A Tribute to Dad

Don C. Bragg (August 8, 1920 - October 6, 2013)

Each of us treasure our own memories of Dad. Especially vivid in my mind is my last visit with him just a a few weeks ago. He spoke freely of memories of a long and storied life. We listened as he talked of family and friends, and days long passed.

His was a life filled with many obstacles. Even from the beginning of his life, it became clear that living would be an uphill battle. Late in life Dad discovered his own birth certificate inscribed simply with the name "Baby Boy Bragg." Dad told me that he was so small when he was born that his parents didn't think he would live so they didn't bother to name him. His first cradle was a shoe box. They kept him on the door of the stove to keep him warm and in a drawer to keep him safe at night. Within a number of weeks it became obvious that this little child was a fighter and, confident he would live, they gave him the name Don Cicero Bragg. And live he would, for 93 years.

As we sat together in his living room on what would be our last evening together Dad asked me if I had ever heard how he got started fixing car engines. During the Great Depression Grandpa Bragg helped support his family by dealing in used cars. He ended up with an old clunker parked beneath a tree. Grandpa promised Dad that if he could get that car running he could have it. So Dad went to work tearing it down piece by piece. Once he found the problems he reassembled what would become his very first car. It was the first in a long line of engines of various kinds that his hands would restore to usefulness.

He also spoke of his time of service in the military during World War II. Dad told of all the trouble he had to go through just to get military issue shoes that would fit his feet. He had to stuff socks into his shoes so they would stay on his feet while he marched. He spoke of that adventure which took him to Hawaii, the Philippines, and after the atomic bombs fell, to Japan. One thing he would never speak about were the horrific sights he saw especially in Japan. But he would tell of sitting on top of his truck and watching the bursting shells not to far off in the distance. He told of taking his truck down the hill to get water for the troops, and counting the bullet holes in his truck once safely back on top of that hill. Captured on film was the happy reunion with his siblings, Jane and Earl in the Philippines. There had to be some strings pulled just to get Jane to that reunion. It was a brief moment of joy even though they were so far away from home and without any assurance that any of them would see home or each other ever again.

And he most often spoke of his meeting Mom. It must have been love at first sight. Within weeks he was picking flowers for his bride, and thus would begin an adventure that would last 65 years. Their union would be blessed with 13 children. You can almost imagine him cradling a newborn Bob in his arms as he looked to Mom and said, "He's a keeper."

He would never conclude his trips down memory lane without talking about his love for Mom. It was just over two years ago we witnessed the end of their marriage as, held in the arms of Dad, Mom passed from this life. The end of their marriage, but not the end of their love. It was as if he was adrift without purpose or direction as he grieved in his own quiet way. But slowly, with the passing of time, he found his way back. What a joy to hear his laugh once more, to see that little sparkle in his eyes and the playfulness of his stories of mischievous antics. And there were always the stories about Mom, whom he truly loved to the end.

Dad spoke of his friends, one by one they were parted from him. He would say, "If I want to visit any of my friends, I have to go to the cemetery." That is one of the hardships of living a life so long. Over the years he stood beside many graves to bid farewell. The hardest, by far, must have been the graves of his own children, Bob and Bonnie.

Dad didn't have to tell me about his huge compassionate heart. He was always in need of helping others. For years Bonnie, with her special needs, gave Mom and Dad an outlet for their deep compassion. I remember sitting with Dad and Bonnie at the tailgate of the family station wagon parked outside the Bruce church. With church windows opened we could hear the praise wafting towards on its heavenward journey. With her passing Mom's failing health provided yet another opportunity to serve. Dad seemed so lost leaving the funeral home as the pall bearers prepared to carry Mom to her final resting place. Before long Dad was searching once again for others he could help. He ran errands, mowed lawns, and took food to those who were in need.

The next day came the inevitable time of parting as my final visit with Dad would draw to an end. This I will never forget. As I shook  Dad's hand I said, "I wish I could have stayed longer." As we drove away I felt confident that the future held many more opportunities to sit with Dad and hear his stories of the life he lived. But now I am convinced that Dad knew we would never share a night like that again. It was as if he was saying to me ...

"I wish I could have stayed longer but my heart can't bear another year without your Mom."
"I wish I could have stayed longer but I can not bear standing ever again at the grave of another of my children."
"I wish I could have stayed longer but each of your have your own families to love and support."
"I wish I could have stayed longer but my body yearns for rest from the pains that 93 years of living bring."
"I wish I could have stayed longer but I am ready to go, and I truly believe we will all meet again."

Dad, today our hearts are breaking as we struggle to accept that you are gone. Never again can we sit listening to your stories. Never again will hear your familiar laughter. Never again will we be able to call you up and hear your voice on the other end of the line.

Dad, I wish I had stayed another hour that last day. If I had known it would be our last you would have had a hard time getting rid of me. But most of all, I am so happy, especially today, that we had that last day together.

"I wish I could have stayed longer, Dad."
"I wish you could have stayed longer, Dad."

Don C. Bragg

(Died October 6, 2013) 

Don C. Bragg, 93, of Sullivan, died 2:55 p.m. Sunday (October 6, 2013) in St. Mary’s Hospital, Decatur surrounded by his loving family.

Celebration of Life services will be 10:30 a.m. Wednesday in the Reed Funeral Home, Sullivan with Pastor Al Rennert officiating. Visitation will be 5 to 7 p.m. Tuesday. The family requests casual attire. Burial with military rites conducted by the Sullivan American Legion Post #68 will be in the French Cemetery, Allenville. Memorials are suggested to Easter Seals or to the Multiple Sclerosis Foundation. Condolences may be sent to the family at reedfuneralhome.net.

Don was born August 8, 1920 in Bruce, the son of O.B. and Gladys Gilbreath Bragg. He was a WW II Army veteran. Don retired from Wagners Casting in Decatur and had worked at Coffee International Harvester Dealership in Sullivan. Don also loved to farm. He was a member of the Allenville Christian Church. He married Mary J. Ethington on June 9, 1946 in Allenville and she preceded him in death on September 30, 2011.

Surviving are his children; Jess (Cheryl) Bragg of Mattoon, Charles (Rebecca) Bragg of Sullivan, James (Glenna) Bragg of Marshall, Larry (Donna) Bragg of Shelbyville, Phillip (Shirley) Bragg of Bullhead City, AZ, David (Ann) Bragg of Kernersville, NC, Ronald (Linda) Bragg of Havre, Montana, Mark (Becky) Bragg of Mahomet, Ruth Bauer of Sullivan, Reva (Ron) Martin of Sullivan and Debra (Michael) Green of Ribera, New Mexico; sister, Ruth (Lloyd) Stone of Sullivan; sister-in-law, Ida May Bragg of Pekin; thirty grandchildren; twenty eight great grandchildren and four great great grandchildren.

He was preceded in death by his parents, son Robert, daughter Bonnie, a grandson, one sister, and two brothers.

Saying Goodbye to Mom

In Loving Memory

Mary Jean Bragg

January 15, 1928 – September 30, 2011

As we sat beside our Mom in the final days and hours of her earthly life, I noticed a single tear making its way down her cheek. Surrounded by those she had devoted her life to care for, and as we were reflecting on now distant memories of our lives together, there was no way of knowing if it was a tear of joy or of pain. She knew, but she could not tell us.

I caught that tear, and as I held it in my hand it struck me as to how many other tears she had shed without our awareness. The tears of joy of a child playing with her brothers and sisters in the Ethington home near Allenville. Or the tears that only her mother could sooth after she fell and skinned her knees. The happy tears of a redheaded teenage girl in love with a man she recently met, who had just returned from the War and with whom she would spend the remaining years of her life.

The painful tears of a mother giving birth to a newborn child, a scene repeated thirteen times over two decades. And it was our tears, as babies, that she soothed as she sang the beautiful hymn, “I come to the Garden alone … “, as a lullaby. There would come tears of sympathy to be shed over her own little boy or girl, as they struggled to cope with their own skinned knees, held tightly within her loving embrace. She would become thirteen different “Mom’s,” being to each of us what we individually needed.

She no doubt has shed many tears of sadness over the unwise choices of her children, our successes and our failures. There were the tears that nearly every parent knows, those we may associate with the old adage, "This will hurt me more than it will you." Perhaps tears of loneliness as she awaited a call that didn't come, or longing for a visit we never thought to make.

And countless must have been the tears shed over the worry and care on Bonnie's behalf. To the amazement of the doctors who last attended her, Bonnie’s life was extended over five decades, thanks primarily to Mom and Dad’s deep devotion and loving care.

There were tears of grief as death claimed, one by one, the lives of her own parents, brothers and sisters, and tears most of us can't begin to fathom, those of a parent coping with the death of her own children.  In our minds’ eye we can visualize Bonnie standing at the gates of heaven, calling to Bob and dancing with joy saying “Mom’s coming! Mom’s coming!”  What a joyful reunion that must be.  Dad has said that he prayed God would allow him to live to make sure Bonnie was cared for, and after she was gone that he might do the same for Mom.  His prayer was answered. It may just be that Mom did such great battle with death and dying because she shared that prayer of taking caring of him.

Over the years Mom and Dad built not just a "house" but a home we all enjoyed regardless of the physical house we may have been living at any particular time. And she knew the joyful tears of seeing her children leave the home to start a new life and build a new family of their own. These were soon soothed with the happy tears reserved for Grandparents (many times over), Great- Grandparents, and then Great-Great-Grandparents.

Throughout the years of her long life Mom would work alongside Dad in the field, the garden, and the home to provide for those who would grow to love them most. Like the woman honored in Proverbs chapter thirty-one, "Her husband has full confidence in her" as she, in return, would bring "him good, not harm, all the days of her life" (verse 11-12). How often did we see her exhausted from a long day's work offered "with eager hands" (verse 13), helping to provide whatever we needed, day or night (verse 15), feeding and clothing us with tireless energy (verses 16-19). Even after adulthood she continued to care for our needs, such as the care given to Charlie as he recovered from the wreck near Bethany.  She would, in various ways, do the same for each of us. Such devotion is captured in a chorus of the Randy Travis song Angels:

Are you telling me that you’ve never seen an angel?

Never felt the presence of one standing by?

No robe of white, no halo in sight

You’ve missed the most obvious thing

Man, are you blind, just look in your Mother’s eyes.

Throughout the years, and especially most recently, it became increasingly obvious just how proud Dad was to be her husband. In these past few days we have seen his incredible tenderness, protection and care for her, making sure that they could end their lives together with the same love in which they began it sixty-five years ago. It was a love strong enough to last all of their lives, and is passed along to each of us. But if time could be relived, we would undoubtedly seek to give her fewer occasions for the sad tears, and fill her life with joyful ones. While it is too late for that, it is not too late for us to resolve to do that for each other and for those we meet along life’s path.

Now Mom’s hands have ceased their work, her physical suffering has finally passed, and her eyes are no longer blurred by tears. Our lives, however, remain a testament of praise, "gateways" through which we continue to praise her (verse 31). And we thank God, who promises to wipe away all tears, for the many memories she leaves in her passing. We agree with Proverbs that "She is worth far more than rubies" (verse 10).

Mom’s tear did not linger long in my hand that day, but its resulting impression is indelible.

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