THE DAILY OKLAHOMAN, 08 December 1999, page 6D:
Judith Delaine Edwards, age 55, passed away at the Norman Regional Hospital on Sunday, December 5, 1999. Funeral Services will be at the Alameda Baptist Church at 10:00 a.m. Thursday, December 9, 1999 with Rev. Phil Ratliff officiating. Interment to follow in the Sunset Memorial Park Cemetery in Norman under the direction of Mayes Funeral home of Norman. She was born September 1, 1944 in Olney, Texas to J.B. and Loree Knipe. She graduated from the Fox High School and earned her Bachelors Degree in Education from East Central University in 1972. Judith was a long time member of the Alameda Baptist Church since moving here with her husband, Ed in 1973. She was united in marriage to Ed Edwards August 24, 1963 in Carter County, Oklahoma. Judith served as a Sunday School teacher and as church pianist at the Alameda Baptist Church for over 20 years. She was also a member of the Church Benevelence Committee and worked with the church widows. She was also a member of the church chior. In addition to her church involvement and being an attendance clerk at the Kennedy Elementary School in Norman, she also loved cross stiching and crocheting. She is survived by: her husband, Ed of the home in Norman; a daughter, Rebekah Rogers and Matt of Norman; a son, Jay Edwards of the home in Norman; a sister, Francis Lewellen and Troy of Graham, Oklahoma; a brother Monty Knipe and Penny of Tampa, Florida; a brother Jamie Knipe and Glenda of Healdton, Oklahoma. The family has selected the Alameda Baptist Church Benevolence Fund as appropriate for expression of sympathy.
Judy's best cross stich.
Winter Warnings
a poem by her Daughter:
Good 'morrow moon, give greetings to
The stars that led you to your grave.
The sunrise in her yellow bathrobe
Yawns on the horizon.
The stars that led you to your grave
Told tales of snowfall, and the lady
Yawning there on the horizon
Whispers words of winter.
Tales of snowfall, and the lady's
Warnings give us little joy. The
Whispered words of winter warrant
Thoughts of preparation.
Warnings give us little joy;
The hallowed halls of doctors order
Heavy thoughts of preparation.
In the late year, she'll be dying.
The hallowed halls of doctors give no
Eager eyes to Christmas coming.
In the late year, she'll be dead.
Good 'morrow moon, give greetings.
Her favorite piano:
I never thought my life could change as it has in the past year. I was prepared for the fact that things could be lost, things disappear or they just fade away, but the hammer fell when I realized that home is much different when something is missing.
I once though that a hero was renowned and idolized, that if their achievements aren’t worthy of being public, they are not worthy of being a hero. Others think a hero is the one who would risk his life over another, foolishly pushing someone aside, only to stand there facing the train. Some even say heroes are the persons who succeed, the idiots are the persons who do not.
They all have something in common, though. A quintessential element that always seems true, the essential criteria that is taken for granted. The hero helps. That’s all that hero has to do.
Her hair has always been what we called "salt and pepper," bright gray with hints of black, which slowly faded away into white. She looked healthy throughout her face, which always seemed to be built around her smile and nothing else. The wrinkles of age, through covered, only added to the gaiety.
My mother came into Norman over twenty-five years ago, along with my father and my sister. The three of them joined Alameda Baptist Church, where my grandmother attended.
As I attended school, my mother felt a large sense of duty of having my life flow perfect and to plan. Early on, she hunted for peers of min, peers who would accept me, be my friend. She was successful, though most of them never stayed around for very long.
Later, she put her hand into my school. She assisted in many projects and activities, she acted as the occassional substitute, and she took on treasuer for a number of eyars. Her term of volunteerism was cut short one year, around my second grade. that day, the board approached my mother, suggesting that if she insisted on working with them so often, she might as well be paid for it. She accepted.
That following year, my mother became secretary of John F. Kennedy Elementary School. She was in charge of attendance, as well as acting as the school nurse, a secondary councilor, and the organizer of everyone around her. Beside her "running the school," as her co-workers described it, she became the linchpin to the education of so many children in the town of Norman. The job proved to pay off for the rest of her life.
I was in the third grade when all of this started. Half of my elementary years, my mother had been a fifteen second walk away from my class room, a basic blessing and curse. Belessed that in any situration, escape to family meant walking down the hall. Cursed in that naything I did wrong, the person who I don't want getting angry would hear about it instantly.
I learned to do everything right, a paranoia that I coarried with me throughout school. I had to do well, otherwise there would be a person that was not amused.
I carried this strongly until the recent year, when a linchpin in my life was lost. Something disappeared.
All the hero has to do is help. The welfare of at least one person can fall into that hero's hands. I believe this woman has helped many, but all I am concerned about is myself.
She wanted me never to think back on her fading away on a bed. She wanted my last memory of her to be that tall, white-haired woman that hunted for friends for me so my childhood wouldn’t be too lonely.