In the afternoon session of General Conference, on Sunday, 7 October 2007, while speaking about his dying mother’s desire to be of service, Elder Steven E. Snow of the Seventy offered some interesting observations:
In the first place, humorously and yet gratefully speaking about her desire to teach and discipline him as he was growing up, he noted: She was the travel agent for guilt trips! In our own case, we could also lovingly say the same thing about Mom.
Then, he expressed this meaningful insight:
A few years before she passed away, she was diagnosed with cancer, a disease she fought with great courage. As a family we learned, strangely enough, that cancer is a disease of love. It provides opportunities to mend fences, say good-byes, and express love. 173
The same thing could be said of Mom’s and Dad’s relationship, once the diagnosis of cancer was made. The cancer became a tool through which further tender healing took place.
Over the next two years, Dad was given the opportunity to serve and support Mom and to progressively attend to her physical needs when she no longer could. By the same token, Mom was given the opportunity to be the focal point of Dad’s full attention and to experience his love and devotion. Thus together through this disease of love, they were able to mend fences, say their good-byes, express their love, and make their peace with each other.
As a constructive part of this healing process, upon learning of Mom’s terminal disease in early 1971, they decided to sell their home at 318 Forty-first Avenue in San Mateo—with its mixed memories, both good and bad—which they had occupied for the previous twenty-five years, and to move into a spacious, brand-new rambler residence at 1295 Tartan Trail Road, in nearby, upscale Hillsborough. Perhaps, in a way, the new abode became an extension of their mindset at the time, for it certainly became a useful medium through which they could plan, dream new dreams, and work together.
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Undoubtedly, as the months wore on and the cancer advanced, it must have been difficult for Mom. The slow, progressive weight loss, weakness, and fatigue of the disease itself, along with overpowering nausea and embarrassing hair loss occasioned by periodic chemotherapy treatments were not easy to bear. (I’ve already mentioned her feelings regarding being remembered by her grandchildren at the Dude Ranch in Wyoming, six months prior to her death.) Nonetheless, she was courageous and resolute in her trial, accepting the Lord’s Will without bitterness.
When she became nearly totally disabled and unresponsive, she was transferred to the Mills Memorial Hospital, where she quietly passed away, at 6:30 PM, on 25 February 1973, with Dad at her side—after nearly forty-four years together. 174 She was buried in the Greenlawn Memorial Park, in Colma, California. Then, after Dad died, she was re-interred on 5 October 1984, to lie at his side in the Provo City Cemetery, Provo, Utah.175
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There were lovely tributes expressed at the funeral. Betty Bartholomew (Dad’s cousin, Dr. Homer Bartholomew’s wife, a younger friend and great admirer of Mom) wrote down her memories of the services, in which the following was recalled:
As tribute was being paid concerning Ann’s marvelous zest for living and her tremendous gift of wit and good humor…speakers recalled how adept she was in chastising Wendell. She played a very important part in his life, for no one else could ‘put him down’ (or in his place) better than his beloved Nance. This rare quality of humor was shared with many and was appreciated by all—but Wendell, perhaps. However, it served a great purpose—that of bringing patience and humility into the life of an already ‘great man.’ (These attributes are most refreshing in a tired world!) How tall she stood as a priestess by his side. Mention was made of her enthusiasm as a grandmother and her love of people in general, yet each person was treated individually and made to feel they were very important in her life. 176
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