My mom, Doris Leona Tilley Chabot, passed away a week ago today, at the age of 95. She really was a special lady, and everyone who knew her, always commented on what a nice person she was.
She was one of eight children (one died near birth), and grew up in Charlotte, North Carolina. When mom was 17 or 18 years old, she was a “victory belle” at the USO in Charlotte, and with her sister Mary, would attend the weekly dances there. They would dance with soldiers in attendance, who were soon to be shipped off to the war (WWII).
One evening, one soldier in particular kept cutting in (soldiers would tap each other on the shoulder to dance), and there was a connection. Mom said she never gave out her phone number, but made an exception that evening. It’s a good thing for me that she did, because she and this persistent dancer fell in love, and continued to write each other after he was sent to the European theater of the war.
Upon his return in December 1945, Mom married then-Captain Gerard J. Chabot, and they were married for 52 years, until he passed away 21 years ago. They had four children (including me), 11 grandchildren, and four great-grandchildren (so far).
Family was always Mom’s number one priority. She and my Dad were reliable attendees at their kids’, then grandkids’, school, sporting, and scouting events. They never had a lot of money, but they had family, and that’s what mattered.
Typical of the World War II “greatest generation”, Mom was a stay-at-home mom until her youngest was in school. Then she got a job outside the home, working at the Western Hills Shillito’s and McAlpin’s department stores, and then at Dr. Williams and Burroughs pediatrics office in Delhi. She also volunteered her time at the then Saint Francis St. George Hospital, also on the Westside.
Mom was, for the most part, very healthy and very active throughout her life. Unfortunately she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and by the end, didn’t really recognize any of us. Fortunately she received great care by the nurses and staff at Mercy West Park. My sister Carol was also particularly devoted to making our Mom’s final years as happy as possible. Although my Mom‘s cognitive abilities were very limited at the end, she was physically pretty amazing, and very mobile. She loved to walk the halls at West Park, and the staff often took her around the unit with them as they made their rounds.
Although we’re all sad that Mom is gone, we know we’re lucky to have had her so long, 95 years. And it’s comforting to know that Mom is now with our Dad again, and our older brother Ron, who succumbed to MS about a year-and-a-half ago, and so many other family members who have come and gone before us. Mom, we love you, and we’ll see you again someday.