Today I go to the funeral of my former neighbor, June Hessing. She died a week ago today in Salt Lake, where she was living for a while with her daughter. June was 91.
June and Jim. I loved them both, especially Jim. He died about five years ago. They owned the land our house sits on, all the land in here. They were prosperous because of Jim, his Chrysler dealership and other endeavors.
June loved Jim, her family, the church, and music. She was about as big as a minute, energetic and, okay, I'll say it, quite officious. Just her way. She had a knee replaced some time before they moved from that big house, or, I must say, were moved out of it by their sons. Jim was NOT happy about that. She struggled with the new knee (her son Jeff, an orthopedic surgeon, did the surgery) until she finally brought it into subjection to her will.
I used to visit Jim and June in the little assisted living apartment they occupied until Jim's death, encouraged, I think, by that place and what his boys had done to him. Their house, next door to mine, is big. They had so much space and a good piece of land and a wonderful view out their big back windows. This little place they were moved to had one small window, one room, in fact, and it was a big come-down for the Hessings. "They didn't even pack a suit for me," he told one time. I was shocked by that, since he was always a church-going man.
The boys cleared the house out, got rid of their parents' stuff, and sold the place. Yes, the people who bought it are good neighbors to me, and I like them. But they aren't Jim and June.
I am trying to write about June. Not quite working out that way. But I will go to her funeral today.
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Favorite June Hessing story:
When we got married, the Hessings gave us some money as a gift. I sent them a thank you card telling them their money had helped us to buy some dishes. A couple days later, I got a note in the mail from her--a thank you note for my thank you note. It was all typed on a typewriter--the address on the envelope and the note in the card as well. It said something like "So grateful our wedding token helped you get some dishes--an important household item." She, of course, also expressed her love for me and happiness for my recent marriage.
Everything about that epitomizes her the way I remember her. I think I was lucky to grow up with neighbors like June and Jim. And I think they loved me.
Home from the funeral. Two corrections: Jim died February 2003; June was 90.
Her children sang; her grandchildren sang. Both groups and their singing moved me to tears. I can imagine June loving it so much, saying it was blessed, one of her favorite words.
Tim, youngest son, said if he had to capsulize his mom in one word, it would be, Love.
Bruce said when he and his brother Mark would fight, June would grab them by their shirts and say, "Boys, have love." Nothing more than that.
My favorite June story:
Two, actually. She coached me on saying "thee" and "thy" in my prayers when I first joined the church. Made me mad then, but I think of it often when other pray-ers don't.
She frequently called the president of the church, "our dear little President Hinckley."
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