A recent letter from Ken Hughes brought a tear to my eye. His mention of the international mission of the Red Cross made me think of my mother. Though she died in 1973, still nary a day goes by that I don’t think of her and what she taught me by word and deed.
Growing up in Houston, mother was out collecting for UNICEF, the March of Dimes, Easter Seals, and other charitable causes – with us kids right along with her. She was acting out the values she learned as the child of a Methodist lay minister and the education she received at Scarritt College for Christian Workers during the Great Depression.
I sit here surrounded by pictures and memorabilia she left of her time as a Red Cross director, serving at the VA hospital in Jackson, Miss. (where she met a Navy doctor named Pickett). Prior to that station, she was busy setting up and running Red Cross aid stations along the Ledo and Burma Roads in 1944 and 1945.
While in India, she served alongside Muslim and Hindu alike, bringing a little bit of home and comfort to American soldiers who were a long way from their’s. Her mission, that of all great religions, was from the heart.
Mom, I miss you.