Bobbie, giving and laughing through the pain
Bobbie Morgan Livingston was my first cousin and one of my few idols. My father died when I was ten and we moved from Seattle to a small town of 300 in Mississippi. I was an angry, defiant child in every way and when I was upset I ran away. My dad’s family was a lifesaver for my mother and her five unruly children; there was always room at their tables and hearts. In those days it didn’t take much to set me off running down the farm roads trying to reach the woods to escape the pain. Bobbie’s mom, my Aunt Annie Mae, would call to her to “go catch her and bring her back!” Bobbie and I both were married numerous times, ok, more than two and less than five, which provided endless gossip and speculation at family gatherings. We used to joke that we would put the names and dates of our marriages on the back of our tombstones so that everyone could keep it straight. At the yearly Memorial Service at the family cemetery, we would sit together and we could see distant relatives...