Stephen Yeargin

The casters squeaked loudly as the staff carefully rolled the platform down the ramp. I stood quietly with my back to it, lined up with five other relatives and family friends. The narrow ramp had made it difficult to maneuver, but once down to our level we were able to complete that particular leg of the journey with relative ease. Several miles away, the same six visibly shaken men walked up the hill and finished our charge — one that none of us were eager to have taken up.

In the funeral parlor a while earlier, I had examined the wallpaper next to my seat as the minister read the eulogy. Looking at him, or at her, was not an option. Hidden in the patterns was what I hoped to be the secret to maintaining composure in a room filled with grief and sadness. The minister did his level best to deliver a hopeful message to ease the pain. Two selections from Elvis Presley’s catalog of gospel music ripped most of that false composure to shreds. The combination of the divine message and the King’s pristine voice sent a shot right to my heart, putting forward the truth in a way that nothing else today had done.

She is gone.

I make no claims to have known my grandmother the best. Her two daughters had been right there with her through the storms of their childhood and called her frequently after moving on to other cities, jobs and starting their own families. They both had spent almost every Christmas and Thanksgiving with her and the many visits in between. Both had taken her to her oncologist appointments and sat with her through chemotherapy. Both were with her at her bedside when she passed away on Tuesday. She was very much a part of their lives.

But I do know a little bit about her love for her four grandchildren. This bleary-eyed twenty-something to the two-month old grandson across town and all points in between knew her love for them. These last couple of days I have been reminded of that love time and time again.

I remember her smile as she looked out of her kitchen door as we were coming walking in from our car and her special blend of humor she used in all of her stories about neighbors, relatives, critters and co-workers. I remember the patterns in the linoleum floor and the large pillow in front of the television that I usually took up residence upon as a child. I remember overnight stays and trips to help her get kerosene for her space heater. I remember her calming voice when I dropped in for an unplanned visit during a turbulent college break. I remember the way she always announced my dubious title of “[her] favorite grandson” whenever we talked on the phone. I must confess that her other one is awfully adorable.

I have told many well-wishers that “she was an amazing woman, and will be deeply missed” because I believe that short sentence holds two of the biggest understatements I have ever written. She was amazing because of what she was able to provide for her children and grandchildren against all odds. She will be deeply missed because those sacrifices changed the course of many of our lives, and we are forever in her debt.

Bonnie Bowden
Published: Thursday, June 4, 2009 – The Paris Post-Intelligencer

Retired Emerson Electric Co. employee Bonnie Bowden, 71, of Humboldt, died Tuesday, June 2, 2009, in Nashville.

Her funeral will be at 1 p.m. Saturday at Ridgeway Funeral Home.

Allen Rietz will officiate. Burial will be in Sandy Point Cemetery at Camden.

Chosen as pallbearers are Michael and Stephen Yeargin, Faron Stout, Jerry Hughes Jr., Jim Cooper and Gene Schrader.

Visitation will be 4-8 p.m. Friday and after 9 a.m. Saturday.

Born April 17, 1938, in Bruceton, she was a daughter of the late Ben Pinkston and Ella Mae Webb Pinkston Cotham.

She was a member of West Paris Baptist Church. A family member said she loved Elvis, reading, doing crossword puzzles and peace and quiet.

She leaves two daughters: Janna (Michael) Yeargin and Larisa (Faron) Stout, both of Nashville; two sisters: Sandra Carter of Paris and Faye Schrader of Puryear; and four grandchildren: Stephen, Miranda and Heather Yeargin and Quinton Stout.

She also was preceded in death by a sister: Mildred Vessey; and a brother: Ben Rhea Pinkston.