“Flowers for Lois”
“Therefore, send not to know for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee.” (John Donne)
Welcome! In the last two years since launching my Substack platform, Massé Musings: Notes from a Nomadic Son’s Life, I have published 181 weekly entries, including essays, nonfiction narratives and fiction (short stories and novel excerpts). In 2024 my mission remains: to inform, engage and enlighten my readers.
“Flowers for Lois”
“Therefore, send not to know for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee.” (John Donne)
We recently learned of our former neighbor’s death via Facebook, where it seems we aging boomers gather much of our news, updates and correspondence. Lois Phillips lived to be 95, and she will be remembered for her kindness, sweet disposition, love of gardening and devotion to family and friends. Lois lived next to us in Muncie (Yorktown), Indiana, from 1998 until 2021, when we relocated to North Carolina. During those years, Lois was a gentle reminder of the simple goodness that resides in people, a trait often forgotten in these days where strife, tragedy and heartbreak dominate the headlines. My wife, Mykie, and I enjoyed many front-lawn and front-porch conversations with this upbeat wisp of a woman, who gifted us countless homegrown plantings and treats through the years.
She had a beautiful smile and a lilting voice shaped by her Maryland roots, a job in New Orleans and later years in Florida and Alabama, where she and her late husband, Welborn, raised a family of five children. Her only son, Gary, bought the adjacent house on Bayberry Lane and was her neighbor and ours for many years. Like his mother, he had a generous, considerate nature, a hearty sense of humor and an eagerness to always lend a helping hand. Gary was the one to plow other people’s driveways after a heavy snowfall or till a spring garden or drop off groceries during a pandemic. He was a salt-of-the-earth, steady Eddie, true-blue buddy and genuine mensch. Yes, his description is chock full of clichés, but that’s the kind of guy Gary Phillips was and is, and we owe a debt of gratitude to his mother for her role in his sturdy upbringing.
Old folks like Lois Phillips are often overlooked, dismissed and shunted aside in today’s “forever young” culture. Once tribal elders were revered and consulted for their wisdom and foresight. But now aging is somehow scorned, a plague to be avoided, a statistical outlier. That is unfortunate and short-sighted because it denies people the opportunity to learn about life from those who have lived it. Fortunately, there are loving, devoted younger souls like Lois Phillips’ granddaughter Autumn Lewandowski, who penned a beautiful social media tribute to the family’s revered matriarch.
At 71, I am grateful to be loved by my children and grandchildren, who still find me relevant and somewhat vibrant. Though as time goes by, their concerns about my health and welfare will no doubt predominate. But what I hope endures is the spirit of what I represent, however that is perceived and remembered. Today, I think of my former neighbor, Lois Phillips, and pay homage as is her due, not just because she was a good woman but because she strode ahead on the path we must all travel. As seventeenth-century poet John Donne wrote: “Each man’s death diminishes me, for I am involved in mankind. Therefore, send not to know for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee.”
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© 2024 Mark H. Massé
NOTE: To access more of my fiction and nonfiction, please visit my Authors Guild website: www.markmasse.com & https://www.amazon.com/author/mhmasse