Loads Of Love

Houston. The Friday before Mother’s Day, 1984, and our only child, Melissa, was just finishing her sophomore year at Texas A&M. I had a hard day showing houses to out-of-town buyers and drove them to meet their 4 p.m. flight at Intercontinental. I got home just after six and Freemon said, “I know you’re tired so I’ll just run out and get two Schlotsky sandwiches for supper.” I plopped down on the sofa and managed a weak, “Yea.” While he went to the bedroom for his keys I heard a key in the front door lock. Next I heard, “Surprise! I’m home!” coming from our entry hall and into the den walked our Melissa – her purse dangling by its strap around her neck, keys clenched in her mouth and dragging a humongous Foley’s sack full of laundry behind her.

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