My Mom
Ethel was the manager of the jewelry department in Jubilee City Department store in Indianapolis for three years. She was the mother of three children. She was married to Leonard Eugene Goodwin on June 21, 1958 in Carmel, Hamilton County, Indiana (their marriage license was issued in Indianapolis, Marion County, IN).
Mom's Story
Ethel developed polio when she was a child, and after her mother's death, she tried hard to remain with her father, but he kept sending her to live with her mother's sister, Peggy. Peggy was married very shortly to Pearl's death, but she was willing to raise my mother as if she were her own. Peggy was more like a grandmother than a great-aunt to all of us.
She had a really really bad car wreck in July 1973 down at Heritage Lake. Dad was selling real estate down there. It was the hottest day we had all summer. She wanted to surprise Dad, she fried a bunch of chicken, packed us all in the car in our swimming suits, and headed down there. Vivian Carroll and her sister, Paula, went with us. We were on the opposite side of the lake when a car and two motorcycles appeared and they were drag racing. They didn't stop or slow down, my Mom panicked and yanked the steering wheel going off the road. The car was spinning really really fast, and then she accidentally pulled the handle opening the car door. She was yelling for Vivian to help her, but she didn't react because she was looking at those guys. She finally lost her grip on the steering wheel and it literally sucked her out of the car. When the car finally stopped spinning, the rear tire was on Mom's rib cage (luckily she had broken those ribs a year before, and they were stronger). Bob got out of the back seat (he was only 13 at the time), and pulled the car off of my Mom. It was horrible. She broke everything on the left side of her body in at least three places.
I panicked and ran to find Dad, and don't remember much of anything else. Then we were all in the car, heading for Danville Memorial Hospital, which had just opened. They told them that they didn't have the equipment to take care of her and told them that she would have to go to Indianapolis. At that point they put her in a shock suit. About 5 miles outside of Indianapolis, her liver exploded. She died several times and they were able to revive her.
Once in Indianapolis, they rushed her into emergency surgery at the Old St. Vincent's Hospital and repaired what they could, and on the operating table that day, she died many more times and was revived. Mom had a really strong will not to die, she had three children to raise, and she hung on as hard as she could.
When our grandmother arrived, my Dad's mother, Dad sent us all to her house. He stayed behind with Mom.
Over the next few months, she was kept comfortable but was on one of those wheels that spins moving her, so that she would not get bed soars or anything. Dr. E. Dale Habeggar, was not hopeful and told us several times that she would not make it. She was in intensive care for many months, and didn't return home for close to 10 months, and when she did, they said that she would not walk. After 6 months, she was up on a walker, because she was a determined woman, and within 11 months. She was walking.
They put Mom on the transplant list, for a new liver, and we waited and waited for a match.
In 1975, she was given hepatitis during a blood transfusion at Community Hospital East. After that happened, she was no longer a candidate for a new liver. They took her off the transplant list.
In 1987 they moved her down to the South side of Indianapolis, My Dad and my brother, to get her away from the neighborhood where we lived at 46th and Fall Creek Parkway because the United Station was robbed 11 times in one week, and one night she was outside calling her cat at 3 a.m. and the Police chased her back inside.
She was only there a few months, (August of 1987), when she collapsed on her bathroom floor in a pool of blood. She finally woke up enough to dial 911. Once she was at the hospital, Community North, they discovered that she was bleeding from the esophagus. She was diagnosed with osophageal varices and then she was told that she had cirrhosis of the liver because of the damage to her liver and because of the hepatitis, and she was given 6 months to live. In August, I was six months pregnant with my daughter, Samantha. We began moving from our condo near 65 and Main Street, to a trailer, around the corner from where she lived, and moved in the day after I came home with Samantha.
She spent many holidays in the hospital, fighting for her life, but was able to hang on for four years. Each time we took her to the hospital they always told us "this is it", but she always made liars out of them. I was in charge of making sure that my Dad followed the instructions on her DNR order and had a copy of it in my purse. On one of many trips to St. Francis Hospital, he allowed them to put her on a respirator while I parked the car. When she woke up, she wrote me a note and asked me "why did you let them do this to me" and I told her that Dad had done this, not me. She patted his hand, because she knew he wasn't ready to lose her yet.
Mom's last couple of years, were not good, she only had a few good days out of them all. She was not getting enough oxygen because of the extra water weight that the cirrhosis of the liver had given her. So Dad and I took turns going to work. Dad worked days at this point, so when I got off work at 6:30 a.m., I would go over to the house to allow him to go to work at 8 a.m. and stayed until he came home. I made her breakfast and cleaned her house, then laid down on the floor right in front of her, with a pillow, so that if she needed anything at all, I would be there. Many days, she would wake up and ask for breakfast, then fall back to sleep. I would make the breakfast and sit it in the microwave, and she would wake up, ask for it, I would freshen her coffee, and bring her the food again, and she would be asleep. She thought I wasn't bringing it to her, but she didn't realize that I was. Finally I would wake her up to eat. It went on like this for awhile, and I would grab cat naps where I could just to have the extra time with my Mom. Sometimes she would tell Dad that I didn't make her something to eat.
The last trip to the hospital was the same as all the others, they said "this is it". I got a room downstairs at the hospital, so that I could rest, while she did, and take a shower. Once she improved enough and was going to have a stint put in, on November 7th. I left and went home on November 6th, and went to work that night. I did not drive myself because I was having car problems. At 3 a.m. she was laughing and teasing the nurses when they came to do their rounds. At 4 a.m. when the nurse came in, she had slipped into a coma. They called me at work, and told me that I needed to get there now, if I wanted to see her. I told my supervisor at work, and found a ride with my fathers best friends (Jeff Overton) boss (John Miller). It was snowing horribly, the man did not smoke, but allowed me to have a cigarette on the way. He got me there pretty quickly from downtown too. My sister and brother were already there when I arrived. They were trying to raise Dad from sleep that he had not had for a few days, and he had turned the phone off. They got the lady who sold my parents the house to go and knock on his bedroom window to wake him. Dad got there about 5 a.m. She never regained consciousness. The nurse had left us a stethoscope so that we could listen to her heart. Her heart was racing to hang on, and just a little after 7, on November 7, 1991, my mother's heart finally stopped beating.
Ethel was the daughter of Phillip Robert Mobley and Luella Pearl Hopwood.
She was preceded in death by one brother, Robert Edwin Mobley on October 27, 1997 and one sister, Mary Elizabeth "Susie" Mobley on March 3, 1973.
Ethel was the manager of the jewelry department in Jubilee City Department store in Indianapolis for three years. She was the mother of three children. She was married to Leonard Eugene Goodwin on June 21, 1958 in Carmel, Hamilton County, Indiana (their marriage license was issued in Indianapolis, Marion County, IN).
Mom's Story
Ethel developed polio when she was a child, and after her mother's death, she tried hard to remain with her father, but he kept sending her to live with her mother's sister, Peggy. Peggy was married very shortly to Pearl's death, but she was willing to raise my mother as if she were her own. Peggy was more like a grandmother than a great-aunt to all of us.
She had a really really bad car wreck in July 1973 down at Heritage Lake. Dad was selling real estate down there. It was the hottest day we had all summer. She wanted to surprise Dad, she fried a bunch of chicken, packed us all in the car in our swimming suits, and headed down there. Vivian Carroll and her sister, Paula, went with us. We were on the opposite side of the lake when a car and two motorcycles appeared and they were drag racing. They didn't stop or slow down, my Mom panicked and yanked the steering wheel going off the road. The car was spinning really really fast, and then she accidentally pulled the handle opening the car door. She was yelling for Vivian to help her, but she didn't react because she was looking at those guys. She finally lost her grip on the steering wheel and it literally sucked her out of the car. When the car finally stopped spinning, the rear tire was on Mom's rib cage (luckily she had broken those ribs a year before, and they were stronger). Bob got out of the back seat (he was only 13 at the time), and pulled the car off of my Mom. It was horrible. She broke everything on the left side of her body in at least three places.
I panicked and ran to find Dad, and don't remember much of anything else. Then we were all in the car, heading for Danville Memorial Hospital, which had just opened. They told them that they didn't have the equipment to take care of her and told them that she would have to go to Indianapolis. At that point they put her in a shock suit. About 5 miles outside of Indianapolis, her liver exploded. She died several times and they were able to revive her.
Once in Indianapolis, they rushed her into emergency surgery at the Old St. Vincent's Hospital and repaired what they could, and on the operating table that day, she died many more times and was revived. Mom had a really strong will not to die, she had three children to raise, and she hung on as hard as she could.
When our grandmother arrived, my Dad's mother, Dad sent us all to her house. He stayed behind with Mom.
Over the next few months, she was kept comfortable but was on one of those wheels that spins moving her, so that she would not get bed soars or anything. Dr. E. Dale Habeggar, was not hopeful and told us several times that she would not make it. She was in intensive care for many months, and didn't return home for close to 10 months, and when she did, they said that she would not walk. After 6 months, she was up on a walker, because she was a determined woman, and within 11 months. She was walking.
They put Mom on the transplant list, for a new liver, and we waited and waited for a match.
In 1975, she was given hepatitis during a blood transfusion at Community Hospital East. After that happened, she was no longer a candidate for a new liver. They took her off the transplant list.
In 1987 they moved her down to the South side of Indianapolis, My Dad and my brother, to get her away from the neighborhood where we lived at 46th and Fall Creek Parkway because the United Station was robbed 11 times in one week, and one night she was outside calling her cat at 3 a.m. and the Police chased her back inside.
She was only there a few months, (August of 1987), when she collapsed on her bathroom floor in a pool of blood. She finally woke up enough to dial 911. Once she was at the hospital, Community North, they discovered that she was bleeding from the esophagus. She was diagnosed with osophageal varices and then she was told that she had cirrhosis of the liver because of the damage to her liver and because of the hepatitis, and she was given 6 months to live. In August, I was six months pregnant with my daughter, Samantha. We began moving from our condo near 65 and Main Street, to a trailer, around the corner from where she lived, and moved in the day after I came home with Samantha.
She spent many holidays in the hospital, fighting for her life, but was able to hang on for four years. Each time we took her to the hospital they always told us "this is it", but she always made liars out of them. I was in charge of making sure that my Dad followed the instructions on her DNR order and had a copy of it in my purse. On one of many trips to St. Francis Hospital, he allowed them to put her on a respirator while I parked the car. When she woke up, she wrote me a note and asked me "why did you let them do this to me" and I told her that Dad had done this, not me. She patted his hand, because she knew he wasn't ready to lose her yet.
Mom's last couple of years, were not good, she only had a few good days out of them all. She was not getting enough oxygen because of the extra water weight that the cirrhosis of the liver had given her. So Dad and I took turns going to work. Dad worked days at this point, so when I got off work at 6:30 a.m., I would go over to the house to allow him to go to work at 8 a.m. and stayed until he came home. I made her breakfast and cleaned her house, then laid down on the floor right in front of her, with a pillow, so that if she needed anything at all, I would be there. Many days, she would wake up and ask for breakfast, then fall back to sleep. I would make the breakfast and sit it in the microwave, and she would wake up, ask for it, I would freshen her coffee, and bring her the food again, and she would be asleep. She thought I wasn't bringing it to her, but she didn't realize that I was. Finally I would wake her up to eat. It went on like this for awhile, and I would grab cat naps where I could just to have the extra time with my Mom. Sometimes she would tell Dad that I didn't make her something to eat.
The last trip to the hospital was the same as all the others, they said "this is it". I got a room downstairs at the hospital, so that I could rest, while she did, and take a shower. Once she improved enough and was going to have a stint put in, on November 7th. I left and went home on November 6th, and went to work that night. I did not drive myself because I was having car problems. At 3 a.m. she was laughing and teasing the nurses when they came to do their rounds. At 4 a.m. when the nurse came in, she had slipped into a coma. They called me at work, and told me that I needed to get there now, if I wanted to see her. I told my supervisor at work, and found a ride with my fathers best friends (Jeff Overton) boss (John Miller). It was snowing horribly, the man did not smoke, but allowed me to have a cigarette on the way. He got me there pretty quickly from downtown too. My sister and brother were already there when I arrived. They were trying to raise Dad from sleep that he had not had for a few days, and he had turned the phone off. They got the lady who sold my parents the house to go and knock on his bedroom window to wake him. Dad got there about 5 a.m. She never regained consciousness. The nurse had left us a stethoscope so that we could listen to her heart. Her heart was racing to hang on, and just a little after 7, on November 7, 1991, my mother's heart finally stopped beating.
Ethel was the daughter of Phillip Robert Mobley and Luella Pearl Hopwood.
She was preceded in death by one brother, Robert Edwin Mobley on October 27, 1997 and one sister, Mary Elizabeth "Susie" Mobley on March 3, 1973.
My Mom
Ethel was the manager of the jewelry department in Jubilee City Department store in Indianapolis for three years. She was the mother of three children. She was married to Leonard Eugene Goodwin on June 21, 1958 in Carmel, Hamilton County, Indiana (their marriage license was issued in Indianapolis, Marion County, IN).
Mom's Story
Ethel developed polio when she was a child, and after her mother's death, she tried hard to remain with her father, but he kept sending her to live with her mother's sister, Peggy. Peggy was married very shortly to Pearl's death, but she was willing to raise my mother as if she were her own. Peggy was more like a grandmother than a great-aunt to all of us.
She had a really really bad car wreck in July 1973 down at Heritage Lake. Dad was selling real estate down there. It was the hottest day we had all summer. She wanted to surprise Dad, she fried a bunch of chicken, packed us all in the car in our swimming suits, and headed down there. Vivian Carroll and her sister, Paula, went with us. We were on the opposite side of the lake when a car and two motorcycles appeared and they were drag racing. They didn't stop or slow down, my Mom panicked and yanked the steering wheel going off the road. The car was spinning really really fast, and then she accidentally pulled the handle opening the car door. She was yelling for Vivian to help her, but she didn't react because she was looking at those guys. She finally lost her grip on the steering wheel and it literally sucked her out of the car. When the car finally stopped spinning, the rear tire was on Mom's rib cage (luckily she had broken those ribs a year before, and they were stronger). Bob got out of the back seat (he was only 13 at the time), and pulled the car off of my Mom. It was horrible. She broke everything on the left side of her body in at least three places.
I panicked and ran to find Dad, and don't remember much of anything else. Then we were all in the car, heading for Danville Memorial Hospital, which had just opened. They told them that they didn't have the equipment to take care of her and told them that she would have to go to Indianapolis. At that point they put her in a shock suit. About 5 miles outside of Indianapolis, her liver exploded. She died several times and they were able to revive her.
Once in Indianapolis, they rushed her into emergency surgery at the Old St. Vincent's Hospital and repaired what they could, and on the operating table that day, she died many more times and was revived. Mom had a really strong will not to die, she had three children to raise, and she hung on as hard as she could.
When our grandmother arrived, my Dad's mother, Dad sent us all to her house. He stayed behind with Mom.
Over the next few months, she was kept comfortable but was on one of those wheels that spins moving her, so that she would not get bed soars or anything. Dr. E. Dale Habeggar, was not hopeful and told us several times that she would not make it. She was in intensive care for many months, and didn't return home for close to 10 months, and when she did, they said that she would not walk. After 6 months, she was up on a walker, because she was a determined woman, and within 11 months. She was walking.
They put Mom on the transplant list, for a new liver, and we waited and waited for a match.
In 1975, she was given hepatitis during a blood transfusion at Community Hospital East. After that happened, she was no longer a candidate for a new liver. They took her off the transplant list.
In 1987 they moved her down to the South side of Indianapolis, My Dad and my brother, to get her away from the neighborhood where we lived at 46th and Fall Creek Parkway because the United Station was robbed 11 times in one week, and one night she was outside calling her cat at 3 a.m. and the Police chased her back inside.
She was only there a few months, (August of 1987), when she collapsed on her bathroom floor in a pool of blood. She finally woke up enough to dial 911. Once she was at the hospital, Community North, they discovered that she was bleeding from the esophagus. She was diagnosed with osophageal varices and then she was told that she had cirrhosis of the liver because of the damage to her liver and because of the hepatitis, and she was given 6 months to live. In August, I was six months pregnant with my daughter, Samantha. We began moving from our condo near 65 and Main Street, to a trailer, around the corner from where she lived, and moved in the day after I came home with Samantha.
She spent many holidays in the hospital, fighting for her life, but was able to hang on for four years. Each time we took her to the hospital they always told us "this is it", but she always made liars out of them. I was in charge of making sure that my Dad followed the instructions on her DNR order and had a copy of it in my purse. On one of many trips to St. Francis Hospital, he allowed them to put her on a respirator while I parked the car. When she woke up, she wrote me a note and asked me "why did you let them do this to me" and I told her that Dad had done this, not me. She patted his hand, because she knew he wasn't ready to lose her yet.
Mom's last couple of years, were not good, she only had a few good days out of them all. She was not getting enough oxygen because of the extra water weight that the cirrhosis of the liver had given her. So Dad and I took turns going to work. Dad worked days at this point, so when I got off work at 6:30 a.m., I would go over to the house to allow him to go to work at 8 a.m. and stayed until he came home. I made her breakfast and cleaned her house, then laid down on the floor right in front of her, with a pillow, so that if she needed anything at all, I would be there. Many days, she would wake up and ask for breakfast, then fall back to sleep. I would make the breakfast and sit it in the microwave, and she would wake up, ask for it, I would freshen her coffee, and bring her the food again, and she would be asleep. She thought I wasn't bringing it to her, but she didn't realize that I was. Finally I would wake her up to eat. It went on like this for awhile, and I would grab cat naps where I could just to have the extra time with my Mom. Sometimes she would tell Dad that I didn't make her something to eat.
The last trip to the hospital was the same as all the others, they said "this is it". I got a room downstairs at the hospital, so that I could rest, while she did, and take a shower. Once she improved enough and was going to have a stint put in, on November 7th. I left and went home on November 6th, and went to work that night. I did not drive myself because I was having car problems. At 3 a.m. she was laughing and teasing the nurses when they came to do their rounds. At 4 a.m. when the nurse came in, she had slipped into a coma. They called me at work, and told me that I needed to get there now, if I wanted to see her. I told my supervisor at work, and found a ride with my fathers best friends (Jeff Overton) boss (John Miller). It was snowing horribly, the man did not smoke, but allowed me to have a cigarette on the way. He got me there pretty quickly from downtown too. My sister and brother were already there when I arrived. They were trying to raise Dad from sleep that he had not had for a few days, and he had turned the phone off. They got the lady who sold my parents the house to go and knock on his bedroom window to wake him. Dad got there about 5 a.m. She never regained consciousness. The nurse had left us a stethoscope so that we could listen to her heart. Her heart was racing to hang on, and just a little after 7, on November 7, 1991, my mother's heart finally stopped beating.
Ethel was the daughter of Phillip Robert Mobley and Luella Pearl Hopwood.
She was preceded in death by one brother, Robert Edwin Mobley on October 27, 1997 and one sister, Mary Elizabeth "Susie" Mobley on March 3, 1973.
Ethel was the manager of the jewelry department in Jubilee City Department store in Indianapolis for three years. She was the mother of three children. She was married to Leonard Eugene Goodwin on June 21, 1958 in Carmel, Hamilton County, Indiana (their marriage license was issued in Indianapolis, Marion County, IN).
Mom's Story
Ethel developed polio when she was a child, and after her mother's death, she tried hard to remain with her father, but he kept sending her to live with her mother's sister, Peggy. Peggy was married very shortly to Pearl's death, but she was willing to raise my mother as if she were her own. Peggy was more like a grandmother than a great-aunt to all of us.
She had a really really bad car wreck in July 1973 down at Heritage Lake. Dad was selling real estate down there. It was the hottest day we had all summer. She wanted to surprise Dad, she fried a bunch of chicken, packed us all in the car in our swimming suits, and headed down there. Vivian Carroll and her sister, Paula, went with us. We were on the opposite side of the lake when a car and two motorcycles appeared and they were drag racing. They didn't stop or slow down, my Mom panicked and yanked the steering wheel going off the road. The car was spinning really really fast, and then she accidentally pulled the handle opening the car door. She was yelling for Vivian to help her, but she didn't react because she was looking at those guys. She finally lost her grip on the steering wheel and it literally sucked her out of the car. When the car finally stopped spinning, the rear tire was on Mom's rib cage (luckily she had broken those ribs a year before, and they were stronger). Bob got out of the back seat (he was only 13 at the time), and pulled the car off of my Mom. It was horrible. She broke everything on the left side of her body in at least three places.
I panicked and ran to find Dad, and don't remember much of anything else. Then we were all in the car, heading for Danville Memorial Hospital, which had just opened. They told them that they didn't have the equipment to take care of her and told them that she would have to go to Indianapolis. At that point they put her in a shock suit. About 5 miles outside of Indianapolis, her liver exploded. She died several times and they were able to revive her.
Once in Indianapolis, they rushed her into emergency surgery at the Old St. Vincent's Hospital and repaired what they could, and on the operating table that day, she died many more times and was revived. Mom had a really strong will not to die, she had three children to raise, and she hung on as hard as she could.
When our grandmother arrived, my Dad's mother, Dad sent us all to her house. He stayed behind with Mom.
Over the next few months, she was kept comfortable but was on one of those wheels that spins moving her, so that she would not get bed soars or anything. Dr. E. Dale Habeggar, was not hopeful and told us several times that she would not make it. She was in intensive care for many months, and didn't return home for close to 10 months, and when she did, they said that she would not walk. After 6 months, she was up on a walker, because she was a determined woman, and within 11 months. She was walking.
They put Mom on the transplant list, for a new liver, and we waited and waited for a match.
In 1975, she was given hepatitis during a blood transfusion at Community Hospital East. After that happened, she was no longer a candidate for a new liver. They took her off the transplant list.
In 1987 they moved her down to the South side of Indianapolis, My Dad and my brother, to get her away from the neighborhood where we lived at 46th and Fall Creek Parkway because the United Station was robbed 11 times in one week, and one night she was outside calling her cat at 3 a.m. and the Police chased her back inside.
She was only there a few months, (August of 1987), when she collapsed on her bathroom floor in a pool of blood. She finally woke up enough to dial 911. Once she was at the hospital, Community North, they discovered that she was bleeding from the esophagus. She was diagnosed with osophageal varices and then she was told that she had cirrhosis of the liver because of the damage to her liver and because of the hepatitis, and she was given 6 months to live. In August, I was six months pregnant with my daughter, Samantha. We began moving from our condo near 65 and Main Street, to a trailer, around the corner from where she lived, and moved in the day after I came home with Samantha.
She spent many holidays in the hospital, fighting for her life, but was able to hang on for four years. Each time we took her to the hospital they always told us "this is it", but she always made liars out of them. I was in charge of making sure that my Dad followed the instructions on her DNR order and had a copy of it in my purse. On one of many trips to St. Francis Hospital, he allowed them to put her on a respirator while I parked the car. When she woke up, she wrote me a note and asked me "why did you let them do this to me" and I told her that Dad had done this, not me. She patted his hand, because she knew he wasn't ready to lose her yet.
Mom's last couple of years, were not good, she only had a few good days out of them all. She was not getting enough oxygen because of the extra water weight that the cirrhosis of the liver had given her. So Dad and I took turns going to work. Dad worked days at this point, so when I got off work at 6:30 a.m., I would go over to the house to allow him to go to work at 8 a.m. and stayed until he came home. I made her breakfast and cleaned her house, then laid down on the floor right in front of her, with a pillow, so that if she needed anything at all, I would be there. Many days, she would wake up and ask for breakfast, then fall back to sleep. I would make the breakfast and sit it in the microwave, and she would wake up, ask for it, I would freshen her coffee, and bring her the food again, and she would be asleep. She thought I wasn't bringing it to her, but she didn't realize that I was. Finally I would wake her up to eat. It went on like this for awhile, and I would grab cat naps where I could just to have the extra time with my Mom. Sometimes she would tell Dad that I didn't make her something to eat.
The last trip to the hospital was the same as all the others, they said "this is it". I got a room downstairs at the hospital, so that I could rest, while she did, and take a shower. Once she improved enough and was going to have a stint put in, on November 7th. I left and went home on November 6th, and went to work that night. I did not drive myself because I was having car problems. At 3 a.m. she was laughing and teasing the nurses when they came to do their rounds. At 4 a.m. when the nurse came in, she had slipped into a coma. They called me at work, and told me that I needed to get there now, if I wanted to see her. I told my supervisor at work, and found a ride with my fathers best friends (Jeff Overton) boss (John Miller). It was snowing horribly, the man did not smoke, but allowed me to have a cigarette on the way. He got me there pretty quickly from downtown too. My sister and brother were already there when I arrived. They were trying to raise Dad from sleep that he had not had for a few days, and he had turned the phone off. They got the lady who sold my parents the house to go and knock on his bedroom window to wake him. Dad got there about 5 a.m. She never regained consciousness. The nurse had left us a stethoscope so that we could listen to her heart. Her heart was racing to hang on, and just a little after 7, on November 7, 1991, my mother's heart finally stopped beating.
Ethel was the daughter of Phillip Robert Mobley and Luella Pearl Hopwood.
She was preceded in death by one brother, Robert Edwin Mobley on October 27, 1997 and one sister, Mary Elizabeth "Susie" Mobley on March 3, 1973.
