Eighty-four years ago today, Fannie Virginia Wimmer was born in Pigeon Creek, West Virginia. Almost the youngest daughter in a family of eleven children, she was known as being shy with a meak voice, thus being dubbed, “Peeps.”

Fannie grew up in Pigeon Creek with her large band of siblings, including three sisters to whom she was particularly bonded. It was on Pigeon Creek that she met and married her husband, a man who had only achieved a sixth-grade education. While your eyebrows may be arched at this, it wasn’t uncommon back then. Children often had to miss school to help their families put food on the table and would fall behind. As he once told me, “I was fifteen and still in the sixth-grade. It was time to leave and I could make good money working in the saw mill.”

Fannie and her husband soon welcomed a daughter and a son to their family. Fannie’s third baby, a little boy, was born with an abnormal Rh factor. He could be saved with our modern medicines today but back then, all Fannie could do was hold him while his little life slipped away from her. Instead of weakening her faith, it made her stronger. She was later blessed with another son, this one healthy as a horse!

Her children were aged eleven, seven and two when her husband walked out, leaving the family in a tiny three-room cinder block house with no indoor bathroom. She and her children saw little child support, few visits and even fewer birthday cards.

Going on welfare wasn’t an option and she would never do that, anyway. Even though there were times she worried that they might starve to death, her sisters stepped in to help. They didn’t have much but what they had was priceless - courage, determination, love and faith. Fannie’s strength and faith was once again being tested and once again, she would rise and conquer. She went to work in the cafeteria of the local school and became mother to hundreds instead of only three.

Fannie’s children grew up. Her oldest child has a doctorate degree, the middle child holds a master’s degree and the youngest has proven time and again that you don’t need fancy paper to be successful in life. Fannie, however, chose to get her fancy paper and she became an ordained Church of the Brethren minister. Now she was officially spreading the word of her Lord every Sunday in her little white church on the banks of Pigeon Creek (as well as at many times in between.)

When I first met Fannie, she was with her three sisters, affectionately known as Tham, Angum and Ebb. Being with them, I regretted having been an only child for the first time in my thirty years on earth. While they could and would (and usually did) disagree with one another, they would always be right there to defend and help each other.

I was fortunate to meet the sisters when I did, because a few short months later, Ebb, the fiestiest of the bunch, passed away. We all gathered at Fannie’s little white church to say goodbye and celebrate a remarkable life. Fannie grieved heavily but was comforted by her faith that Ebb had gone to be with God and that they would be reunited again someday.

When my first child was born, Fannie was an invaluable asset. While I often felt overwhelmed and underprepared for motherhood, her support and advice carried us through. When she held my baby son, she still recalled holding her baby son, the one that didn’t make it. Her voice would quiver from time to time but never falter. Just like her faith. Fannie was funny, too. Probably the best advice she gave me was to quit belly-aching and be thankful that I had indoor plumbing and disposable diapers. I needed that perspective.

My best times with Fannie have been these “quiet times” the ones where we are alone and she reflects on life and God.

Five weeks after the birth of my son, Fannie lost another sister, Tham. Once again we gathered in Pigeon Creek to pay tribute to a woman who had contributed so much to her family. It was a cold and blustery day, so, appropriately, my son wore his only hat to the funeral - a Pooh hat complete with little Pooh bear ears sticking out of the top. These little ears served as a source of laughter through our tears and his presence reminded us of the continuous cycle of life.

The death of two sisters, especially so close together, was very traumatic to Fannie. I’ve read studies that link trauma to Alzheimer’s disease and it makes perfect sense. I observed the early traces of this hideous disease as it saw an opportunity to seize Fannie. As it tightened its grip, it became apparent that this fiercely independent woman could no longer live alone. Now it was time for the three children whom she had nurtured to step up and care for her. And they did. Especially her daughter, Dawn.

While I’ve written previously about the special bond between mothers and sons, there is an equally strong yet different bond between mothers and daughters. Maybe it’s inherent in our biology as caretakers, but most often it is the daughters who serve as primary caretakers when roles are reversed. We see to it that our mothers and grandmothers are well accompanied as they enter into what Ronald Reagan best described as the sunset of their lives.

Sadly, it was time to break up housekeeping for Fannie in her little cinder block house, the one that had over time been remodeled and included an indoor bathroom. Her possessions were boxed and the little house later sold. Fannie went to live with Dawn, who, despite still rearing two of her five children while also working a full time job, was exemplary in providing for Fannie’s needs. Dawn made this difficult task look easy because she had the same courage, determination, love and faith of her mother and aunts.

Years later, as her Alzheimer’s progressed, Fannie’s children were faced with the heart-breaking realization that they could no longer provide the safest environment and Fannie went to live in an assisted living facility. By this time, Fannie often did not recognize us when we visited but if she was asked about her life, she would tell you that she still lived and preached back in Pigeon Creek. It was like God took the happiest slice of Fannie’s life and put her there, permanently.

Alzheimer’s disease, while cruel, is also stupid. While it delighted in its success at apparently stealing Fannie’s memories, it didn’t know that tons of her memories were stored safely in my garage. This is where I would now go for my cherished “quiet times” with her. Fannie’s three children blessed her with ten grandchildren. There were photos and newspaper clippings of Marcia dancing, football pictures of John, cheerleading pictures of Laura, certificates of various achievements earned by Chris, Juli’s hair ribbons, plays written and performed by Emily and Alex, as well as word puzzles she had worked with Cody.

Among the Christmas and Birthday and Mother’s Day and “Just because” cards, were Fannie’s sermons, old bank statements, canceled checks and her many little notepads. These little notepads could be textbooks for even the tightest of money managers. She budgeted every penny she earned each month so that her bills were paid, her church was tithed, presents were bought and there was always just a little bit left to set aside for a rainy day. Often, mingled in with her figures, was a Bible verse or two that had come to mind. I even found them scribbled on her old shopping lists. These archives bear witness to how she managed to do so much with so very little.

Yesterday, we all gathered in Fannie’s little church on the banks of Pigeon Creek to say goodbye to her. I pitied the young minister who had taken Fannie’s place at the pulpit, thinking he couldn’t possibly give a fitting eulogy for such an incredible woman. He fooled me and he did it with two words: God and Family. These two simple words defined Fannie’s entire life. Her faith in God and love of family enabled her to overcome the many obstacles and hardships she encountered.

There’s only one of the sisters left now, Angum. I’ve decided that Angum must be latin for angel that lives among us because if we truly do have angels living among us, she’s one (possibly the leader angel). Angum turned ninety-one years old on the same day that Fannie passed and was too frail to attend the funeral. Her daughter (yes, yet another strong woman in this family) told me that several years ago she asked her mother, “Mom, when you get older and your friends and family start passing away, do you want me to tell you?” Angum’s response was, “No, it would make me sad and besides, I’ll see them soon enough when I get to Heaven . . . the ones that make it to Heaven!”

It’s hard to say goodbye. Especially when what you really feel like saying is, “Way to go! What a great life you had!” I did feel like cheering when I realized at her funeral yesterday that Fannie hadn’t died, her body had just given out. Her courage, determination, love and faith is still here with us. Now I’ll see it every time the Bug wins another blue ribbon.