Mother’s Day was different at our house this year. As most of my readers know, my wife of 43 years, Kathy, passed away just after Mother’s Day two years ago. She complained of a headache on a Wednesday and slipped away just after midnight a week later. The year which followed left my family and me in a fog. I can hardly remember Christmas 2024. We found ourselves simply going through the motions. Our children and grandchildren declined to even talk about her. I guess it was just too painful. I liken it to the experience of having the breath knocked out of you. It’s hard to talk when you can’t get your breath.
Kathy’s childhood best friend, Betty Lou Taylor gave her the nickname “Kat Kat.” Anyone who loved her and knew her well called by that name.
Christmas 2025 was different. I suggested, and the family agreed, we would do Christmas the way Kat Kat did Christmas. So, I ordered matching pajamas for the grandchildren, spent too much money on presents, and on Christmas Day saw to it that presents were opened one-at-a-time the way Kat Kat would have wanted. I also made sure the same, exact amount of money was spent on each grandchild. She would have been proud. And we sat around and told our favorite Kat Kat stories of Christmases past.
Coming out of the fog, this past Mother’s Day was different, too. They say time heals all wounds. As the outlaw Josey Wales would say, “I reckon so.” I’m not sure all wounds are ever completely healed. At least we finally reach a point where we can catch our breath and maybe breathe a little easier.
This Mother’s Day gave me a chance to pause and celebrate the life of our sons’ mother. She was something else! Her father has always described her as “a people person.” And that she was.
I first saw her when I was the lead singer in a rock and roll band called The Second Generation. At the time I was 17. She was 15, a cute skinny little blonde. I asked around, got her phone number, and asked her for a date.
We eventually went “steady,” then broke up as teenagers often do. The second time she wouldn’t take me back, and we went our separate ways. But by then, with wisdom which far exceeded my age I had decided, “This girl has the biggest feeling heart of anyone I have ever met.” That would remain true throughout her lifetime.
She ended up in Oxford, MS at Ole Miss, I at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. Over the next 10 years, I only saw her once or twice. Then, through a fortuitous sequence of events we were re-introduced – she was still a “people person,” she still had “that big feeling heart,” she was a little older, she was a lot wiser. It only made sense that I asked her to marry me. She said, “Let’s do it.” I couldn’t believe it!
I could write a book about her, now. She gave me three big, healthy, baby boys. She would be so proud of them now, and I’m sure she is.
As a professional, she managed doctor’s offices, dentist’s offices, and the office of a chancellor. Her organizational skills were unmatched, her calligraphy style, impeccable.
She was a faithful friend to many, and social status meant nothing to her. I could never quite decide if she was a liberal conservative or a conservative liberal. Her faith was rock solid, and she faced death calmly and without a hint of fear. She was a faithful wife, a dedicated mother and grandmother.
Over the years one of our favorite exchanges, often late at night, went like this:
“You are my favorite in the whole wide world!” I would say.
And she would softly whisper, “You’re my favorite.”
She lived a life worthy of celebration.
Copyright 2026 by Jack McCall
