Sunset Afterglow
The sunset after-glow lingered on. Publicity generated by the birthday party made him the subject of feature articles in newspapers and magazines with headings such as "A living history book," "Writes it like it is," "Mark Twain of mid-Missouri," "Country gentleman," and "Howard County historian."
His "Lilburn Says" column continued to receive accolades; he was sought as a speaker; and was barraged by requests from people in far-away places seeking information about their early Howard County ancestors.
But by the end of 1980, his maramus was taking its toll. January 19, 1981, he wrote me:
Lillian and I are fine. I at least am, except for protesting knees when I get up. But they never say a word as long as I am lying or sitting down. Thank God. You know it sounds strange to tell I was 6 weeks in the hospital and 5 in the Colonial Gardens Home and going on seven now back here. Except for my knees, I have had no physical discomfort other than "sticks" for drawing blood, or inserting feeder tubes in my hand (vein). I continue to hear amazing things from Lillian about my hospital stay. It seems there was a time when they were fearful of hearing the telephone ring, lest it be word that "I had passed on." They brought mail and read it to me and thought I was enjoying it, as I told them to take it home. When I got home and read it, I thought it was the first time. I still haven't found out what they did to me about once a week for which I was billed $118 a throw.
He wrote:
I walked out to the garage, parked the walker, and holding to the side of my car, unlocked it and got in. I started the engine and backed out the door. Washed off the license plates to put on the new little tags which must be placed on the old plates and when Charles arrived we drove my car to town to exercise it. It runs like a top, but has a heavy coating of dust that needs to be washed off. Some warm day, I mean to back it out, put the walker in the back seat and drive it to town myself. Will have to go to Boonville to find an automatic washer.
The prospect of such activities alarmed me as they did other relatives and friends. We tried to persuade Lilburn and Lillian to leave Fairview and enter Colonial Gardens. To such advice from his cousin Louisa Terrel Huggs he wrote:
Dear Louisa:
Responding to the advice in your letter, Lillian and I are always fighting the idea of going to a nursing home because we have always wanted to be "hearsed" away from this, our life-long dwelling place though we know it is good sense to go to a nursing home before one gets to the stage where it's necessary to do so. But at the moment, neither of us has that kind of good sense.
On the last of May, I had been a Mason for seventy-five years and they celebrated the diamond jubilee of my membership in my Masonic lodge. If I could have walked on it that far, I'm sure they would have had the red carped rolled out all the way to my home. Somebody had dug up my past, things I had forgotten. I was amazed to hear listed the vocations and avocations in which I have had time to stick a finger. Three pretty girls sang three old time songs and one of them placed a lei, fresh from Hawaii, around my neck and made me a sweet-smelling creature. There was a handsome plaque and many flattering words of commendation by this one and that one. I had a great time and I think Lillian did too.
In July 1982 Lilburn wrote Louisa:
Well, things have gone "tolerable smooth" with Sister Lillian and me. I have a feeling our friends think it would be so sensible if we would just sell out and go to a home for the aged, but neither of us has that kind of sense, though we realize that except for the grace of God, circumstance could tie a knot in our living. Here's an example of that fact.
Lillian who always slept in an upstairs bedroom, is no longer able to climb stairs, so she sleeps in what was the living room, when you were here. Her single bed looks very good, dolled up on the north side of the room. One evening she was ill and rolled off the bed, I was sitting nearby in my wheel chair reading. I couldn't get proper coordination of my limbs trying to get her up by any methods we could manage. Finally, she suggested I pull the top mattress off her bed and let her sleep on the floor all night. So the mattress came off, but it was at right angles with Lillian. Then came the job of getting her parallel to the mattress. I finally accomplished that but she couldn't roll up on it. I went across the hall to my room for something and when I go back, she had rolled on to the mattress. In the process of getting the covers on to her properly, I lost my balance and fell backward, cracking my head good on the floor.
My first thought then was "What if I can't get up and use the telephone to call for help?" But I found myself intact, and the situation seemed utterly ridiculous that Lillian and I were both lying on the floor. I got up thankfully, and spent the night in a reclining chair. And Lillian did get up the next morning of her own accord and prepared breakfast as usual. Then she got the place cleaned up just in time for us to act as hosts to friends from Hot Springs and Louisville, together with relatives, they are visiting here. But at the sight of a full house they said they just dropped by to say "Hello?" and departed. We love to have visitors and they come from all over, but once in a while I hear Lillian complaining she doesn't have time to wash her hair and do it up before company comes in the morning. And in the afternoon, someone usually comes to interrupt our lessons in modern living as portrayed on television.
Sometime in March 1983, he wrote Louisa:
Since my 98th birthday, unusual things have complicated life for me, unlike what has happened before. I have found what the term "speak in the unknown tongue," which I have heard Biblically, may mean. For only a short time, twice, I have been unable to utter a word that I have ever heard before and twice I have lost the use of my lower right arm, once especially but my voice came back OK and so did the use of my arm after massage. Needless to say how thankful I was. But the worse thing is nothing new, stiff knees which have bothered me for over two years and I have had to resort to my walker because a cane is useless. And I must be very careful with the walker. Have had two bad falls with my body tied up with the walker. Damage is muscular chiefly, no bones broken. I can no longer mount a two step ladder to wind the big mantel clock. I renewed my driver's license for the sake of my morale, but have not ventured out on the highway since the fall of last year. Sometimes I drive around in the yard.
Lilburn's last letter to me was written March 19, 1983. It chronicled the succession of visitors tendering gifts of food - "bestowing welfare" as he put it. He deplored his dependence upon a walker, his inability to drive his car, and his difficulty in writing what he wished. He hoped to write more soon.
With the help of friends, they managed to stay on at Fairview until April 25 and 26. Jean Edmondston (Lillian's daughter-in-law) outlined the events. Her mother-in-law suffered a massive stroke which required hospitalization. She and other relatives tried to convince Lilburn he should go to Colonial Gardens Nursing Home. According to Jean, he said, "Why should I? I've been getting my meals when she didn't feel up to it. I'm staying right here."
He did until May 11. Fortunately, when he became ill, a friend was visiting and called a doctor who rushed Lilburn to the hospital. I got regular reports from Missouri about Lib and Lillian. Lillian was still comatose; Lilburn's condition worsened. The doctor's thought he had only a short time to live.
I flew to Missouri on June 13 and remained until June 17.
When I went into Lib's room, the head of his bed was raised so he was in a semi-sitting position. He was pale and gaunt but gave me a big, warm smile and said,
"Warren, how good it is to see you. How nice you look."
His mind was clear. We argued about Reagan's supply-side economics for a few minutes and then he told me, if I could find time, he would appreciate me reviewing all his historical and genealogical material, scrapbooks, letters, etc. He said, "I know you have thought something should be done with my letters. Take those you want. Do with them as you wish. If there's any other stuff you'd like, take it also. Other material you think of historical value and worth preserving, I'd like you to arrange for the State Historical Society to have. They've told me they'd access it into their library so interested people can use it."
I promised to do this. The next two days, with breaks only to visit Lib, I worked my way through the mass of material in his office and in his study at Fairview. It was an amazing conglomeration which included card files, correspondence, family histories, family papers, genealogical records, historical records, maps, plats, architectural plans and drawings, photographs, reminiscences and anecdotes, speeches and writings, newspaper clippings and scrapbooks. There were even shoe boxes filled with what must have been his every cancelled check. I didn't have time to make critical judgements so discarded only what obviously seemed of no historical value. Two State Historical Library staff members arrived in New Franklin early the next morning.
When they saw the pile of material I had piled up in Lib's New Franklin office, they couldn't have been more excited and happy if they'd discovered a rich vein of gold.
I worked through the material with them and about seven that evening, the big station wagon they had driven over from Columbia was jam-packed with boxes of his memorabilia. I doubt they could have found space for even an additional newspaper.
After I had seen the Society people on their way, I reported back to Lib at the hospital. He told me he had planned to meet the Society's Director at his office to go over things with him, but had become ill and taken to the hospital the day before they were to meet. He said,
"I'll sleep tonight knowing you have taken care of this for me. Thank you, Warren for coming."
He looked up at me. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. He held out a hand, I took it. His clasp was firm. Neither of us could speak for several minutes. We just looked at one another. My eyes flooded also.
Then, still gripping my hand, he said softly but clearly,
"When we said 'Goodbye' after our mule boat trip (to Europe in 1928), I knew it would be a long time before I saw you again. I knew though, it wasn't forever. I don't feel it is now. Somehow I believe there is truth in the old hymn, "We shall meet again in the sweet by-and-by. I have faith we will!"
The pressure of his grip increased, relaxed, grew firm once more. I bent over, close to him, put my free arm around behind his shoulder, hugged him, kissed his cheek.
"Goodbye, Lib," I said, raising my head. I was so emotionally caught up, I had difficulty phrasing the words. Then, "God bless you for all you have done for so many of us. 'Till we meet again in the sweet by-and-by."
At the doorway to his room, I turned and blew him a kiss. There was a faint smile on his face. Then his eyes closed. The lines in his face seemed to have smoothed out.
That was the last time I saw Lib. Relatives and friends saw that everything which could be done for him was done. They kept me informed and when he died July 1, 1983, saw his funeral was conducted as he wished it to be. He was buried in the Kingsbury-Smith plot in the Clark's Chapel cemetery high on a bluff overlooking the Missouri River to the wooded hills rising from the other wide. Here his parents and many relatives rest in peace. His sister Lillian died July 4; his sister Anna Rose died on July 30.
I didn't return for the funeral. I preferred to cherish the memory of our poignant parting and our many stimulating visits when he was an active, vibrant man.
My bachelor uncle's Hobby Horse Rides made him a legendary figure well before the brilliant colors of the setting sun of his life's journey gave way to the darkness of death.
Lilburn in his beloved Clark's Chapel cemetery a year before his death
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