missed Southern cooking, like I do, so sometimes when she didn't want to eat, I would tell her to pretend it was collard greens and okra.  At which she would enthusiastically try a bit and then inform me that I was sadly mistaken.

She was the sweetest lady, but Lord help you if you crossed her enough to get her temper up.  Some of the other residents would pick at her sometimes because she had dementia and they didn't think she knew what they were saying.  One day she finally had enough at the dinner table and called the lady that was teasing her a shameless hussy and told her to go away and leave her alone.  It was funny but also inspiring that she had enough inner strength to stand up for herself even at that late date.

Goodbye, Francis.  I just went in your room to see you before they take you on a last trip home to Texas.  You look beautiful with your painted nails and pretty gown, but more importantly, you are at peace now and not in pain and probably with your husband and other family.  Your family that was here talking to me is sad because they will miss you but they are happy for you as well, and they seem strong.  They will be okay.  Your granddaughter, Kendra, promises to come back and visit sometime and then the little family here will have a gathering in your honor.

I already miss you.  The hole that you left in this house will stay huge for a long time.  But don't worry about us.  Live on in never-ending peace and joy, with all the fried okra and collard greens and hush puppies you could ever hope to eat.

I love you.

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