Two of the boys set out on foot for the needed fuel, leaving Darrel behind to protect the car and the dates. All the girls snuggled down in their coats, some going to sleep. Except Bertha. She watched quietly as Darrel wrote on the foggy window: I LOVE YOU.
“You mean it?” she asked. He nodded and the night ended with their first kiss.
Darrel Welling and Annie Bertha Bowring are my grandparents. He died the year before I was born, she, my freshman year of college. But I grew up knowing: they were a pair. A practically perfect pair. I can’t remember a visit to my grandma’s house without her nodding toward Grandpa’s portrait and saying with fervor “That’s my man!,” or “Isn’t he a handsome man?!”
“The gospel’s true and I love you” was the motto of their marriage. It was their life philosophy. Their legacy.
I asked my mom to write out a few of the stories about Grandma and Grandpa Welling that she used to tell me as a child – stories that I savored as a young girl and that helped me define the kind of marriage I hoped someday to have. Speaking, then, of her parents, my mom writes...
Mother was Dad’s queen. She was his joy. She might have been an ordinary cook, but we children always thought she was a gourmet chef, the way Dad spoke of her. She may have been just a nice-looking lady, but we thought she was a movie star. Those were the days of Gone with the Wind and it was common then, as it is now, to hear someone say how gorgeous this actor or that actress was. Whenever Dad overheard those comment he would tenderly squeeze Mom and say: “She doesn’t have one thing that your little mother doesn’t have!”
Those expressions of admiration were mutual. I remember sometimes Mother would call me over to the window to “Look at him! … Isn’t he wonderful?!” All I saw out the window was an ordinary, broad-shouldered man in a pit helmet mowing the lawn. But HER eyes saw a Greek God. I remember Mother patting Dad’s strong back as they hugged on the doorstep, making comments such as, “You’re just like the rock of Gibraltar!” She sincerely, and to the end of her life, thought there was no one to compare with ‘”her man.”
They looked for the good in each other and acknowledged it. They simply showered each other with love. Mom often left little notes in Dad’s pocket, or little slips of paper with the letters—ILYD. (I love you dear.) To the end of his life Dad carried one of those slips in his coat pocket, near his heart.
Their devotion to each other was only surpassed by their devotion to the gospel. Two weeks after their wedding, Dad was called to serve a mission in Arkansas. You can’t imagine how difficult it was for the newlyweds to part company after just two weeks of marriage! Later, as a mission president, Dad would tell his missionaries how incredibly homesick he was for his little bride. Homesick to the point that HARD WORK, PRAYER, FASTING, and DESIRE to SERVE failed to help him overcome the heart ache. Finally, one evening, he prayed to Heavenly Father, saying that he just couldn’t take it anymore and that if he felt the same in the morning, he would have to go home. That night he dreamt that he DID go home and that no one would speak to him. Even his bride. He said when he awoke, he was sooooo grateful to be on his mission! His served faithfully and with great dedication before returning home to Mom.
A picture Bert sent to Darell on his mission. On the back in her hand, "If you were here you'd get it right in the face!"
Neither of them thought the other was perfect. But they knew that perfection wasn’t realistic or needful. They simply found the good in each other and pointed it out. Suggestions for improvement (they were always trying to improve) were couched in great love. There was such respect.
I remember that they’d attend conventions all over the country for Dad’s work. The men would go to their meetings while the wives attended luncheons, etc. One time, after the men had gone, some of the women decided to go somewhere different than had been originally planned, and they invited Mom. She agreed and started to write a note to inform Dad of the change. “Do you have to get permission from your husband every time you do anything?” a few women snickered as they filed past her.
Later, alone together, Mother told Dad about what the other girls had said. “Do I?” she questioned him.
“Well, let’s see, Honey,” he answered, “We’ve always been considerate of each other. Leaving notes so the other doesn’t worry, checking to make sure our schedules work together. Has that bothered you?” he questioned sincerely.
“No,” she replied.
“Well, then, why change?”
They never let outside opinions taint their views of one another. They trusted each other and weren't suspicious of the other’s motives. One of the first jobs Dad had was in the Car Business. He owned a dealership. One day, one of Mother’s neighbors approached her and said: “I saw your husband driving around with a beautiful blond the other day!”
Mother responded, “Well, I sure hope his clients aren’t all plain old men! I’m glad nice looking women are buying cars too!”
Sometime later Dad heard about the incident and asked, “Did So-and-So say something to you about me driving around with a woman?” Mom related the neighbor’s suspicion, as well as her own response. Dad took her in his arms and said: “Thank you, Bert!! You NEVER have to worry about me. I am a one-woman man!”
They were truly one – spiritually and physically. They were always close. Always touching. And they lived with wonderful humor. Mother was alone twenty years after Dad died and she missed him terribly. She talked and talked about him when I was with her in her late years. I remember laughing at the characteristic tale of an afternoon (they must have been in their late 60’s) when they were home alone together. Dad was working at his desk when Mom came waltzing into the room wearing a new red fox fur coat he had given her. He looked up and smiled. Then she flipped the coat slightly open, revealing a bare leg and he got up and laughingly chased her about the house.Intimacy was important to them. So was the temple. Each week as a child I would see Mother and Dad’s white temple clothes washed, pressed, and hanging ready for use.
At Grandma Bert’s funeral, I saw her in those white temple clothes. “The gospel’s true and I love you!” was the phrase I could almost hear as I envisioned a happy reunion of these two great lovers in a different realm and a in a different state. They believed in eternal union - and in a truly celestial kind of love.
Tomorrow: A New Year's Resolution
