How do you describe a person like Betsy? She was heart and laughter and smart and foolhardy and caring and sarcastic and loyal and brave and liberal and my absolute, foremost, no-comparison, larger that life, idol. I remember days of pure joy in Burton, Texas, when Betsy was a teenager and I was a primary schooler, trailing her around the pastures and garden and barn and pond dogging her to let me be a part of all she did. We – along with 17 other grandchildren – made homemade ketchup, canned tomatoes and pickles, ate Blue Bell ice cream, played monopoly, road Button and Bows through the woods, had China Berry fights, washed our hair in rain water, told ghost stories in our grandmother’s rolled out sofa bed – five girls all squished in, chased Pepper, the collie, through the Cedar trees, stickers and thorn bushes, hunted for horned toads, read countless books, took naps in sweltering heat of the afternoon with fans blowing cool air over our bodies, ate persimmons, milked the cow, smelled the wild flowers, jumped in the hay barn, played canasta, sang good old southern hymns to the top of our lungs, peered to the bottom of the water well that smelled of sulfur. Once she was driving from my grandfather’s funeral down a dusty dirt road back to the farm house with probably eight of us crammed into the Pontiac. We were all forlorn over the loss of our beloved Pampa, sniffling, sad, quiet as mice – not our usual jovial selves. Betsy came upon an extremely rickety wooden bridge – so typical for central Texas – actually just four or five rotten boards spread over a couple of cement blocks. The dark stream of water loomed dangerously below. Betsy jammed on the brakes sending us flying. She turned off the engine and said simply: “Let us pray�. Her words broke the stillness and the sadness. Laughter erupted. With her words we knew everything would be okay and we could carry on despite our loss. Mostly us 17 grandkids listened to Betsy – always the ring leader, always the inspiration for our many escapades. To be in Betsy’s presence was simply heaven. She never stopped, her energy was contagious, her smile infectious, her intelligence amazing. She devoted her life to helping others. She was a Kennedy liberal, a southern bell, a Texan through and through despite her Yankee accent, and ivy league scholar - the rebelist in a family of rebels. She was my mentor. She was so much like my mother, Jane, so unique, so absolutely perfect! Oh, if I have only a few of the qualities that Betsy had, I am a good person. I love Betsy. I will always have a piece of her inside me – next to my heart and in my head. She told me when we talked for the very last time that she would always and forever be with me. I know she is now, peering over this and saying – Kathleen that’s all a bunch of hooie!! To Betsy I say: Remember the Alamo, Don’t mess with Texas, and go raise some hell in heaven!
