I returned to the Monroe area four years ago, after 40+ years as an academic in southern California. One of the things I'm attempting to do is generally reconstruct what had transpired in my absence. I'm surprised by the number of boyhood friends and classmates who are no longer alive. While checking our their obits, I came upon this one, and I was moved by your ode. My mother died two years ago at age 95. She was proud that I pursued a doctorate and entered academia. My oldest brother is a pharmacist, and my other brother was a teacher. I'm sure all parents see these things as a reflection of their own success. Your parents had much to celebrate with two intelligent and gifted sons. My condolences on the passing of your brother Larry. I have a distant cousin, Sanders Hearne, who is a heart specialist in Shreveport as well. We were even in the same fraternity in college--which is where I met him (LSU). I wish you well. Dixon (Dickie) Hearne dixonhearne.com

My mother, LaVon Barnes Oglesbee, sends her condolences. She has many fond memories of her cousin. LaVon lives in McKinney, Texas with us.

As her son, I regret not speaking at her funeral. Mom had asked me to speak at Dad’s funeral, so I did. I really didn’t realize how humanizing that was until I felt the vacuum of it at Mom’s funeral. Dad had been in a coma for years, allowing plenty of time for anticipatory grief. Not so with Mom. With Mom’s cognitive decline, sentences, and later, words had become more and more rare. But suddenly, an entire relevant sentence would occasionally bubble up. It had become a rare event. I was rarely recognized, but she would be very attentive to iPad pictures of a little baby, not understanding that it was her newest great grandson. But, even that faded over time. At our last visit though, she was looking and then smiled and said the last sentence I was to hear. “Look at those little legs!” Her mothering was still hanging in there. Every time I thought about getting up to the podium and beginning “My mom…“, I felt on the verge of tears. But, I could have gotten past that. The minister seemed to be taking in all the stories, and was understanding what we felt and wanted to say about mom, so I had an out. However, the message drifted. This celebrated life was Ada Elizabeth Dopson’s. It was about her sense of fun, her graciousness, as well as her rigidities. It was about giving of herself to her students, her enjoyment of her life that included children, grandchildren, her sewing, her genealogy, her puzzles, her books and cute little baby legs. It was about her drive to better herself (and the family), pushing past dad‘s fear of another Great Depression. That had impacted both their early years. Of course, spending and generosity can go too far, as we found out later in her life. She gave to every charity that ever came knocking, including some scams. It was about her pushing us about grades, supporting visits to the library, art lessons, dance and piano lessons. It was about taking care of business, keeping promises, working hard when hard work was required. It was about her being a critic of my comic books and those “old Mad magazines”, yet saving every one of them, along with my models and Boy Scout memorabilia, because she knew that I cared about them. Like all of us, she had her blind spots. She was an “average racist” for her day, became frightened during the Civil Rights movement, but over time, a “Driving Miss Daisy” evolution began to take place. As she became more dependent on caregivers, a love and appreciation for the person caring for her replaced concern about any differences between them. She was not too old to learn. The very best moment at the funeral was at the end, just after the pallbearers had put their flowers on the coffin. One of the funeral directors leaned in and put his hand on the coffin and said (I paraphrase),” On behalf of all of us on the staff that you taught in the second grade, we want to say thank you and we loved you. Goodbye.”………now I’m choked up again.

Anne, Your mother was a sweet and elegant lady. I’m sorry for your loss.

Lovely lady that I loved and have many fond memories of especially around Christmas time. So sorry for for her family - she will be missed.

Please accept our deepest condolences for your family's loss.