The Devil's Mother Was a Kind Soul

How does one become such a pompous ass, full of himself, arrogant, superior to others?  His upbringing was a little different, but not to the extremes or perhaps they were in his book.  He was the youngest of five.  His Father was a Canadian that came from a poor family, but his father had purchased him a United States Birth Certificate.  He wanted his son to have a better life in the States.  George Hayward Parker Henshaw IV was 85 years old when he died on Father’s Day June 16, 1984. He had never been sick a day in his life and was so proud of the fact that he had all his natural teeth when he was admitted in to the hospital in Jackson, Michigan.  He died of cancer at home shortly after.  He was born October 16, but no one was sure of the actual year, as his birth certificate had been altered.  He was known to all of us as Pop, or to Worm as  Daddy’s Daddy.

He worked at Michigan Bell Telephone where he retired from, years before I met him.  He was a proud man with a much younger wife that stood by his side for fifty four years when he died. She was a daughter of a wealthy family who owned Dunham Hardware in what is now known as Old Towne in Lansing Michigan.

He flew airplanes and she was a young artist. It wasn’t long after they met that they were married.  She was eighteen, he was thirty one. They began a family immediately and when it was all done, they had five children who all had significant careers in their adult life or they were married to someone who had a significant career with the exception of the youngest, Killer.

They lived in East Lansing, in a modest three bedroom ranch home.  She was a stay at home Mom.  When she was thirty six and her youngest entered first grade, she enrolled in college at Michigan State University.  In her freshman year, this mother of five received an achievement scroll for stellar grades.  She had A’s in all of her courses and still managed a home with five children.

She went on to study art in Paris after her children grew.  She was a brilliant artist and she dabbled in drawing for many card companies, but drew the most for Fravessi.  Her Christmas designs were spectacular as well as her everyday greeting cards. Her name was Alice Pauline Dunham Henshaw, but we called her Mimi.

Mimi dressed to the nines.  Pop treated her like a fine porcelain china doll.  The love these two shared, seen in their eyes as they looked at one another was phenomenal after so many years and so many children. Mimi was the perfect lady; she always wore dresses and heels, fine hats, gloves and the best in jewelry.  Do you think I was being groomed after her?

In the years that Killer and I were married, they moved from Ann Arbor to Orchard Lake and finally to Jackson where Pop “originated” from.  Mimi loved the big cities.  She loved to shop and eat at little fancy restaurants. She did not drive; Pop was in charge of that.  She did not pay bills, Pop was in charge of that, she truly was a woman from a generation that men took care of everything and women stayed home and raised children.

You could not drop in to see Mimi and Pop, you had to make an appointment. They had several grandchildren, but they were not involved in their children’s life or their grandchildren’s life as they had raised their children and this time was for them.

Pop always wore a three piece suit.  Later in life, when I met Precious’s mom, Jean, she had shared with me that she grew up on this same block that the Henshaw’s resided on and it was the house that all the children in the neighborhood were afraid of.  The house was surrounded by a hedge and the owner was an elderly man who mowed his lawn in a three piece suit.  From the outside looking in, this would seem a bit odd, but Pop was a very proud man. He was extremely smart, always inventing little contraptions in his retired years.

I remember one time when we went to visit, we were a little early and I rang the doorbell.  He came to the door and he had on his three piece suit, but his tie was loosened and the upper button on his shirt was open.  You would have thought I walked in on him naked the way he apologized for his appearance.

Mimi and Pop adored me and I them.  Pop always told Killer that he had a fine young women and that I “cut quite a fine ankle.”  I found that particularly funny as it was a compliment from his generation referencing the beauty of a woman.

As time passed, my lessons in fashion were introduced.  I was not to visit the elder Henshaw’s without the proper attire to include a hat and gloves. This was not a demand of theirs this was from their son.

After Pop died, I encourage Mimi to spread her wings and fly.  She had never driven on the highway and not much around town.  I had made plans for her to drive to Lansing on the highway and upon her arrival to the Homestead, we would have lunch and shop.  I had balloons waiting for her when she arrived to celebrate her accomplishment of the highway.  She was seventy three at the time and she was free to roam. She was not confined to Jackson, Michigan which held nothing that interested her.  She was not comfortable driving to the Detroit suburbs, but she could drive to Lansing and that offered a little more than Jackson for her.

After our marriage ended, I stayed in touch with Mimi.  We had always written to one another when I was married to her son, she wrote all her letters in the finest calligraphy and I admired her style.  After we divorced, I called her to schedule an appointment to visit.  Killer had already been down to see her.  She did not hold a grudge that I broke her son’s heart.  I think she fully understood the challenges I faced in the union.

We would often go to her favorite shopping spot in Farmington Hills, Novi and Orchard Lake.  We’d eat lunch at her favorite bistros and we’d enjoy time like any mother and daughter would. Her daughters had very little to do with her. I do not know the story behind that, but I can surmise it was from the apron strings being severed when they were married and on their own.

One day I did not receive a response to a letter I had sent to her.  It was not normal for her to not respond immediately.  I called Killer; we had been divorced well over five years.  I asked him if there was anything wrong with Mimi.  He was surprised that I would call and ask such a thing. “What do you care about my Mother?” I shared with him the relationship we had after I had left him.  The times I had taken her shopping and met her for dinner or lunch, our continued exchange of letters over the years. He snickered, “Well, isn’t that something, she has never shared that with me.” He refused to tell me what had happened and our time on the phone was bringing back memories of the control he once had over me.

I ended the call.  I had no way of knowing what had happened.  I continued to write, my letters were never returned.  One day, almost a year later, I received this envelope in the mail.  The letters appeared to have been scribbled on the package.  I had no idea who this was from and I opened it to find the handwriting on the inside was very similar.  The letter was brief.  She thanked me for being so kind, writing to her during her recovery.  She had suffered a stroke and was in a nursing home.  She was embarrassed by her handwriting and informed me that it was much too difficult to write any longer.  She signed it with love, Mimi.