Last Lecture
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| Florence and Elizabeth |
Many universities hold a tradition of assigning popular professors to think deeply about the things that matter most to them and then deliver a hypothetical “last lecture” of the thoughts they would impart if it were their last chance to give a speech. Ironically, Florence had a similar opportunity several months before she became aware of her illness, although the opportunity came as part of a “Charm School” for college coeds rather than as a “last lecture.”
In December of 1953, not long after Elwood’s aforementioned dream, the Associated Women Students Association at the College of Southern Utah (CSU) approached Florence with a proposition. They were putting together a series of lectures for the young ladies of the college and wanted Florence to give the final two lectures in the 7-week series. Other speakers were to present talks on personal health and grooming, wardrobe, dating and popularity, and etiquette for college girls. A panel would discuss problems confronting college girls. Florence was to speak on character and on chastity. According to a newspaper article announcing the events, “The purpose of the discussions is to acquaint young ladies of the college with the importance of proper conduct and neat appearance in a critical society.”
Florence felt the weight of the responsibility. As she told the women in her first lecture, “For about a week after…agreeing to fulfill this assignment, each morning I would awaken with the heavy feeling which I compare to the fog we have had the last ten days.” Elwood remembers that the assignment came at a time of significant stress for Florence. She tired easily that winter and began to be bothered with persistent headaches. However, as the holidays and the lecture series coincided with all the usual demands of motherhood and work in the church and the community, it was easy to view the fatigue and headaches as symptoms of stress.
On February 9, 1954 Florence gave a talk she entitled “The Real You.” She counseled the young women to build a strong foundation, to honestly analyze themselves and take responsibility for their own happiness. She reminded them to seek for courage and to use understanding in developing relationships. In defining success, she shared the following poem written by Bessie Anderson Stanley (and incorrectly attributed by Florence and many others to Robert Louis Stevenson):
“He has achieved success who has lived well, laughed often, and loved much;
Who has enjoyed the trust of pure women, the respect of intelligent men and the love of little children;
Who has filled his niche and accomplished his task;
Who has never lacked appreciation of Earth's beauty or failed to express it;
Who has left the world better than he found it,
Whether an improved poppy, a perfect poem, or a rescued soul;
Who has always looked for the best in others and given them the best he had;
Whose life was an inspiration;
Whose memory a benediction.”
For most who knew Florence, the poem described her own life well.
The following week, Florence gave a challenging speech entitled “A Case for Chastity.” She expressed a special anxiety about saying the right thing in the right way, knowing from her own experience that talks on this subject could prove both helpful and incredibly harmful. “I do believe,” she said, “that frank but modest discussion, giving factual information, creates more wholesome attitudes.” Following the promised frank discussion, she ended with this plea:
“Let us think of sex as beautiful, not obscene. One writer has described it this way: ‘The sexual nature gives grace and symmetry to the body, elasticity to the step, warmth to the blood, strength to the heart, force to the mind, firmness to the will, beauty and radiance to the face, and enthusiasm and courage to the whole life...’” (Quote from Joseph Conwell, taken from his 1903 book Manhood’s Morning)
Florence must have succeeded in her aim to say the right things in the right way, as the Iron Country Record account of the event reported that the talk was “especially well received.” A few months later, the CSU women faculty members sent a personal note to the mothers of all of the CSU women students and included a transcript of “A Case for Chastity” in the mailing.
The Fainting Spell and an Eventual Diagnosis
Elwood reported that through the winter and spring, Florence suffered increasingly from headaches and that she began to find it difficult to remember things. At ward or stake dances, she elected to sit down rather than dance, and sometimes when she spoke, her words would trail off rather than remaining strong to the end of her thought. Still, however, Florence and Elwood attributed the symptoms to stress, not suspecting any serious malady until an event in early May changed their perspective entirely.
One day during the first week in May, Elwood received a call at his office from a neighbor, Emma Brockmeier. Emma called to tell him that Florence had suffered a bad fall. She had been making beds in the boys’ room downstairs when she fell and hit her head on the corner of an open drawer. Fortunately, the Culligan man arrived soon after to change the soft water tank, and he found her on the floor. He alerted the neighbor, who called an ambulance. X-rays showed nothing significant, so Florence returned home after a night in the hospital. Her condition worsened by the day, with severe headaches and “strange spells” during which her expression would seem to freeze for a few moments. Paul Edmunds, Elwood’s counselor in the stake presidency and the Corry family physician, suggested that Florence see a specialist in Salt Lake City. Accordingly, they made an appointment with Dr. Chester B. Powell for the end of May.
On May 28, the day before Florence and Elwood were to leave for Salt Lake City, Florence had a seizure. Judy remembers that she was in the bedroom helping her mother fold the clothes, when Florence began to shake uncontrollably and slumped onto the bed. Steve recalls the scene from his vantage point in the kitchen:
“Mom was lying on the bed because she had not felt good for weeks and weeks. And suddenly my Aunt Fae called, ‘Oh, Elwood, Oh Elwood, come quick!’ From the sound of her voice I knew that whatever was happening was extremely serious, and I can remember crawling on the floor in the corner just praying that Mom wasn’t dying; and then, realizing that I wasn’t doing any good there, I ran into the bedroom and saw that Mom was in the middle of a seizure, and I was certain she was dying, and I turned to Dad and I said, ‘Is she going to die?’ Dad said, ‘I don’t know.’ Within minutes, Dr. Paul Edmunds was there, and I asked him the same question. By this time, she had stopped shaking, but she was still unconscious and breathing very heavily. He said, ‘Oh, I don’t think so’ in a kindly manner. I didn’t realize at the time that he didn’t know either, but he needed to calm me down because he could see the anxiety on my face.”
For the children, this terrifying image of their mother mid-seizure remained imprinted in their memory. Florence felt her own terror, later explaining to the specialist in Salt Lake City that as the weeks had progressed, she felt as if she were literally losing her mind.
Elwood and Florence traveled to Salt Lake for what they assumed would be a weekend of tests to determine the cause of the seizure. Doctors initially suspected that the fall in early May had caused a subdural hematoma (a collection of blood on the surface of the brain, usually the result of a serious head injury) but could not rule out a tumor. After a number of tests, they determined that an immediate operation was necessary. Accordingly, Dr. Powell performed a craniotomy on May 30. Florence initially responded well, but within 48 hours she became drowsy and responsive only to painful stimuli, and a second surgery was performed on June 1. The surgeries revealed a malignant brain tumor, diagnosed as a glioblastoma multiforme (or high grade astrocytoma). Dr. Powell told Elwood that he removed as much of the tumor as possible but could not extract it all. He also explained that if Florence survived the surgery, that she would only live from three months to a year. She would regain some of her health and strength for a time, but the tumor would eventually grow back. Elwood kept this heavy news to himself.
Recalling the Dream
The previous autumn (October 26, 1953, according to his journal), Elwood awakened one night from what seemed to be a vivid dream of forewarning. In the dream, he saw the date “June 7” on a gravestone. During the first week of June, Florence lay in her room in Holy Cross hospital in Salt Lake City in critical condition. Elwood remembers a conversation he had with Florence on the night of June 6 as he sat alone with her in her room:
“She told me she was going to die the next day and though she was extremely ill she tried to give me advice and counsel, encouraging me to carry on and take care of the family. I left the hospital next morning and spent most of the day at my sister Inez’ home endeavoring to get some sleep, but it was a restless day for me. I expected each time the telephone rang it would be a call telling me to come back to the hospital at once or that she had passed away. When I did go back to the hospital that evening, they told me that during the morning Margret Decker, her sister-in-law, was with her and that Florence began calling for her mother, telling her to wait, that she was coming.”
Elwood later discovered that on the morning of June 7, the Relief Society sisters in their ward met in the Relief Society room and held a special prayer circle for Florence’s recovery. He believed that the Lord honored that petition and allowed Florence to remain with her family for six months longer. The family had many precious experiences with her during that time, and they felt the love of their church family, as well, in hundreds of acts of service and tokens of love. These months gave them all time to adjust to God’s will and gain the faith they needed.
Due to the dream, Elwood accepted Florence’s death as inevitable, feeling that she had completed her mission in life. While he could not dispel that feeling, it troubled him. He wrote once, “I remember one day I came home at noon and went into the bedroom where she lay. As I came through the door, she looked up at me and said, ‘Elwood, if I could see you come through that door and you would tell me you knew I was going to get well, it would mean more to me than anything in the world.’” It hurt him deeply that he could not tell her convincingly that he knew she was going to recover.
It bothered him, too, that he could not bless her to recover. On one occasion, sometime during the summer of 1954, Florence was given a priesthood blessing. Stories differ on the details of the occasion. According to Kristine’s memory, several men stood in the circle, including Ancel Adams, the husband of Florence’s half-sister Gertrude. Ancel intended to give the blessing, but for whatever reason, Elwood ended up voicing the blessing instead. Whether because of inspiration or because of his own feeling of the inevitable, Elwood found himself unable to bless his wife that she would recover. The next day, Ancel came to Elwood’s office and said something to the effect of, “If anyone had enough faith around here, she would get better.” Carol Ann Parry Jones, on the other hand, reported that Ancel did give the blessing and promised Florence that she would live.
Regardless of the details, it is clear that Florence’s illness tested the faith of those close to her. Elwood wrote the following some years after Florence’s passing:
“After her passing I was very troubled in spirit and began blaming myself for having such a negative attitude, and I wondered if she would not be holding this against me. About a month after her death, as I was retiring to bed, I was feeling very despondent, and I knelt down and asked the Lord to forgive me for my fatalistic attitude and prayed that she would not old this against me. Almost immediately I experienced a most peaceful and sweet influence in the room which gave me the perfect assurance that all was well.”
Early Summer
On June 10, Florence was discharged from the hospital in Salt Lake City. She spent some time in the hospital in Cedar City before returning home to rest and convalesce. For a time, her health improved, and she even attended church occasionally. Although her head scarf was a constant reminder of the surgery, she seemed to be returning to normal.
While Florence recuperated, her sister Blanche came from California to help out with the cooking and cleaning. The Corry children struggled to connect with Blanche, and Kris remembers that they sometimes acted up. After Blanche flew home to Los Angeles, Kris confessed to her mother that she felt badly about how she had treated her aunt. Florence shared with her daughter a bit of Blanche’s background and the struggles she had faced in her life, providing a useful dose of perspective.
Steve turned 12 that July and spent the summer playing Little League baseball. Baseball started in June, and Steve said he never really expected his mother to attend his games. He remembers one game in particular:
“I was in the middle of a game, and I was at bat, and I can remember the best pitcher in the league was pitching against me: Eric Gardner. He had two strikes on me. I was not what would be considered a good hitter. I wasn’t a bad hitter—somewhat average… I backed out of the batter’s box after a pitch. I looked into the stands, and there was Mom. She had come to that game to watch me. There she was in her little headdress and right behind the backstop, watching me at bat.
“Well, I was transformed. Where I was lackluster prior to seeing Mom, I was now determined to hit that ball. I’ve never stepped in the batter’s box in my life when I wanted to hit the ball more than that time. Well, Eric threw me another pitch, and I swung and fouled it off. He threw me another, and I swung and fouled it off. I think he finally discovered I was going to swing at anything no matter what it was. And I was; I was going to hit that ball. I think realizing that, he threw me a bad pitch, and I finally struck out. It would have been nice to say I hit a home run, but the point here is that Mom made the difference. I must have hit 15 foul balls before I got out of there. …I’ve never tried so hard to please her, to make her proud of me.”
While Florence supported her children, she also expected them to support their father, no matter what the future brought. She made it clear to her older children that she knew she was going to die, and on one occasion, she made Judy promise that her support if Elwood remarried after Florence’s death.
Moving Into Autumn
The middle of summer found Florence active in her club, taking Blanche with her to the July meeting of En Avante and attending a luncheon that same week for her good friend Dagma Seaman Palmer. She even served as part of a committee in charge of planning En Avante’s annual summer supper party.
As the summer wore on, however, Florence’s health began to decline again. One evening in early August, the Sargents come over for a visit, and during their visit Florence had a seizure at the dinner table. Blanche tried to ring for help, but in her panic all she could do was rattle the speaker up and down on the phone. Finally, Mrs. Sargent made the call.
On August 14 and 15, Elder Elray Christiansen, an assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, was in Cedar City for the quarterly stake conference. Elder Christiansen asked Elwood if he would like him to give Florence a blessing. Florence was in the hospital at the time, probably following the dinnertime seizure. Kristine accompanied the men to the hospital room and remembers thinking, “If he blesses her that she’ll live, she will.” Elder Christiansen did not bless Florence with a recovery, although he did bless her that things would be well with the children. For Kristine, that was the last hope…gone.
By the time school started that fall, Florence’s arm and leg began to show signs of paralysis, and she spent much of her time in bed. She began to be forgetful and struggled to focus or multi-task. Judy remembers coming home from school one day to find a mangled loaf of bread on the counter. “Man, who cut this bread?” she asked. Florence had tried to cut it but found she could no longer manage some simple tasks. Dr. Powell, the surgeon, had said they could try cobalt treatments, but the process would likely leave Florence a vegetable.
Meanwhile, the community rallied around the family. They provided meals, helped can corn, and helped with the children. The family had no health insurance when Florence fell ill, but somehow that worked out, as well.
Florence remembered vividly how difficult it was for her family when their mother died, and she ached at the thought of leaving her own children without a mother. One particular day, Steve came home from school to find his mother up and about, with her hair combed and makeup on. She looked beautiful, like the Mom he remembered from before. She told him, “Steve, I am going to get better. I am determined to get better. I want you to take me out in the yard and show me around again.” Mother and son walked hand in hand into the back yard. He remembers that they sat down on a wooden bench underneath the weeping willow tree and talked, just the two of them. It was a day he would reflect on again and again.
October
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| Abish Corry's home, as it looks now |
Shortly after October General Conference, Florence’s condition had worsened to the point that the family felt it would be wise to have her cared for in a hospital. Accordingly, they called Whit Jensen of Jensen Mortuary to transport her to Iron County Hospital. She remained in the hospital for some two or three weeks with little change in her condition. Finally, deciding that the family could care for her just as well at home, Elwood installed a rented hospital bed at his mother’s house next door and called Whit to bring her back home. Despite her illness, Florence’s trademark humor remained intact. As Whit wheeled her into the bedroom, she looked up and said, “Whit, I’m sorry it was a dry run this time. You came back in thirty years, and we will make it the real thing.”
Another family friend felt the calming influence of Florence’s humor during those last months of her illness. One day, Emma Streuli Esplin came to help care for Florence, and while she was there, Florence had a seizure. By this time, the family had become somewhat accustomed to the seizures, but for Emma this was a new and terrifying experience. As Elwood tells the story, Emma became quite excited and tried to keep Florence from shaking, all the while crying “Call the doctor! Call the doctor!” In a few minutes, the seizure passed, and Florence returned to her relaxed self. She had not passed out completely during the seizure and thus was aware of Emma’s panic. Once she regained her composure, Florence quipped, “I think you had better call the doctor for Emma! She needs him more than I do.”
As the tumor grew, and she felt her health deteriorate, Florence turned outward, exhibiting her trademark compassion and concern for those she loved. Judy recalls that about the time of her mother’s last stay in the hospital that October, a boy from Judy’s class at school had been molesting old women and young girls. Knowing that her daughter would be concerned, Florence kept apprised of the situation and called Judy from the hospital to let her know that they had caught the boy. Some time later, when she dreamed Judy had been in an accident, she called Judy to her bedside to make sure all was well.
Steve remembers a similar call to his mother’s bedside. Florence heard him playing in the living room and called him to her room. She reminded him that he had recently been ordained a deacon and asked that he would always live his life according to the counsel that was given to him as a priesthood holder. It was only later that he realized that this was her final advice to him. She knew she would die soon, and this was the message she wanted to impress upon his mind.
Though mostly lucid, even at this late stage of her illness, there remained days when the tumor took control. One day in late October was a complete blank for Florence.
November
As October rolled into November, Florence planned ahead to the Christmas she knew she would probably not share with her family. She asked a friend in town to make beautiful tatted pillowcases for Kristine and Judy and ordered a record player for the younger kids and an electric shaver for Elwood. Kristine was to be sure the gifts were picked up from the store. Elwood had instructions to buy luggage for Kristine in preparation for college in Logan in the fall.
Far more important than the gifts were the moments Florence shared with her family. Bob was just seven years old that year but has a vivid memory from this time. “I was lying by her in bed, and she hugged me tighter than I ever remember and said, ‘Oh my Bobby.’ She is the only one I remember calling me that. I didn’t realize until after she died why she hugged me so tight.”
Florence’s siblings visited, as well. On November 7 that year, her brother Woodrow was sustained as the second counselor in the Parowan First Ward, and he came over to the house to tell her the news. Woodrow had not attended church much for a period of years, and the news of this calling delighted Florence. She had been a second mother to Woodrow and Alpine when their own mother died, and they had a close relationship.
By the fourth week of November, Florence’s condition had worsened considerably. Kristine recalls the events of that week:
“Two days before Thanksgiving, I was over to see Mother at Grandma Corry’s, where we took care of her. She could barely talk, but as I told her I had to go home and get supper, she raised her hand a little and said, ‘good-by kid.’ The next day she was in a coma. Thanksgiving dinner was at Ruth’s (Elwood’s sister), and I remember hurrying through it so I could go and stay with Mother while Dad went down to eat. Friday followed the same pattern. That night, as I was leaving to go home, I thought to myself, ‘she’ll die tonight.’ I went home and went to bed, and the next thing I recall was it being early morning and hearing the front door open and the living room light go on. I knew it was Dad, and I knew what he was coming for, so when he called my name, I didn’t answer. He switched on our bedroom light, and I had to turn over then. He only said, ‘Your mother is dead.’ I got dressed and went back over to Grandma’s with him. I touched Mother’s forehead briefly and can still distinctly recall the cold, clammy feel. It wasn’t Mother.”
Florence died at 5:45 a.m. on the morning of Saturday, November 27, 1954, just six days after her 43rd birthday.
