TERRY MOSHER
RAY AND PEGGY MOSHER
It was a long and eventful trip back to my old stomping grounds, made necessary when my oldest brother Ray suffered a double tragedy in the period of 15 days and I felt a need to be there with him so he would have somebody to talk to if needed.
So I tripped back to the Southern Tier of New York State to his home in Richburg, which is about 12 miles from Portville where I spent the first 14 years of my life. It was a long 15-day journey that included stops to be with my next oldest brother Ron in Warsaw, N.Y.
It’s beautiful back in that neck of the woods, except maybe for the weird and scary-looking wind turbines that generate electric power and dominate the landscape in Wyoming County (Warsaw is the capital of the county). Those wind turbines are 160-foot tall with huge propellers twirling around in the wind, and for some reason they scare me. They also suck in birds and kill them, which makes it doubly scary for me.
But the reason for me being back there had nothing to do with those Wind Turbines (there are currently 237 of them). I went back when one of Ray’s 14 children, 48-year-old Chrissie, an angel of a person, succumbed to cancer on June 19 after a nine-year battle with the dreaded disease. Fifteen days later on July 4 his wife of nearly 61 years, Peggy, died from the effects of COPD.
Ray spent $35,000 to bury his loved ones, but no amount of money can bury the amount of emotional distress he is going through. He and Peggy had known each other for 68 years and they were 48 days short of their 61st wedding anniversary when she died and Ray is distraught because he doesn’t know how he can carry on without her.
He has the support of his remaining children, but they all have their own lives and some live in Oklahoma, Tennessee, Illinois, Ohio and Georgia and Arkansas and the distance is just too great to be available when needed.
And in addition to the emotional cost he is enduring there is the aortic aneurysm that he has that suggest an open-heart surgery to repair. He is reluctant to have it done because he’s afraid the necessary 6-month recovery would lead to him being confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Ray, who will be 85 on Oct. 2, has neuropathy in his feet and says unless he can move about he will lose the ability to walk.
Peggy and Chrissie were extraordinary human beings. Both were very positive individuals with the capability to make you feel better about yourself. They were both very giving. There was nothing they wouldn’t do for you, and do it without asking for a reward.
Chrissie had a mantra that the family has sort of adopted – it doesn’t matter. When asked if she had pain, Chrissie would reply, “It doesn’t matter.” In this troubled time, Ray will often say about things, including his future and his life, “It doesn’t matter.”
It’s all sad what has happened to him. A few of us sat around one evening at the country club in Bolivar (one mile from Richburg) and I listened as they told funny stories about Chrissie’s last days. She was always pretty shy and quite, but as her life began to drift away from her she found her voice and said things that they would never expect her to say, and she said them with a lot of humor involved.
During her last month’s her siblings would take their vacations and drive in or fly in take turns staying with her at the Portville Manor where she had an apartment. One time two of them showed up and one of them – John – asked what he should do. Chrissie quickly said, “Hit the bricks.”
That comment drew a big laugh around the country club table, except for Ray who couldn’t contain himself and started to choke up with tears.
I don’t know what is going to happen with Ray. I’m praying he will find a path to continue on with life, but I understand how devastating it is to not have the love of your life by your side anymore. In Peggy’s last year’s he did everything in the morning to get her ready for the day and then again in the evening he did everything for her to get her ready for bed. Those are the toughest times of the day now, because he doesn’t have that to fill his time.
Ray also has an eight-bedroom home to keep up and it’s overwhelming for him. He sees things every day that needs to be done and often just sighs and says, “It doesn’t matter.”
I did not expect to go back to what I call paradise anymore. I had last been there in 2006 and I thought that would be it for me. I have said the same thing about this trip. This is it for me. This is the last time I will see my three brothers (brother David drove up from Maryland to be with us) and that makes me sad. It’s tough to leave behind those that you love. But life must go on. I have a family and a life here in his country and there is a need for me to be here.
My childhood was idyllic back in paradise (Portville) and I have asked my wife, Mary, to take half of my ashes when I die and sprinkle them around on the dike in back of the house where I grew up. That’s where I spent a good deal of time, mostly hitting stones with a stick into the Allegheny River. Those times will forever be branded into my heart. I can still feel the calm and quietness of those days, swinging a stick at a stone and watching it fly over the river and into the trees on the other side.
The reality, though, is that on this trip things had dramatically changed back there and I was not as emotionally attached as I once was. It’s been over 60 years since those days and all those friends I knew then are long gone. And the trees I used to hit into are also long gone.
Time, I guess, is cruel. It can rob you of what you knew. I didn’t find one person from my past back there that I knew. They are all gone. Maybe I have outlived my usefulness. Maybe it’s time for me to be gone, too.
If so, it’s been a good journey. We were sitting around Ray’s sun porch one night when he wanted to make a big announcement to the rest of us – David, Me and nephew Matt. So we gathered to listen.
He started by saying that he found it remarkable – maybe even extraordinary – that four brothers (Me, David, Ron and himself) that came from a small town (Portville, about 1500 people now) in New York State could see and accomplish so much.
We all came, he said, from humble beginnings. Simple people, really. But we all moved on to greater things. David got his degree from Western Washington (he also attended Syracuse) and became the radar man in the two-seat Phantom 4 fighter jet that flew off of an aircraft carrier – The USS Enterprise – that traveled all over the world showing the American flag in the 1960s.
David then became a senior engineer with Martin-Grumman in Baltimore. There he was involved in the design and trials of secret government-military radar systems that have served to protect this great nation from our enemies.
Before he joined the civilian work force, David was asked to become a test pilot for the U.S’s latest fighter jet. He declined it and then went to work for Martin-Grumman.
In his work, David got to meet most of the top civilian and military men and women involved in that secret work.
Ray became an engineer for Dresser-Rand and traveled all over the world on job assignments. He used to take the company limo from the Buffalo Airport to home in Richburg (population about 450) and stop at Frank’s small hole-in-the wall beer garden and have a beer while his limo driver waited outside for him. He thought that was amusing. It was certainly different.
Ron became a well-known football coach in the Southern Tier of New York State. He also coached basketball and became a world-class horseshoe pitcher. He also continues to be a pretty good golfer, shooting in the 80s, which is not bad for somebody who is 81. He is also well-known for being a qualify person, who has helped many in his life.
As for me, I think Ray gives me too much credit. He always calls me a Big Cigar. But I resist. I don’t think I’m even a small cigar. Maybe not even a cigar.
My credentials are solid but not spectacular. I have always downplayed my contributions and my professional life. I am what I am, and that is good enough for me. I wouldn’t want to be a big cigar. I just want to do the best I can today and tomorrow do a little better.
Ray, though, had a point. We four brothers have done fairly well. And it’s something we can be proud of. I just wish we could turn back the clock and all be healthy and all have our wives and all our children and grandkids (Mary and I lost one) still with us.
But it is what it is.
It’s life.
And it’s death.
That’s about it from here.
Be well pal.
Be careful out there.
Have a great day.
You are loved.
