Aunt Phyllis was my mother’s younger sister, being born in 1944, and nine years after my mom (Louise). My aunt and uncle lived with grandma and grandpa Walser (her dad & mom) for a short time after Aunt Phyllis and Uncle Terry Yokeley were first married in 1959 or 1960. They later built a brick house with a full basement beside my mom and dad’s. All of us were next-door neighbors and remained a close-knit family. During my childhood years there was so much foot traffic between the three houses that a dirt path led from Terry and Phyllis’s house, through our back yard, and ending at grandpa and grandma Walser’s back steps. I’m sure that my cousin Keith and I riding bikes contributed to part of the wear and tear of the path as well.
The earliest memories of Aunt Phyllis were that of watching her iron clothes while watching soap operas on TV. When weather permitted she hung her clothes out on the line to dry and on overcast days Phyllis had clothes lines in their basement. Keith and I often used part of the basement as a race track for our tricycles and peddle cars. The track was closed on those “wash days”. Aunt Phyllis had the coolest device in her basement. In a closet upstairs there was a laundry shoot which emptied into the basement. As a child, I had never seen such a cool way to transport dirty laundry. Yes, I know it didn’t take much to amuse me back then (or now). The shoot was off-limits to us kids for obvious reasons, but I’m sure we used it a few times for some transports of our own. That’s all I’ve got to say about that.
Living next to a working farm, Keith and I helped with field work but looked forward to our play time during the summer months. We alternated play between his house and mine, thus his mom played a big part in it. Our mothers were the schedulers for our adventures from day to day. As we got older we rode bikes, built houses out of cardboard boxes, flew kites, and whatever else we could get away with. Keith and I behaved more like brothers than cousins most of the time. We always tried to play well but occasionally Aunt Phyllis or my mom would have to separate us. Time limits were sometimes placed on our activities or a phone call (or yell) summonsed one of us back to their respective house. Of course, it was not always popular with Keith and me to end our vital fun. One such instant stands out in my mind to this day.
One summer day Keith and I were in a serious playing mode in my back yard with no intentions on stopping anytime soon. Aunt Phyllis on the other hand, had different plans. She walked to where we were playing and announced that it was time for Keith to come home. They proceeded to walk away via the path that leads from my house to theirs. At that time there was a freshly plowed field that separated our houses. The more distance that Aunt Phyllis and Keith covered the more my anger mounted. I reached a boiling point and out of sheer defiance I picked up a dirt clod. I threw the clod toward Phyllis before any rational thought process took place on my behalf. With the accuracy of a major league baseball player the clod hit Phyllis in the back of the head. Luckily for me the speed of the clod wasn’t as consistent as the aim. The projectile only hit hard enough to make her extremely angry without inflicting serious injury. Aunt Phyllis shouted out “I’m telling you mom!” Keith was taken to his home but I knew that Aunt Phyllis would return with wrath. Now rational thought sets in to my brain! My only hope was to get to my mom before Aunt Phyllis did. I ran inside my house and “spilled my guts” to mom. I explained the whole ordeal as fast as possible. I pleaded, begged and groveled. “I didn’t mean to hit her!” I cried. In God’s infinite mercy (and a tête-à-tête of siblings/mothers) I was spared casualty. I had to make a formal apology to my Aunt and in return received a suspended sentence followed by a probation period. Never under estimate the power of negotiation or just out right begging.
My aunt was a hard working and went after any task with a vengeance. My uncle Terry was employed at a local meat packing company as a meat cutter. At that time Aunt Phyllis was working at the same company as a meat packer. My uncle later moved up the ranks until he became a meat inspector for the state of North Carolina. This allowed my aunt the freedom of becoming a “stay-at-home mom”. My aunt and uncle also became quite good at collecting and selling antiques. Years later Keith became an auctioneer and Lisa his younger sister became a paralegal for our local D.A. and received her real estate license. In the process of time my uncle retired from his job and started devoting most of his time to antique sales and buying out people’s personal property. The entire family started working together as a unit in business. Keith would auction personal property, Lisa sold houses, Phyllis and my mom would sell homemade concessions at the auctions, and Terry would help with auctions and buy/sell antiques.
Due to the death of my grandma Verna Zell and age, my grandpa Cleve slowly moved away from larger farming projects. Grandpa down-sized his farm to a small garden spot and some thorn-less blackberry vines. The whole family still pitched in from time to time if needed but our family was growing and starting to become more separated.
The 1990s found most of us doing our own thing. My mom and dad were retired, I was in my second marriage, Keith was in his third marriage, Lisa was married and doing well, and Terry and Phyllis were still dealing in antiques, etc. During the course of time Keith, Lisa and I procured seven children/step-children in our individual families, plus pursuing our own careers. I also married my third wife (until death do us part). Who knew how much one unforeseen upcoming event could have such an effect on the closeness of a family?
In 1995 Phyllis was diagnosed with cancer. Needless to say, it sent a shock through the family. Cancer had established itself as an enemy in our family through Grandma Verna Zell and was not a welcome visitor. Aunt Phyllis immediately started whatever treatment necessary to keep the cancer at bay. My aunt was tough and a fighter. I knew she wouldn’t go down without a fight, and fight she did. Through the years she continued to have good days and bad days nevertheless she hung in there.
Academically Aunt Phyllis was a straight ‘A’ student in school and was gifted in many ways. She played piano for Good Hope Methodist Church for years and was an active member of the church. My aunt could also cook some mean desserts. She was most famous for her homemade oatmeal cookies. She sold the cookies at Keith’s auction sales and at a local farmer’s market. It was seldom that she ever brought any cookies back home and people would constantly ask her, “Hey, have you got any of those oatmeal cookies left?”
Crafts were another of Aunt Phyllis’ strong points. Her handmade teddy bears, dolls, baskets, dried flower arrangements, and wreaths were always in demand. The main problem Aunt Phyllis had was keeping up with people’s requests for her creations. She could only do so much in a day.
My aunt and uncle were known for their goods throughout a large area. They sold their merchandise at a large gathering once a year at Hillsville, Virginia and often set up a booth to sell antique furniture at the Metro Carolina Fairground at Charlotte, North Carolina. On top of all of there business they still managed to maintain a large greenhouse that was located behind their house. Their greenhouse abounded in many types of plants. They grew sweet and hot peppers, tomatoes, various flowers, hanging basket plants, ferns, and many types of vegetables. I have never seen people with such an unpredictable and spontaneous schedule as my aunt and uncle did at that point in time.
When my aunt’s sickness would raise its ugly head it forced her to slow down. As I said before, she had good times and bad times. In those bad times she would slow her pace long enough to recoup strength but she would not stop. She lived through periods of chills, fever, hair-loss, pain, weakness, and shingles for eleven years but I never once heard her complain or give the impression of feeling sorry for herself. She began to weaken in the last stages of her sickness and I began to see a strong determined mind trapped in a failing body. I can’t imagine the frustration and pain that Aunt Phyllis had already been through by the death of her mother and the recent death of her father-both an indirect result of cancer.
My uncle did everything physically possible to make her life comfortable. Traveling to and from the hospital for treatments and medications became common place. As the hospital bills soared there were insurances to file and prescriptions to be filled, plus the everyday responsibilities of keeping up with their home and business.
My aunt was a fighter but even the best warrior grows tired. In March 2006 at the age of sixty two Aunt Phyllis’ fight ended. Her faith in God as a Christian allowed her to exchange her frail body for a glorious one with no more pain or suffering. Yes, we miss her but she wouldn’t want us wasting our time feeling sad for her absence from us in the physical. I’m certain she remembers all of the good times and would want us to do the same.
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