Okay, So. The following is a story of my Great Grandma Lilly Willis (written in her point of view) titled "A Mother's Sacrifice". I wrote the story for a seminary project. It was a writing contest given out by the Sons of Utah Pioneers. Anyway, I wrote the story and then just recently I had, as you know, the opportunity to go down to Mesa with some of my family. Well, my Great Uncle Paul -one of the stars of the bellow story- lives down there with his wife and a few of his children. Paul is now, if I'm not mistaken, ninety-three years old. (He looks very well for a man of his age!) The visit was wonderful! I'm so glad I got to meet him. Well, here is the story. Keep in mind that it is "a story" so the fact that it's long shouldn't be too surprising.
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My mother, Lily Darnall Vance, became a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints during her sixteenth year in 1889, along with her parents and sisters. One of the things she loved most about the Church was the teachings that a family can be together forever and that they are the most important thing in the world. My mother loved her family and she wished to have one of her own someday.
Mother was a brilliant woman. Though gentle and unassuming in manner, she had a strength of character that made her firm and self-reliant in her convictions. Generous and full of charity, she lived above the petty envying and jealousies of the day and was quick to recognize the good in others, and slow to condemn the individual. Sweet words of praise and appreciation for the praiseworthy efforts of others fell readily from her lips. These wonderful qualities brought her many friends.
Elder James Wesley Vance served in Dawson Springs, Kentucky where he met the Darnall Family. While father was in the mission field the friendship for Lily budded and later blossomed into full bloom. Later mother and her family moved to Ogden, Utah and father sought her out. They married in the Logan Temple on February 22, 1893, after which they moved to Alpine, Utah.
Mother had a very affectionate nature, but Father was more reserved in this respect. She showed her affection to him in our presence many a time, for our benefit also. I can just see her standing at the west window watching father with his chores and hear her say, “What a good man. I do love him so much.”
Even though father was in the Bishopric all their married life, I never heard her complain because of him being gone so much.
Mother always said she wanted a large family. (She took a course in studying the branch of medicine that deals with the care of women during pregnancy and childbirth. After graduating from school she practiced nursing for two years.) She had fifteen miscarriages and two different times she hemorrhaged so much that the doctors gave her up for dead. She had gone off and her eyes were set, but through the power of the priesthood she recovered from these ordeals. She gave birth to six beautiful children. There was nothing she loved more than her family.
James Darnall was the first child, who was followed by John Wesley. Then there was me, Lilly. Orwell Nicholas was next, then Marva, and then Van Alma. The boys outnumbered the girls by two, but that didn’t matter, Marva and I, though six years apart, were the closest of friends.
When I was nearly eighteen years old, mother became pregnant again. She went to her doctor and he gave her no encouragement whatsoever and refused to take her case. Father wasn’t too happy about this. Going through a number of doctors until we found the right one was tiring, not to mention expensive. Mother’s new doctor was a young physician by the name of Worlton. He said he thought he could help her through the pregnancy if she would just do as he told her.
Dr. Worlton was a good doctor. He always treated mother well. Everyone like him. Even father liked him, that is, until he got the news…
During the second month of mother’s pregnancy, Dr. Worlton discovered something that dampened all our spirits. Mother had cancer of the breast.
She was immediately put to bed and the doctor gave her a choice. If she was operated on, she would lose the baby but live, and if she was not, she would most certainly die. And yet, without hesitation, she told the doctor that she would not consider an operation until after the baby was born.
Mother was brought home and put upstairs in the south room so as to avoid some of the commotion of our family living. She stayed there for seven whole months, hardly lifting her head from the pillow.
I remember sitting in the parlor watching father carry bowl after bowl of dried fruits up to mother’s room. For the most part, dried fruits had become mother’s diet now. I felt sorry for her in this way, not able to eat our usual meals. Mother was a wonderful cook and made the most delicious banana cream pies and mouth-watering cakes. She possessed the Southern hospitality and had more than her share of company, especially during the summer. It seemed as though all of us had a vacation but mother. No matter how hard, she always deemed it an honor and privilege to feed the general authorities when they came to Alpine.
The last and only time they held quarterly conference at Alpine, mother fed over thirty people. The ward members were suppose to take three of four people for dinner and all that were not invited came over to the Bishop’s house. We’re not exactly sure what happened concerning the ward members, but none of them seemed to have invited any of the general authorities and so our house filled like smoke in a fireplace.
With all these starving men, mother’s food vanished in an instant. Soon all the children were running around trying to gather whatever we had left.
When mother sent me out the back of the house to get more potatoes, I found one of the Sisters crying. When I ran to tell mother, she went out see what the matter was and asked, “Sister Webb, what’s wrong?”
Sister Webb answered, “Oh, Sister Vance! What in the world are you going to do? The house is full and they’re still coming!”
It was true enough. As I looked out over the road, I saw a row of horses marching up the dusty trail, each with a cart of people dragging behind them. At this rate there wouldn’t be food left for even the chickens.
Mother, however, didn’t take the same viewpoint as Sister Webb and myself. She simply rolled up her sleeves and reassured the sobbing woman that all would be well fed.
True to her word, by the end of the meal every mouth had been fed and every belly had been filled. I never knew how we managed it, but miraculously, we did. It reminded me of that Bible story with the five fish and two loaves of bread for the multitude.
I made it a point to visit mother often, trying to fit all the time I could to be with her before she left us for good. One day I came upstairs with a letter in my hand from my oldest brother Darnall, who was currently serving a mission. I sat at mother’s bedside and read her the letter. Darnall wrote about his mission and about how he missed the family.
Mother hadn’t told Darnall of her condition and she forbade us from ever mentioning it to him. Mother didn’t want anything distracting Darnall from completing his mission. He knew she was expecting and that was it.
In his letter, Darnall asked us all a favor. He had been studying about the apostle Paul and thought he was such a wonderful character. Darnall deemed him a man of great wisdom, faith, and strength. He asked that the baby be named after this apostle. The family was more than happy to make this name a part of our family in giving it to the baby. Mother said that a better name could not be found.
The unborn baby became part of our lives the moment we heard of his existence. After mother decided to have the baby and to put a hold on the surgery, she received message from three Sisters in our Church. The women asked, upon realizing mother’s failing health, if they could keep and raise the child as their own. Mother knew these women personally and had no doubt that they would raise our Paul well.
We all knew that mother never wanted to give Paul away. We knew that she could have made up our minds right then and there, but she felt as if she needed to ask us first. Oh how happy she was when we chorused that we couldn’t think of letter our baby go.
Mother’s face was pure bliss and her eyes sparkled with indescribable joy. “Now,” she said, “I can go in peace.”
A few days before mother went into labor I stole away an other visit with her. I walked up to the south room and pushed open the door. Mother was resting in the bed, her curly brown hair glistening in the afternoon sun. Mother was tall and slender. She carried herself proud and erect. Even in bed she had a certain look of virtue about her.
I stood there quietly watching her sleep. I don’t know how long it was before I noticed the surge of heat locked in the room and went to open the window. A cool June breeze slithered in and I noticed father’s horse walk up under mother’s window. She was an old chestnut mare, bulging with a baby of her own.
“What is it Lilly?”
I turned to find mother watching me, a weak smile on her lips.
“The old mare,” I answered quietly. “Father expects she’ll have her baby any day now. Like you,” I added stiffly.
Mother’s smile grew. “Misery loves company.”
Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to smile. My mouth was dry and my eyes started to water. I just stood there watching mother carefully as if afraid she would slip away at any second.
Mother lifted her hand and beckoned me come over. I walked to her side and dropped to my knees. “Oh mother,” I said, trying hard not to cry. “Why must you go like this? Why must you leave us?”
Mother’s gentle face took on a somber expression that made me feel somewhat imperative. “Lilly, you must be strong. The Lord knows what is best. If I go, it is my time to go. You must be strong. Father will need all the help he can get in raising Paul.” Mother touched my hand as she shed a tear. “I could not bear losing another child.”
One of the hardest trials mother had to endure was when our brother John Wesley was drowned. It happened nearly ten years ago, just after Christmas. John, who was eleven at the time, and Darnall, who was thirteen, had gone skating with some friends on a pond half a mile from home. They were having the best of fun until a place in the ice broke just large enough for little Johnny to slip through.
Mother somehow got the word that a child had been drowned, but it wasn’t until she reached the pond that she knew it was our Johnny. Dad had to be called from the tithing office as he was down there setting tithing.
To relate the agony of that awful scene is unnecessary, for each of us, her children, can visualize those hours of tremendous grief.
It was on June 17, 1915 when that precious bit of heaven, Paul Worlton, made his appearance. Mother had a very difficult time because he was an instrument baby. The nurse, Sister Hall, called him the “Pearl of Great Price Baby.” It was six weeks after the baby was born when mother was operated on. She seemed to know from the very first that it would not prove successful enough to save her life. But nonetheless, she wanted as much time as possible to give her child a good start.
She was brave indeed during the whole ordeal and planned as much as she could for her baby and family. Many times she would have Dad call us around her bedside so that she could talk to us and give us counsel that would guide us after she was gone.
Though she was weak, mother took full charge of the baby until it finally became impossible for her to do so. Oh, how she suffered! She was totally bedfast the last month and a half before her passing. It seemed to me that mother fought for all the time she could to be with her family, but someone else seemed to be fighting for her also. “The Lord knows what is best,” mother had said. “If I go, it is my time to go.”
On April 29, 1916, the Lord called mother forth to the gates of heaven, opening wide the doors of adoration. Mother had a sure place in heaven, a mansion above glory, and an eternal family. There is no doubt in my mind that this is so.
Mother’s departure was hard on the family, but somehow we made it through. She was gone, but she was not gone. Her loving spirit swam through the walls of our home continually, reminding us of her great sacrifice.
I was eighteen years old, the oldest girl in the family, and had on my shoulders the responsibility of the entire family. I assumed the role of Mother and raised my brother Paul. It was difficult giving up my childhood so early in life, my adulthood too for that matter. I could no longer do the things I did before. Hard as it was, I was happy to do it.
There was an immediate change in the family after Mother passed away. Father and all five of the children, developed a very strong bond between us and Paul. Paul reserved inside him a part of mother we never forgot. Seeing Paul was like seeing her again. We knew that we would see her again. We were sealed together for time and all eternity. We would see her again, nothing could stop that.
Not long after mother’s death I found myself sitting alone in what was once mother’s room, rocking sweet Paul to sleep. Mother’s name flashed across the newspaper sitting next to me. I held it in my quivering hands and read the words slowly.
Alpine, Utah
Mrs. Lilly D. Vance is Dead at Alpine
(Special Correspondence)
Apline, April 29- Mrs. Lilly Darnall Vance died here today. Mrs. Vance was born in Dawson Springs, Kentucky, July 29, 1873. She was daughter of Mr. and Mrs. M. V. Darnall. In 1889 she became a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and moved to Ogden, Utah. She was a graduate nurse, which profession she followed two years. She was married to J. W. Vance, February 22, 1893, in the Logan Temple. Her married life was spent in Alpine. She was mother to seven children, six of whom survive her. During the last year of her life she suffered intensely, being afflicted with cancer. Through all, she was patient and cheerful, never complaining and always willing and anxious to sacrifice her feelings for the comfort of others, it was by her request that her son, who was filling a mission in the southern states, was kept unaware of her condition and not until one month before her death would she consent to have him come home. Her modest, unassuming ways, her lovable disposition and her kind southern hospitality won for her, a circle of faithful friends. Many would say that mother’s decision was foolish, that leaving six children to be raised by a widower was irrational, but I say otherwise. Our mother’s sacrifice changed us in a way that made us want to be better people. We wanted to live worthy so that we could stand with her again in heaven and see our posterity grown on earth. Our mother’s sacrifice made us realize just how important family was, but no one realized more than Paul did.
Paul conducted his life in a very special manner because of our mother. He served a mission, married well, and raised seven children of his own, all of whom were well educated and devoted to their families. The family has now grown to the point where there are numerous grandchildren, who, along with all the family members, honor those grandparents who considered closely the magnitude of their choices.
May we, her children, always honor and revere her sweet memory and may we live worthy to hold our heads high and feel great joy when we meet her again.
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