My grandmother, born in April 1923, was the oldest of 8 - four boys and four girls. She died 12 years ago this month, and on July 1, 2026, her last living sister joined them in heaven. One brother is still living in South Carolina.
Anyway, one of my mom's cousins posted this picture and later the tribute below. I wanted to save both so I thought a blog post would be good. Kip's mom (top left) died in her mid-50s from pancreatic cancer. She - Aunt Bett - was one of the sweetest, most fun great-aunts though she died when I was in my teens. My mom speaks of her with such fondness. The other sisters - my grandmother (top right), Aunt Bob (bottom left) and Aunt Edith (bottom right) lived to be over 90 years old.
Posted on Facebook by Kip on July 5, 2026
TRIBUTE TO MY AUNT BOB
My family lived away from Greenville during our formative years and tweens since Daddy was in the Marine Corps. Coming home to see our sweet cuddly, Momzi greeting us with open arms from the porch of Gaymont Farms or Miz Pinson's little stone rental house up Paris Mountain was pure heaven. Momzi was a vision, waving with both hands, small in stature but a giant of affection, standing above her thoughtfully attended flower bed that had a curious collection of pepper plants. Before we could get to the front door, the fragrance of tea boiling, sometimes fried chicken, and the tobacco and burnt matches from Papa's smokes were all comforting as a real welcome package. Chatter, hugs, laughter winded up at the big round table with big legs. Pimento cheese sandwiches were a staple, that countrified hors d'oeuvre splayed against the red and white checked tablecloth. I always seized the metal "highchair" with no arms, a rite and right of the littlest one in house at the time.
Over the next few days, the kinfolk started showing up. Every so often, the sound of wheels against the long dirt driveway would get us moving to the door or the swing out windows with hand cranks that fascinated me. "YON COMES...!!", Momzi or Mama would exclaim with such exuberance that we kids felt like the heroes of all time were descending in our midst. And...they were. The younger uncles and aunts usually were close by, Ronnie and Mary Dan, Sam and Ann, and Dick and Jean. Later, we would see Jack the oldest boy, born between the four sisters, and Aunt Myrtle. Elegant Aunt Edith and easy going Uncle Arthur were always on time. I have memories of them bringing in Kentucky Fried Chicken from the Cedar Lane location with little balloons that one attached to a piece of cardboard shaped like a chicken foot. This was when KFC was the best and as a kid, I thought Aunt Edith was rich, KFC on demand, and especially since she shopped at the A&P. Daddy said that place was too expensive for our family groceries.
The Truaxes, Aunt Mary, Uncle Dan, and their four children were in Africa during the 50's and early to mid 60's. They moved back to Greenville SC a few years before we did. They were exotic. Except for Artie, they were all dark haired, dark eyed. Jolly Uncle Dan was a special character of mirth and goodness. His strong accent, I had decided, was a fusion of British, English, and Chinese from his years in Africa and his upbringing in China as the child of missionaries. The kids had a pronounced accent too. Sharon, the only daughter was, and still is, a beauty, inside and out. We would get to know them after we moved to SC permanently and make our connection and affection for each other also.
Then there were the Turners, Aunt Bob and Uncle Russell and their six kids. Mama and all of her sisters were alike in many ways. Bob and Bett were more like twins, three years apart and eventually 11 kids between them. Singing a duet of "Knothole" or just interacting was mesmerizing. The older cousins of both families were near in age so our bond was more like siblings than cousins. All of our cousins would find that to be true throughout the subsequent years of our upbringing. Uncle Jack's kids were in our age group, Donna being the eldest of the 27 cousins. and more like a big sister to all of us. She still is.
When Daddy had orders to go overseas in 1967, he moved us to SC to be near this huge family. The Truaxes were home for good and the Powells joined their church and went to school with them. Occasionally the whole family would visit together at the church of one of the branches. Tabernacle Baptist Greenville, Faith Baptist Simpsonville, Victory Chapel Baptist Conestee and soon Truth Missionary Baptist Woodside where Uncle Sammy had just started a pastorate. Coffee, Pepsi, and food followed each service at the home of various hostesses, all equally grand and accommodating. I just bought a percolator because of my memory of Aunt Ann's perfect coffee that filled the house with the best aroma. That was the first thing one noticed when walking into her kitchen,. Oh the noise and revelry. Sometimes the little ruffians would duke it out. The parents always blamed their own children instead of somebody else's as a mechanism for peace. I guess it worked but there would always be a lot of, "But Mama, I didn't do anything..." This was shut down quickly, little fires put out, detente at its best, wielded by the power and wisdom of a Kay woman.
In the summer of 1968 Aunt Bob and Uncle Russell were accepted as missionaries by the Baptist International Missions Board (BIMI). Daddy came home that fall, and it seemed that the whole family was finally in one place. The Turners announced that they would be leaving for the mission field soon after. In February 1969, they left Greenville for Cayman Brac Island and the West Indies. It might as well have been Timbuktu. In that past year and a half, the Turners and Powells were as one. Shayne and Rusty, Erik and Edie (now Edi), Kip and Kim. Chlo Ann was the conscience of the group and moved with stealth and humility among us. Phillip and Mary Rose were a good deal younger. They were novelties to us, very cute and whom we cajoled but they couldn't run with us big dogs. That family's exit from this idyllic and short lived time was the first of many goodbyes and separations in our family, other than those that my immediate family had already experienced as a military family. I savored letters from these cousins who were faithful to write. I felt abandoned by the prospect that I would never see them again. In truth, we never really saw each other for long periods again, but the bond surely has been unbreakable, undeniable, and uncanny. Still to this day, in our 60's and 70's we correspond and it seems as if we are still on Piggy Rd Mauldin at the Turner farm, at the Little Raskals Clubhouse, or pulling an all nighter with the whole extended family around the permanent BBQ pit. The last time we all were together was the Turner's final BBQ. The cousins were up in the house listening to Edi playing the guitar and accordion, self taught. The window was open and we heard the whole family singing down at the pit, with Daddy playing. We promptly joined this throng of strong people with somewhat heavy hearts. I don't remember the songs that were sung, but I know that we always had Sharon Truax sing the verses of "I Don't Know About Tomorrow", as we all joined on the chorus. Different "groups" would sing. It's sweet that I remember that reunion but not the sadness of the parting. I recall times when we would be away from the adults at a family dinner and the aunts and uncles would call for a command performance by the Turners, Truaxes, Powells, et al. Often we would throw each other under the bus..." Get them to sing. I have a sore throat". Oh to have that opportunity now.
This tribute and recollection is history of Aunt Bob's godly parenting, selfless, and consistent. None of our elders were perfect but raised us by example, with humility, long suffering, and without retreat. We cousins have had many discussions about mistakes made by our parents and by us children, the seemingly unfair rules/"standards" that were to satisfy man or institution sometimes impeding the expression of our gifts and exiling us to periods of spiritual and creative stagnation. No one and certainly no family, especially one of this size, escapes the fallout of family dynamics and religion. However, through these seven decades of cousin-ry, the talk has been overwhelmingly about the joy, the laughter, the closeness, our admiration and adoration of our aunts and uncles. We all have failed someone in the family, some more than others, some more often than not. In the end, to be able to find no hypocrisy in an aunt or mama like Aunt Bob, is more than enough. That kind of legacy covers a multitude of life happenings, things we call mistakes or imperfect, with absolution. "Blessed are the pure in heart" immediately comes to my heart and mind. Aunt Bob was that!
It was hard to look at Aunt Bob after Mama died. They were so much alike. It was painful. She acknowledged that one time with her characteristic sweetness, discernment, humility, and love. But I was always so glad of heart. I have recounted the thrill of seeing her extraordinarily angelic, beaming, glowing, dancing, eyes, and joyful smile. She never wavered. She and her sisters had a contemplative beauty that made one wonder, what are they thinking? No doubt, in these last few years, she was "Thinkin "bout home..." Knowing her life, it is a joy and comfort to believe without a doubt that as she laid her head down Tuesday night her thoughts were of Home, her family, her Jesus. To just go to sleep and wake in God's heaven without suffering is the greatest and ultimate blessing. What a way to cross the finish line!!I know first hand, that my Mama prayed constantly. I know this of Aunt Bob too. I spoke to her on the phone a few years ago, and the way she said, "KEEUPP" just brings tears to me now. She reminded me that she prayed for me everyday, as she did for all of us, many photos displayed for her to see and make her prayers personal. Oh who will pray for us now?
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Edited to add these pictures of my mom in the hospital room in Paris, France, in March 1951. See my comment to Myrna below for context.
Same picture ... just one is zoomed in order to see their faces a bit better. :)
