TERRY MOSHER
Today (July 9) is the day they buried the spiritual leader of the Mosher-Tower families and the day of my late sister Minerva’s birthday. She would have been 86 today had she not succumbed to COPD and its terrible effects four plus years ago.
Margaret “Peggy” (Tower) Mosher died like my sister to the ravages of COPD, but she gave it a good fight before doing so on Independence Day (July 4).
Peggy was an awesome wife to my brother Ray (they were married almost 61 years), mother to their 14 children, and the leader for her four brothers and four sisters. The universe centered around Peggy, who was a constant presence on the phone listening, lending advice and adding prayers to all of the above and to others that connected to her through her forceful presence, including Minerva, who would often interrupt our conversation when she heard the phone ringing by saying, “Oh Gawd, that’s Peggy. I’ve got to go.”
Minerva was as much the center of the universe for me as Peggy was for, well, for everybody else. Our mother died May 21, 1953 when I was 19 days from turning into a teenager and it was Minerva, the oldest of my siblings and the only female, took on the unintended responsibility to see that her youngest sibling, me, would not be lost in the terrible turmoil that followed me for years after our mother’s death.
She was, as I have written before, my anchor in a world where I was cut adrift from my security and left at times floating on the lonely seas of life. The turmoil took a turn for the worse when my father remarried a little over a year after our mother’s death and at the same time was transferred by his job from Olean, N.Y. to Ferndale, WA.
So across the country we went, now a blended family in which I became totally adrift not only in a sea of loneliness but also in a murky emotional scarred and hurtful world that often turned dark and led me to practically raise myself and, as I have also written, doing a terrible job at it.
The sole light in the darkness was Minerva and every summer until I turned 18 I made sure I journeyed toward that light, if only for a few weeks. I took a bus, a car, a plane, and one time I hitchhiked, whatever it took, to be wrapped in the warmth of Minerva.
It’s difficult to explain my late sister. Her nieces and nephews (Peggy’s kids) used to call her Minervest because she was constantly in motion, taking care of things and people who walked into her world. Usually Minerva had a beer and a cigarette nearby as she moved about (those cigarettes would eventually kill her).
But if you know somebody who was more giving, good for you. She gave and gave of herself and when I was around she treated me as an equal and with love – lots of love. My world wasn’t adrift when she was there.
Minerva had her own tragedy. When her daughter Amy was five years old she developed a brain tumor and it didn’t take long for it to be fatal. Amy was born in 1953 so she would be 62 if she had lived. Amy’s death had a profound effect on Minerva, but life goes on and she had two more children (Elaine and Lee) afterwards in an attempt to fill the void left by Amy.
When Minerva was in hospice care the last three days on this Earth, she said that Amy and Charmaine (a niece that died in 1986 at the age of 25) where with her on the bed. They had come to escort her to the other side.
Losing loved ones is especially tough on those who are left behind. It’s the nature of life on this Earth that we all have to face it at some time. Peggy’s death is being felt and mourned all around the country by her family and friends, and on this day, her birthday, once again I feel the deep sadness that Minerva is no longer here to anchor me to this world.
With each passing year I find it more difficult to remember what Minerva’s voice sounds like. The good thing, I guess, is that as the years roll in I’m getting closer to the end and one day soon I may not just hear her voice again, but be in her presence on the other side.
Happy birthday to you Minerva. I love you. You did well while you were here. May God continue to bless you.
That’s enough for today.
Be well pal.
Be careful out there.
Have a great day.
You are loved.