Skybox news, personal musings, and observations on the state of the game and community.
There will also be a some amount of personal content regarding the Cobb's. Also interested in others' goings on should you feel so inclined.
There will also be a some amount of personal content regarding the Cobb's. Also interested in others' goings on should you feel so inclined.
Goodbye, Mom. May you always know how much you were loved.
Posted 08-31-2023 at 06:29 PM by Ty Cobb
Yesterday, shortly after the hour of the wolf passed, the leader of the Cobb clan passed on. My mother was 86, but her years should not be how we define her.
Mom was born to George and Helen Daniels in the shadow of an upcoming World War in Midland, Michigan. My grandfather was in the beginning of what would become a lifelong career in Chemical Engineering with Dow Corning, working on the top secret waterproofing projects, so he served his country in the lab rather than in the field. My grandmother, as many women did in that day, kept charge of the home and family. Times were not good for them, but slowly blossomed. My two uncles would go on to become a lawyer and a regional manager for a food conglomerate. Mom had to wait for college, as the custom was in that day that the boys went first. She married her high school sweetheart, Robert W. the first (I’m the second, and my eldest is the third of that name). He was the only son (with three sisters) of a clothing store chain owner. Dad was a budding chemist, bright and promising. Mom took a job with the Dow as a secretary. A few short years later, Dad was struck down by a heart issue and did not live to see his only son born, falling two months short. Mom’s world was devastated.
Mom was no wallflower. She continued to climb the ranks through the secretarial pools, ultimately ending up as the Executive Secretary (that day’s title for administrative assistant) to the head of Dow’s London office. We spent two and a half years in London. During that time, Mom traveled extensively, sometimes with me, sometimes necessarily without. As a child, I was privileged to see Paris, the 24 hours of Le Mans, Berlin (East and West), Scotland, Ireland, the Netherlands, and a great deal of England. I missed Moscow and the Canary Islands and Prague. Was it strange and wild for a small boy? Yes, definitely…but I was always loved and safe. As till her final days, my safety and well being were paramount. Europe was what developed Mom’s lifelong love of classical music, opera, ballet, and theater.
When I was 7, Mom abruptly tendered her resignation and returned to the States. I didn’t know it at the time, but she was doing that because there were going to be even more demands on her time as they transitioned her to management. She said, “No, thank you,” and when we returned, she began college at Saginaw Valley. Her childhood dream had been to teach. Four short years later, she graduated magna cum laude, a 4.0 student with not only her bachelors but Masters, also a 4.0, in Education with majors in English and Spanish, and a minor in Psychology. She worked three part time jobs while doing this. I never…NEVER had a sitter during this time. My grandmother and grandfather watched me when Mom would run late. They had a place on the shores of Sanford Lake, and I spent many wonderful days boating, fishing, and swimming in the summers there.
In the summer of 1972, an old high school classmate of Mom’s who had heard she was looking for a place to settle contacted her, as he was the superintendant of schools in Grayling, a tiny town in the north of Michigan. Ironically, my grandmother had grown up in Grayling, and her side of the family had deep roots in the community. Mom took the job, hiring on at the middle school. In the summers, she taught at a school in St. Charles for the children of migrant farm workers. That would continue until 1975. A year later, a position became available as the Title 1 Reading teacher at the elementary level. Mom took it and finished her teaching career in that position, helping kids who had difficulty with reading. Her proudest professional accomplishments were that one of her students went on to be a valedictorian, and two others salutatorians.
In 1974, my grandfather had an aortic aneurysm rupture on the way to work. Being a 1930’s man, he calmly turned around, drove home and told my grandmother something was very wrong before passing out. A three hour ambulance ride in a blizzard and twelve hours of surgery later, he was saved. Mom and I traveled nearly every weekend back and forth to Sanford to help with life there as he recovered. FYI…he lived until 1990.
In 1975, one year and a day later, Mom was struck down. She called for me in the middle of the night and I came to the living room to see her, pale and ghastly looking on the couch, with a pail of blood beside her. I called my grandmother and Mom went to the ER. An hour later, she was on her way to the Burns Clinic Medical Center in Petoskey. Non-Hodgkins lymphoma…cancer. At 13, I heard the doctor tell her she might not live more than two weeks. Her answer, “What will it take to live?” For the next four months, I attended school Tuesday through Thursday, and spent Friday through Monday at the hospital at Mom’s side. Mom and I would watch Star Trek together on cable—it wasn’t in Grayling yet. My grandmother and I had a running reservation at a local motel, and after visiting hours we would play endless games of canasta and talk of family history. Battered but unbroken, Mom would receive chemotherapy and radiation therapy for four years before being declared in remission. Trust me when I tell you that 1970’s radiation therapy was barely short of barbaric, and the side effects were worse than any of today’s.
In 1979, a local restauranteur in dire need of cash put his empty lot up for sale at a bargain price. Mom grabbed it, taking nearly every spare cent she had to do so. There she built her dream home, where she finished out her days until I could no longer manage to assist her enough to stay on her own. During that time, she would endure a ruptured appendix, three more cancers, two heart attacks, and a stroke. She was forced by her health to take retirement in 1996. What we didn’t know was that Mom’s odd outbursts of anger during this time were the sign of something sinister coming. By 2006, Mom’s vision had deteriorated to the point where she could no longer drive. I would become her chauffeur for doctors appointments and shopping. It gave us a lot of quality time together. We rarely missed a day on the phone as well.
When my own cancer struck in 2015, Mom was there for me. We got to exchange chemo and radiation stories and tell bleak jokes about the embarrassing and degrading parts of the treatment process. It’s a tradition in our family to face adversity with dark self-deprecating humor, and I have always excelled at that as a result.
I managed to help her enough to keep her living in the house until four years ago. Age, blindness, and the cruelty of dementia, the aforementioned sinister thing, began their inevitably successful war against Mom. Nine months ago, beyond the capacity of the local assisted living facility, I was forced to transfer her to a facility in Swartz Creek, two plus hours drive away.
My greatest treasures of these last few years with Mom are that until my next to last visit with her, she knew who I was, was glad to see me, and always told me she loved me. That was who she was…a proud, tough, cultured, loving woman who never walked away from a situation, and always made sure that my welfare was at the center of her world…even when I didn’t realize it. She taught me so much…loyalty, family values, how to win and how to face loss, courage in the face of adversity, and how to fight. Now, her fight is over.
Mom was born to George and Helen Daniels in the shadow of an upcoming World War in Midland, Michigan. My grandfather was in the beginning of what would become a lifelong career in Chemical Engineering with Dow Corning, working on the top secret waterproofing projects, so he served his country in the lab rather than in the field. My grandmother, as many women did in that day, kept charge of the home and family. Times were not good for them, but slowly blossomed. My two uncles would go on to become a lawyer and a regional manager for a food conglomerate. Mom had to wait for college, as the custom was in that day that the boys went first. She married her high school sweetheart, Robert W. the first (I’m the second, and my eldest is the third of that name). He was the only son (with three sisters) of a clothing store chain owner. Dad was a budding chemist, bright and promising. Mom took a job with the Dow as a secretary. A few short years later, Dad was struck down by a heart issue and did not live to see his only son born, falling two months short. Mom’s world was devastated.
Mom was no wallflower. She continued to climb the ranks through the secretarial pools, ultimately ending up as the Executive Secretary (that day’s title for administrative assistant) to the head of Dow’s London office. We spent two and a half years in London. During that time, Mom traveled extensively, sometimes with me, sometimes necessarily without. As a child, I was privileged to see Paris, the 24 hours of Le Mans, Berlin (East and West), Scotland, Ireland, the Netherlands, and a great deal of England. I missed Moscow and the Canary Islands and Prague. Was it strange and wild for a small boy? Yes, definitely…but I was always loved and safe. As till her final days, my safety and well being were paramount. Europe was what developed Mom’s lifelong love of classical music, opera, ballet, and theater.
When I was 7, Mom abruptly tendered her resignation and returned to the States. I didn’t know it at the time, but she was doing that because there were going to be even more demands on her time as they transitioned her to management. She said, “No, thank you,” and when we returned, she began college at Saginaw Valley. Her childhood dream had been to teach. Four short years later, she graduated magna cum laude, a 4.0 student with not only her bachelors but Masters, also a 4.0, in Education with majors in English and Spanish, and a minor in Psychology. She worked three part time jobs while doing this. I never…NEVER had a sitter during this time. My grandmother and grandfather watched me when Mom would run late. They had a place on the shores of Sanford Lake, and I spent many wonderful days boating, fishing, and swimming in the summers there.
In the summer of 1972, an old high school classmate of Mom’s who had heard she was looking for a place to settle contacted her, as he was the superintendant of schools in Grayling, a tiny town in the north of Michigan. Ironically, my grandmother had grown up in Grayling, and her side of the family had deep roots in the community. Mom took the job, hiring on at the middle school. In the summers, she taught at a school in St. Charles for the children of migrant farm workers. That would continue until 1975. A year later, a position became available as the Title 1 Reading teacher at the elementary level. Mom took it and finished her teaching career in that position, helping kids who had difficulty with reading. Her proudest professional accomplishments were that one of her students went on to be a valedictorian, and two others salutatorians.
In 1974, my grandfather had an aortic aneurysm rupture on the way to work. Being a 1930’s man, he calmly turned around, drove home and told my grandmother something was very wrong before passing out. A three hour ambulance ride in a blizzard and twelve hours of surgery later, he was saved. Mom and I traveled nearly every weekend back and forth to Sanford to help with life there as he recovered. FYI…he lived until 1990.
In 1975, one year and a day later, Mom was struck down. She called for me in the middle of the night and I came to the living room to see her, pale and ghastly looking on the couch, with a pail of blood beside her. I called my grandmother and Mom went to the ER. An hour later, she was on her way to the Burns Clinic Medical Center in Petoskey. Non-Hodgkins lymphoma…cancer. At 13, I heard the doctor tell her she might not live more than two weeks. Her answer, “What will it take to live?” For the next four months, I attended school Tuesday through Thursday, and spent Friday through Monday at the hospital at Mom’s side. Mom and I would watch Star Trek together on cable—it wasn’t in Grayling yet. My grandmother and I had a running reservation at a local motel, and after visiting hours we would play endless games of canasta and talk of family history. Battered but unbroken, Mom would receive chemotherapy and radiation therapy for four years before being declared in remission. Trust me when I tell you that 1970’s radiation therapy was barely short of barbaric, and the side effects were worse than any of today’s.
In 1979, a local restauranteur in dire need of cash put his empty lot up for sale at a bargain price. Mom grabbed it, taking nearly every spare cent she had to do so. There she built her dream home, where she finished out her days until I could no longer manage to assist her enough to stay on her own. During that time, she would endure a ruptured appendix, three more cancers, two heart attacks, and a stroke. She was forced by her health to take retirement in 1996. What we didn’t know was that Mom’s odd outbursts of anger during this time were the sign of something sinister coming. By 2006, Mom’s vision had deteriorated to the point where she could no longer drive. I would become her chauffeur for doctors appointments and shopping. It gave us a lot of quality time together. We rarely missed a day on the phone as well.
When my own cancer struck in 2015, Mom was there for me. We got to exchange chemo and radiation stories and tell bleak jokes about the embarrassing and degrading parts of the treatment process. It’s a tradition in our family to face adversity with dark self-deprecating humor, and I have always excelled at that as a result.
I managed to help her enough to keep her living in the house until four years ago. Age, blindness, and the cruelty of dementia, the aforementioned sinister thing, began their inevitably successful war against Mom. Nine months ago, beyond the capacity of the local assisted living facility, I was forced to transfer her to a facility in Swartz Creek, two plus hours drive away.
My greatest treasures of these last few years with Mom are that until my next to last visit with her, she knew who I was, was glad to see me, and always told me she loved me. That was who she was…a proud, tough, cultured, loving woman who never walked away from a situation, and always made sure that my welfare was at the center of her world…even when I didn’t realize it. She taught me so much…loyalty, family values, how to win and how to face loss, courage in the face of adversity, and how to fight. Now, her fight is over.
Total Comments 0
