We lost our grandmother this week, "Precious" as she was known to us. We're happy for her, but sad for ourselves and our mom. I will never again look at jello with grated carrots without thinking of her. My dad wrote this great obituary that perfectly describes Precious' life. We'll sure miss her.
There is another angelic star in the heavens tonight. There is a void and a sadness with the passing of our mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and friend, Marian Estelle Welch "Precious" Moeck. "Eye hath not seen, nor has ear heard, nor has entered into the mind of man the things the Lord has in store for them that love Him and serve Him." For this reason, we rejoice for Mom. In nearly a century of living, Mom has lived it all. Horses and washboards, lye soap, curing hams, killing chickens and pedal sewing machines and one-room school houses were the norm in her early life. She was born in October 1913, in Mule Creek, NM, to Wiley Hamilton Franklin Welch and Cordia Farmer. She died Monday, July 19, 2010, in Wenatchee, WA. She was 96 years old. Mom was the fifth of ten children. She outlived them all. The reunion on the far side of Jordan is going to be a bit raucous.
She leaves behind three children, Johnny McCoy of Seattle, Connie Estelle Fry of Wenatchee and Randall Vernon Moeck of Johnson City, TN. There are 16 grandchildren and dozens of great-grandchildren. Welcoming her through the veil were her mother and father; sisters, Esther, Berta and Angie; and her brothers, Howard, Truman, Walker, Jimmy, Foy and Robert. Also, her daughter, Maryann Coykendall; and her grandson, Jay Coykendall; along with numerous cousins, nephews, nieces and friends were there in the crowd. Her's is not a small family.
Mom never met a stranger. She always had a smile. You never left her home hungry and you always had food for your journey home. She had more energy at age 70, than most folks half her age. She never canned a "few" of anything. The rattle of canning jars was music to her ears. There was no food that could fit into a canning jar that she didn't can by the gross. Mom must have been related to Johnny Appleseed. She didn't plant the trees, but she sure did pick the trees. If you didn't receive a grocery bag of gleaned apples from Mom, you are one of the few. Thank you, all of you, Wenatchee Valley orchardists. One time in her late 80's, Mom had gleaned a box of apples to give away and was dragging the box up Grant Road to her home. Thank you to the stranger who stopped his pickup, loaded up the apples and an old lady and took her home. And you grocers, thank you, too. Mom never saw a banana that she couldn't dry and then give away. Oh yes, and thank you, all of you Quincy farmers for the potatoes, tomatoes, corn, onions and carrots that you so kindly loaded in the back of Mom's car. Mom was a one woman food bank on a mission. And to all of you law enforcement officers who should have given her a ticket or two, thank you for being so kind and understanding and we hope you enjoyed the apples. Well, she's gone now, but she will not be soon forgotten. The next time you eat an apple with a slight bruise or some small mark, think of "Precious."