Over the past 40 years, I’ve driven south down Highway 1 to Rockingham more times than I can count. The summer that my husband Ron and I were married, Ron’s mother Cumi moved from the North Carolina mountains where she was raised to the hot, flat sandhills area of our state and, ever since, our family life has been punctuated by trips to Rockingham.

In spite of our many visits there, all I really know of the town of Rockingham is contained within the walls of the low-slung brick ranch that Cumi and her husband Jimmy have called home for more than four decades. I know the smells of the kitchen and the feel of the comfortable plaid sofa in the den. I know the collection of miniature spoons hanging on the wall and the curtains drawn tight against the outdoor light. I know the warmth of the gas fireplace that used to hold logs and I know the bathroom where gold towels hang so neatly I’m afraid to touch them. I know the dishwasher that sits unused because it’s much more efficient and frugal to wash the dishes yourself. I know the collection of family photos that changes over the years but always includes the people Cumi loves most.

On the bright morning of Mother’s Day, 2019, Cumi slipped away at the age of 91, sitting in a recliner, holding Jimmy’s hand. A few days later Ron and our daughters and I found ourselves heading to Rockingham once again, this time to say a final good-bye to our mother, grandmother, and mother-in-law.

Cumi was a formidable person and in my early years of knowing her, I was a little afraid of her. Her strong will carried her from the mountain cabin where she was raised to the city life she dreamed of, in Asheville and in Detroit. When Ron’s dad died suddenly, Cumi carved a life for her son and herself out of nothing but determination and grit. She and her second husband Jimmy were married for 53 years and for most of that time, Cumi ran the show. It was only when dementia crept in that she relaxed the reins and allowed Jimmy to take charge, which he did with enormous patience and care.

Cumi kept the cleanest house I’ve ever seen, I’m pretty sure because even dirt was intimidated to cross her path. She fought diligently and successfully to keep her weight within 3 pounds of her ideal and took careful pride in her appearance. She loved to shop, especially for clothes, and she favored the color red. Cumi introduced me to delicacies like Watergate salad and Seven-Up pound cake and she made the world’s best cheese straws. She had a playful side that was especially apparent in her interactions with her son and her husband and her granddaughters, all of whom she loved to tease and be teased by. She played a mean game of bridge and pinochle. Her friends were friends for life. Without her, the three people I treasure most would not be a part of this world.

Cumi never wanted to move to Rockingham to start with but, as she became familiar with the town and its people, she came to feel at home there and to appreciate it. And as I came to know Cumi and to learn her ways, she became family to me and a person I grew to love. May you rest in peace, Cumi.

May 16, 2019, County #41 – Richmond