Dear Miss Brenda

A while ago we received a message from a nursing home employee asking us if we would consider telling the story of Miss Brenda. After several weeks we were finally able to get in touch with her daughter and discuss the possibility. She was happy to oblige, we spent three days visiting and talking to the lovely and amazing Miss Brenda. We are proud to tell her story.

Miss Brenda was born on March, 13, 1930 in Jellico Tennessee. This year she will be celebrating her 91st birthday.

As we approached this lovely lady we realized that we were in the presence of a very classy and sophisticated woman. She sit straight and proud in her chair. Her legs covered with an afghan made by her daughter. It was white, delicate and trimmed in red roses. Her white hair was fixed neatly in a braided bun. On her hand she proudly displayed a worn but polished gold wedding band. All along her windowsill and hanging on the walls were faded photos of a life that she is proud of and thankful to have lived.

I remember being a little girl, we was poor but rich in the same. My mother worked her fingers to the bone trying to care for six children. I remember seeing her so tired that she would rest her head against the wall but she wouldn't quit until every chore was finished.

We only had shoes in the Winter, all year up til' then we ran all around barefoot. Our little feet would be covered in dust, dirt and mud but we didn't think of ourselves as poor. My mother was a midwife and she helped birth many, many babies back then. Her name was Hazel but everyone called her Mollycoddle, even our daddy called her by that name. She was a strong, proud woman and I wanted to be exactly like her in every way.

I met my husband Bill in 1943 while my mother was helping deliver one of his siblings. We sat outside, out of the way under a apple tree. We sparked right off the bat. I was thirteen years old, he was twenty. I promised my mother that I wouldn't get married and leave home until my youngest sister was old enough to take care of herself. Bill and I courted for years up until 1950. I married him on March, 13th, my 20th birthday.

A week later we moved to Sterns Kentucky. Bill started working for the Blue Heron, also known as Mine 18, a part of the Stearns Coal Company. I cried myself to sleep every night for months. I was a young girl, still a child in many ways. I had never been out of Jellico or away from my family. I felt lost and alone, trapped in a coal mining community full of people I didn't know.

Ten months later I gave birth to my son Eugene. He was a perfect, healthy baby.

In 1962 work was getting scarce in the mines so we packed up and moved to Virginia. Bill and I agreed to live with his parents and help take care of them. In return they provided us a warm, loving home. I enjoyed living on a farm in the country. We worked hard and there was days when I rested my head against the wall, just like my mother had done many times.

In 1968 Eugene was seventeen and he was running with a bad crowd of boys. He ended up getting into some trouble with the law. My husband Bill and his father decided that enlisting Eugene in the military was a better alternative than having him land himself in prison. When he turned eighteen he went to Vietnam. The photograph that I am showing you was taken on the last day that I ever seen my son alive again.

After I lost Eugene to the war, I had to find things to keep myself busy, otherwise I would have gone crazy. I began knitting and sewing and I became very good at it. But no matter how hard I worked I just couldn't get my son out of my mind. I found myself making baby clothes and inside of each one I sewed a tag with the name Eugene. It was a way for me to keep him alive.

Every week I went to the hospital and gave the new babies my hand made clothes. Some of the mothers liked them so much that they came back to me and asked me to make more clothes for their children. My hobby turned into a nice little business for many years. I worked right from my home and I never stopped giving clothes away. Any person who needed some clothes for their babies knew to come to me. I would guess that I gave away thousands of little clothes that I had made. I only charged a price if they came back to me and asked for more. If they really needed it, if I knew that they couldn't afford much, I didn't charge them then either. Every baby deserved to be beautifully dressed and every mother deserved to hold a beautifully dressed baby.

A few years ago my daughter was in a Goodwill store and found one of my baby girl dresses that I had made. It still had the Eugene tag inside of it. It was well worn and stained just as it should have been.

For 25 cent she brought me back a piece of my life. I often look at it and wonder how many different babies that it might have served over the years. I smile because I feel like my son Eugene has been a part of many new lives and possibly still is.

In December 1998, just before Christmas, I lost my husband Bill. He was a good man who lived to be a ripe old age. He was a hard worker and took care of me in every way since the day that I met him. Bill had a heart as deep as the ocean and he would help any person that needed him. Bill enjoyed gardening more than anything. He only kept a small amount of his harvest, the rest he gave away. Someone once told him that we'd be rich if we didn't go giving everything that we had away. Bill and I never wanted to be rich, we just wanted to be comfortable, happy and help others.

We had a good marriage and a good life together. I had always hoped that I would go before Bill. I just couldn't bare the thought of losing him, he was all that I had left in this world. I had spent all but twenty years of my life by his side. I didn't think that I could make it in this life without him.

In our weakest moments that's when we are shown just how capable and strong that we can be. We have to keep going on and moving forward. We have to keep helping people and making the most of our time.

Age and time have wilted me down into this little old lady that you see sitting here. My hands don't work as good as they once did. I still try to help others though, I'm not giving up just yet.

Now I make afghans for my friends and neighbors here in the home. I give them away and sometimes I even make them for my wonderful nurses and doctors. Each one has the Eugene tag sewed onto it. People ask me all of the time what the tag means and why I sew it onto each one. I laugh to myself and ask them if they have a few hours to hear the story.

Up until now, only you have sit with me long enough to hear it from end to end. I hope that when you write this story, those who read it will gain some sort of strength from it. Just a little something to help get them by. I hope that it shows people that life comes with pain but we have to keep on living the best that we can. Giving to others is the best medicine in the world. Putting a smile on someone's face will leave a mark on your heart that will keep you going through your darkest times.

If I should leave this world tomorrow, I hope that this is the message that people remember me by.

"Live, never give up on the life that you are blessed to have. Endure the pain as it comes and remember that the sun will shine on your face again. Help others how ever you can, make your life a life worth living."