THE WOMAN BEHIND THE WRITER

Remembering My Mother

Jul 19, 2026

Volume 83, July 18, 2026

This issue was designed as a magazine. If you're reading by email, click the "view it in a web browser" link at the very top of this message to enjoy the full magazine layout.

Welcome to Volume 83 of Webber's Whipping Post.

This week's issue is unlike any I've published before. On Friday, July 10th, I said goodbye to my mother. I'd like to introduce you to the woman who quietly shaped so much of who I became. There is also the next installment of “A Space in Time,” - a story of Abraham Lincoln surviving his assassination which she was enjoying, the usual music video that accompanies all newsletters, and a little humor.

Remembering Delores "Dee" Webber

Eulogy For Our Mother

I’d like to welcome and thank everyone who has come today to celebrate my mother’s life. My sister, Kae, and I are deeply grateful for your presence and for the kindness you’ve shown our family.

Well...it’s official. At nearly seventy years of age, Kae and I have become orphans.

I say that somewhat in jest, but there is an odd truth to it. After Dad passed away in 2016 and now Mom ten years later, we actually found ourselves talking about what an unusual feeling it is. Strange thoughts have a way of surfacing when a lifetime of memories begins flashing through your mind.

In truth, we’ve been far more fortunate than most. We were blessed to know all four of our grandparents until we were in our thirties, and God allowed us another thirty-five years with our mother after that. We have been richly blessed.

Mom would have turned eighty-eight in September. That’s a full life. To someone who knew her only casually, it might seem difficult to become overly emotional at the passing of someone who had lived such a long life. But those of us who knew her well knew her remarkable strengths and her delightful eccentricities.

Our mother was one tough cookie. She had to be.

She married my father, a stubborn and determined truck driver, when she was only seventeen years old. Together they raised three children while Dad spent countless days and nights on the road trying to build a trucking company. It wasn’t an easy life. There were financial struggles, long absences, uncertainty, and more than a few setbacks.

Yet Mom never complained.

She became Dad’s sounding board, his encourager, and often the steady hand that kept everything together. When health problems temporarily forced Dad off the road, she went to work at the Roper plant to help support the family. Behind every successful man is often an extraordinary woman, and that was certainly true in our parents’ marriage.

Against what many would have considered impossible odds for two teenagers who married so young, they built a marriage that lasted sixty-one years.

After Dad died, Mom somehow found the strength to continue another decade without him, something I honestly never thought she’d be able to do. Through it all, she quietly endured.

Now, Mom certainly had quirks. What sticks out foremost in my mind is that she possessed many wonderful qualities...but cooking wasn’t among them. If she were here today, she would undoubtedly disagree with that assessment.

As I watched my sister Kae care for Mom during these past months, I couldn’t help but see history repeating itself. I’ll be the first to admit I don’t have a nurturing bone in my body, which makes me admire people like Mom and Kae all the more. Love has a way of coming full circle.

Mom also developed what might politely be called a close personal relationship with Amazon. We’re convinced she knew every UPS and FedEx driver by name. In fact, Kae and I believe she bears at least a little responsibility for Amazon founder Jeff Bezos becoming one of the wealthiest men in history.

Some things simply have to be remembered with a smile. One of our favorite family stories happened in the late 1960s.

Mom generally left the discipline to Dad and let me assure you...he was quite proficient in that department.

One summer afternoon, after the three of us kids had spent the day arguing and fighting, a sport we had perfected, Mom finally reached the end of her patience. She loaded us into the old 1965 Dodge Polaris and warned us she was taking us to the truck terminal across town so Dad could deal with us.

As fate would have it, there was a large walnut tree beside the old garage at our house.

Mom threw the car into reverse, stepped on the gas, and promptly backed straight into that walnut tree.

The tree didn’t move an inch.

By now she was even angrier. So she pulled forward...and backed into that tree again.

The second collision accomplished two things. It didn’t hurt the tree, but it completely deflated Mom’s anger.

By then, the three of us children were trying desperately not to laugh, and before long even Mom couldn’t help but see the humor in it. We laughed about that story together for the rest of her life. Looking back now, I’ve think Mom was a lot like that old walnut tree. Life backed into her more than once. It bruised her, tested her, and left its marks. But it never knocked her down.

Mom was generous beyond measure. She quietly made certain her great-grandchildren would have money for college. When our daughters were little girls, she delighted in dressing them in the prettiest clothes she could find. She may not always have expressed her love with words, but she demonstrated it through countless acts of kindness and generosity.

Then came 1978. Everything changed. At only forty years old, Mom lost her sixteen-year-old daughter, our sister Tami. No parent should ever have to bury a child.

That tragedy tested her faith, her strength, and, at times, even her sanity. Although she continued living, a part of her heart was buried with Tami. She carried that loss every day for the next forty-eight years.

And yet today, that thought gives us perhaps our greatest comfort.

Last Friday, Mom finally went home.

Home to the Lord.

Home to Dad. Home to her mama.

And especially, home to Tami. I cannot begin to imagine what that reunion must have been like. But I do know this. For forty-eight years, she longed to hold her little girl again.

Today, she no longer has to. That thought will comfort Kae and me for the rest of our lives.

Mom, thank you for your strength.

Thank you for your sacrifices.

Thank you for the family you and Dad created.

And thank you for loving us the best way you knew how.

We’ll miss you terribly. But we’ll see you again.

Until then...give Dad and Tami a hug for us.

A SPACE IN TIME - CHAPTER 10

The following morning Lincoln arose and looked out the window onto the front lawn. The first thing he noticed was a throng of people standing a hundred yards away being held back by a small band of soldiers in the standard blue uniform of the Union. He dressed and went outside. To his consternation there were two more men guarding the front door.

“Morning, boys,” Lincoln said. “What seems to be the issue out there?” he asked, pointing in the direction of the people being held back.

“Grant’s orders, sir,” one guard stated. “Nobody is to be let on the property and we’ve been stationed here in case anybody does get through.”

“Seems like an awful amount of men to guard one man,” Lincoln said as he walked to the stairs. Immediately the two guards followed him. Lincoln looked at them uncomfortably.

“Morning all,” Lincoln said as he approached the people being held back. “Sergeant, may I ask what is going on here.”

“Just following orders,” a burly sergeant said. “Nobody is to come upon the White House lawn, by order of General Grant. I think these folks wanted to make sure you’re okay after your ordeal.”

“I see, sergeant, and thank you,” Lincoln replied. He smiled at the crowd. “Folks, as you can see, I am no worse for the wear. I suppose I will be around for a while longer, so no reason to be alarmed. But thank you for checking on me.”

The people in attendance

“Morning, boys,” Lincoln said. “What seems to be the issue out there?” he asked, pointing in the direction of the people being held back.

“Grant’s orders, sir,” one guard stated. “Nobody is to be let on the property and we’ve been stationed here in case anybody does get through.”

“Seems like an awful amount of men to guard one man,” Lincoln said as he walked to the stairs. Immediately the two guards followed him. Lincoln looked at them uncomfortably.

“Morning all,” Lincoln said as he approached the people being held back. “Sergeant, may I ask what is going on here.”

The people in attendance

Will the Circle Be Unbroken by Gregg Allman & Friends

Will the Circle Be Unbroken?“ was written in 1907 by Ada Habershon as a Christian hymn. Charles Gabriel wrote the music. The lyrics were actually quite different from the song that the late Gregg Allman sang at the funeral for his brother, Duane, and later his mother.

The song has become a symbol of the enduring bond within the Allman family and the broader musical community. It represents the impact of loss and the hope that music provides in times of grief.