In Memory of Mom

Marilee Ann White Mayhall
a.k.a.
Marilee Michaela Montana
November 13, 1946 - January 28, 1998

Anyone can see the road that they walk on is paved in gold
It's always summer, they'll never get cold
They'll never get hungry, they'll never get old and grey

You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere
They won't make it home, but they really don't care
They wanted the highway, they're happier there today

"The Way," by Fastball

Thanks for stopping by my web page. It's just a little tribute I have put up for my mom, who died in January 1998. It's not much, but I wanted to do something permanent that would help remind me of my mom, as well as give other people a chance to get to know her a little.

*Go straight to the latest update

My mom was born Marilee Ann White in Baton Rouge, La., in 1946. Her parents are Annabelle Elsine Klay White, now living in Lafayette, Calif., and the late Charles F. White, Jr. She has a brother, Dr. Charles F. White, who lives in California with his wife and two sons, my cousins. My mom grew up in Baton Rouge, attended Broadmoor High School, and then attended Louisiana State University, where she received her bachelor's degree in psychology with highest honors.

My parents married just after Mom graduated from LSU, and I was born about two years later. My brother was born almost five years after that. We grew up in Baton Rouge, except for a year when we lived in Washington, D.C. while my dad went to Georgetown University to get his master's degree in tax law.

My parents starting having trouble in their marriage when I was very small, and they separated while we lived in Washington. A couple of years after we moved back to Baton Rouge, they got divorced. At some point in that time, Mom became an alcoholic. She struggled very bravely for many years with her alcoholism, depression and other emotional problems, and tried really hard to overcome them. Unfortunately, she lost her fight. The alcoholism caused cirrhosis, which led to her untimely death from internal bleeding.

The reason why I want to share all this is that, even though my mom had a lot of problems, she was one of the best, most special people I have ever known. She was extremely smart, and had a great sense of humor. She loved to laugh. She had many friends and was incredibly loving and supportive. She was renowned among friends and family as an excellent cook. She was a great mother who was always there for me in good times and in bad. I miss her so much, because I used to be able to call her about any little thing, and she would talk to me about it, and if I needed it, give me advice. She was also my biggest cheerleader and applauded any achievement, no matter how small.

My mom is buried in a beautiful cemetery in Baton Rouge near her grandparents, the Charles White Seniors. She is in the same plot with her father, my Grandad, and her mother will be buried there one day as well. We put Mom's married name on her marker, even though she had changed her name to Marilee Montana when she moved to Austin, Texas, in 1995. She had later somewhat regretted changing her name, and had talked about going back to Marilee White Mayhall. In spite of the problems, my dad's family always really loved my mom, and since Mayhall is my and my brother's last name too, we all felt that is who she really is.

I truly believe my mom is in a better place free from all her pain and struggles. I wish her peace and happiness until we meet again one day.

Updated March 19, 1999

I am very thankful that my brother has asked me to include his beautiful eulogy to my mother here on this page.

This eulogy was delivered by my brother at our mom's funeral service on February 3, 1998.

I wanted to come here today and say something personal about my mother. I wanted to think of something that we would all be able to share about her. At first, I thought I could just tell a few stories about what good times we had had together.

I thought I could reminisce about the time Mom, Dad, my sister, and I had traveled up to Washington, D.C. Dad had rented this huge U-Haul to move all of our furniture, and Mom had followed behind him in our old gray Toyota Corolla. My sister and I had ridden with one or the other of them, trading places at every other rest stop as we traveled cross-country -- we particularly enjoyed thinking up any excuse to use our CBs so that we could call each other by our radio handles and say "10-4" and all that neat stuff just like the real truckers did. I thought perhaps I could tell about the time Mom and Robin and I went to Sandestin, Florida, for a summer vacation at the beach. This certain song had been very popular at the time, and we had all jumped up and started dancing around like fools every time it had come on the radio.

I thought of a hundred more stories to tell, but then I realized that those were only my personal memories, and they wouldn't mean as much to you as they did to me, because each of you have your own very special memories about my mother and what a wonderful woman she was. Of course, her family, the Whites, have memories of her going back to her childhood, watching her grow into a wife and a mother. The Mayhalls also have their own fond memories of her coming to their family get-togethers and sharing other special times with them. And there are her friends from high school, and her friends from college, as well as her friends from DEQ where she worked for several years. Her friends Keith and Albert and Jackie and Gary came into her life after my sister and I had gone away to college, and she found yet another family of friends with whom to enjoy herself and make more wonderful memories. And still, there are her friends in Austin, Mary and Jane and JoAn, all of whom cared about her very much.

And so I continued trying to think of the very best thing about her, the one thing everyone would instantly recognize and always remember about her. My mother had a lot of hard times and bad days, and she shed more than her fair share of tears, but I could never remember her like that, because that wasn't who she was. She was a great and giving person who loved and cared deeply about everyone around her, even complete strangers. Sometimes, she cared more about others than she did even for herself.

My grandmother Marie Mayhall loved my mother almost as much as one of her own children, and I know she is feeling her loss just as deeply as we all are today. I finally realized that it was something Marie used to say about Mom that was exactly what I was trying to find. Marie always talked about how beautiful my mother's laugh was, how when she threw back that bright red hair of hers and laughed, her laughter filled the entire room. And her laughter was so beautiful and so contagious that no matter who you were or where you were in your life, that full and heart-felt laugh could not help but bring laughter from you as well. That laugh was God's gift to her, and she was God's gift to us.

And so I ask you, from the bottom of my heart, please do not remember my Mom with tears or with regrets. Remember her with laughter, and with love, for that is what she would have wanted most. My family and I truly appreciate all of you for sharing this day with us very much, and I know my mother will be with us today as we lay her to rest.

Updated January 28, 1999

I found the following poems and other tidbits among my mom's papers from her office. I thought they were very representative of some of her views about life, or really, in most cases, of what she strived and struggled for in life. She struggled for meaning, understanding, sympathy, compassion and peace.

This first piece could be taken as sounding very bitter, but Mom took it as a joke. It was a little clipping she found somewhere and stuck on her bulletin board at work. She said it summed up her experiences working for state government.

THE FIVE STAGES OF A PROJECT

STAGE 1:
Excitement, euphoria

STAGE 2:
Disenchantment

STAGE 3:
Search for the guilty

STAGE 4:
Punishment of the innocent

STAGE 5:
Distinction for the uninvolved

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

—Max Ehrman, 1927

POEM OF THE ISSUE

Everyone knows that
Austin is a city in space,
its beacons flashing
through the deepest dark.
People are drawn here.
for realignment,
stay till it's time to leave
then step off onto
those roads of light
and continue their journey.

Albert Huffstickler, "The Simple Truth" 6-25-93
Published in the Austin Chronicle, July 9, 1993

Note, added Dec. 22, 2002. I just was informed that Albert Huffstickler died earlier this year. I was sorry to hear it, as I have heard many good things about him as a person, not to mention his poetry. The following is his last poem, written while he was in St. David's Hospital, Austin, Texas, in February 2002:

Tired of being loved,
tired of being left alone,
tired of being loved,
tired of being left alone.
Gonna find myself a new place
where all I feel is at home.

He died the next day. Visit Felicia Mitchell's Facebook tribute page for Mr. Huffstickler.

Updated August 20, 2001

I came across the following so-called "Eskimo legend" in a catalog, and felt like it expressed one of my fondest wishes:

Updated January 29, 2002

Yesterday was the fourth anniversary of Mom's death. I really missed her yesterday, and I wanted to do something as a tribute of some kind for her, so I wrote an email to all my cousins and told them to call their moms. I also listened several times to this beautiful song that a young Navy sailor and aspiring singer/songwriter composed after the September 11 (2001) terrorist attacks on America. The words are lovely, and some of them really touched me in thinking about Mom -- she really believed in angels, and of course she is my special angel. But the music is also stunning. If you have software that can play mp3s, you can download the song right here.

Angels Fly Home

Written by Sandi Anderson, September 11, 2001

Verse

The clouds are hiding the sun today
I guess we won't be going out to play . . . anymore
I guess the little things in life
That bother me, that just aren't right
Don't mean that much today

Chorus

I hope you know just how we're feeling
I hope that you can hear our prayers
Thousands of Angels took flight today
We miss you here

Now you're gone, and you're so far away
Oh and I'm here on my own
I didn't know that you'd be gone today
I guess you're going home
Angels fly home

Verse

If I cried a thousand tears
If I could comfort all your fears
It still wouldn't be enough
Hope you know what we're feeling now
This makes no sense, we try, but how, we can't
We won't just walk away

Angels fly home

Angels fly home

Wall of Memories
(Update: July 2, 2006)

The kind people at the Texas Natural Resource Conservation Commission, the last place Mom worked, sent me photos of the "Wall of Memories" they have in their office building to remember employees who have passed. I'm sorry that one can't see Mom's name in the photo below, but the next time I go to Austin I hope to visit the TNRCC and see the plaque up close.

You Will Be Remembered
(Update: April 29, 2007)

I found a new little poem that I like a lot. I couldn't find a source for it, so if anyone knows the proper attribution, please let me know!

(Update: Nov. 14, 2010)

Yesterday would have been Mom's 64th birthday. I hadn't been out to the cemetery for quite a while, for various reasons ... not feeling well, being a bit nervous about walking over uneven ground ... and just generally being sad. Both Mother's Day and the anniversary of Mom's death are very hard for me to deal with, even 12 years later. Her birthday is too, of course ... but it seems less hard. And I love this time of year, just as she did. We have been having unusually gorgeous weather throughout November, and it was a beautiful day to be outside.

So I went out to Roselawn and had a visit, after a brief stop at the nearby Albertson's where I always go to get her flowers. They have all kinds of neat arrangements at this Albertson's. I waffled over three choices: a half-dozen red roses, an LSU football arrangement in purple and gold, or a fall arrangement. I ended up picking the fall one, which also had a cute little scarecrow doll in it. I know Mom would have liked it.

Roselawn is always very serene and quiet. There were two funerals going on, but neither was close to Mom's area. I could see a young woman lying on the grass near someone else's grave about a hundred or so yards away. The one small problem I have with Roselawn is the lack of benches to sit on. I once interviewed a local musician who, as a hobby, was restoring his family's very very old plot in a historic cemetery here in B.R. He has done a lot of research on cemeteries over the years and was telling me about how in Europe, cemeteries are viewed quite differently. People spend a lot more time there -- workers have their lunch on benches in cemeteries, couples take walks, etc. They aren't seen as sad or morbid, but as beautiful places. I never spend much time at Mom's grave because there is nowhere I can sit, and I can't stand for more than maybe 10 minutes at a time without becoming worried that I won't be able to get back to my car.

I realized that I don't have any photos of Mom's grave. I mean, one doesn't usually take pictures at a funeral! But I had my iPhone with me, so I snapped a couple. You can see her headstone with her parents' names on it as well. My grandmother is still alive. I also photographed the big White family headstone and the two beautiful camellia trees that flank it. You can't see the huge, gorgeous live oak that's just outside the photo frame on the left, except that across the top of the picture, you can just see part of a long, outstretched limb.

In addition to my grandfather and mother, my great-grandparents, the Charles White Seniors, are buried there, and so is a cousin of my mom's who was stillborn. There is plenty of room left for me and for my brother if he chooses to be buried there.

I find that soothing. For one thing, practically speaking, cemetery plots are very expensive. For another, though, I like the idea of being buried in Roselawn and being with several generations of family members. My other grandmother, my father's mother, is also in Roselawn quite nearby, and my Grand-D has a space next to her where he will be one day. I think of that cemetery as being very homelike. Every time I go, I marvel at how many of the last names on the various headstones I know from work and school.

I think one of the few things that comforts me about having moved back to Baton Rouge, and missing Austin so desperately, is that this is the place where my people (as we say in the South) are buried. I take care of my mom's family's headstones when I go to visit, and I can at least reasonably expect that someone will do the same for me one day.