Memorials › Bonnie Faye Seely

Bonnie Faye Seely

14 Oct 1926 – 6 Jan 2006

Birth14 Oct 1926
Death6 Jan 2006
Added byJohn Richardson on 07 May 2015
FaGhttps://www.findagrave.com/memorial/146173836

Bio

When I asked to do my grandmother's memorial I knew that I wanted to share her with those that loved her. I wasn't really thinking about how to go about doing that. I suppose the best way to accomplish that is to simply tell a few stories: In 1926 a woman in the small town of Justin was giving birth. It was too soon. Three months too soon. It was unheard of during that time for a baby this premature to survive. Maybe she had worked too hard too late. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be. The baby was born. A girl. All of two pounds. The country doctor held no hope, said it was another stillborn and laid her aside. The woman and her husband were heartbroken. But Mama Ora would not let go so easily. As exhausted as she was from the difficult birth she and the midwife proceeded to take turns massaging the baby by the fire. She would not stop. She refused to stop. And as they cleaned, it began to warm. The tiny babe turned pink and took a breath. And then she began to cry. Loudly. And she's pretty much been a little pill ever since. Bonnie Faye grew strong. And at times could be rather difficult. But one would never describe her as dull. She had things to say. And she always said them. And if she had the impulse to emphasize her words with action, she would. You could ask her brother, Son, to tell a few stories. To tell you about the scar on his forehead from a thrown fork. Or maybe the time she chased him with an ax. They lived in the country, outside of Justin. And each morning it was a long walk to the road and then on to school. Each night she and her sister, Mary Frances, and Son would wish for only two milk cans and Daddy Tom would wish for three. The children knew that if there were only two they'd get to ride the cart to the road as he took them down to the milkman. If there were three, they'd all have to walk that extra bit on the way to school. She was exasperating. But she was full of life, of fearless desire to not waste a single minute of it. Mama Ora worried and fussed, Where was she? Who was she with? and Daddy Tom scolded and threatened Where are you going? What are you doing? What's his name? and they both smiled upon her when they thought she wasn't looking. She had rheumatic fever once and they thought they'd lost her again. But, no. Not this time. This time she'd had a taste of life and only had more reason to fight. As a young woman, she was mischievous. She told me of a time when she and a few friends dug up a deceased gentleman in the cemetery and propped him up with a cigar in his hand. The town was appalled, of course. It was scandalous! and her father said he'd kill the people who did such a terrible thing if he ever found out who they were. (Actually, she pretty much took Daddy Tom to heart on this one and kept the secret until he was long gone!) At some point the little town, the country boys and defiling cemeteries no longer could hold her attention and she went into the world. She was making the states during the same time that Jack Kerouac was On The Road. It's small wonder they never met, but, then again, that is probably a blessing for the rest of the world! She made almost every continental state in about two years. Stopping to work for a while and moving on. Hitchhiking some. There was always somebody to help a redheaded, green-eyed girl in distress. She'd come home periodically to see her parents. One Sunday, she strolled into the Church of Christ very proud of herself for not being late, especially since she'd been out all night and hadn't yet been to sleep. (Daddy Tom was never late.) As she came down the aisle and sat by her parents, Daddy Tom whispered firmly for her to go back out and put some clothes on. She had been in such a hurry that she'd left the little jacket for her sundress in the car. So much for being on time. She'd somehow managed to aggravate him anyway. She did everything. At least once. She was an exotic dancer in California. She was a lady wrestler in Houston. (Yes...you did hear correctly.) She dated ranch hands, actors and policeman. She socialized with ministers and prostitutes. She befriended the lowly and scoffed at the mighty. She ran restaurants, beauty parlors, apartment complexes, and a few poor, unsuspecting men. She made a statement everywhere she went. It was her nature to be in the spotlight in one way or another. Once, after an argument with my grandfather she took a brick to the right side of their beautiful 1949 Nash. When he looked out the window and yelled what she thought she was doing, she stated she was invoking her rights under Texas community property law. My Pawpaw was.........annoyed. One time she even ran her Harley into the Trinity River. Somehow it's not surprising that it lies at the bottom of the river between a prison and the Police Training Facility. Grandma could never make the choice between the bad boys and men in uniform. She had my mother. Another two-pounder, and called her Diana. The child was petite and blonde, mild of nature. Very unlike Grandma. My mother was mesmerized by her. She always thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world, with the figure of Marilyn Monroe, fiery hair and with the most beautiful singing voice. She remembers Grandma holding her in her lap and singing to her. She remembers songs like Jambalaya, Que Sera Sera. When my mother told me of this I found it interesting the way one is a spirited, fun song and the other a soft, mothersong. Bonnie wanted more children and through the course of time she lost several babies. When it became apparent that giving birth was no longer an option for her, she still refused to take no for an answer as she often did, and she and her husband adopted a little girl and she called her Ginger, after Ginger Rogers. This one had dark curls and freckles. And she seemed to be born with roller skates attached to her feet. I remember Ginger in her costumes and her skates and I thought she was beautiful, all sparkly like that. By this time, my mother was grown and I was born, only three years after Ginger. We grew up with some confusion about motherhood and grand-motherhood I think. We played in the kiddie pool together and Grandma made us dresses, but, as the daughter, Ginger was more apt to be disciplined from Grandma than I was. I think I was pretty smug about that and I guess I should apologize to Ginger for it. As I grew so did Grandma's stories. That was what she did best. Tell stories. And she had plenty of them to tell. Her stories of herself and other people that I loved held my heart and entertained everyone. Her jokes were irreverent. They shocked my mother and embarrassed Ginger. Me, I just always thought they were funny. While I have many memories of her there is one that always comes to my mind. Several years ago when she was very ill. On one of her many deathbeds. She and I were in the room alone and we were talking about life and death. She told me that she had made her peace with God and she knew that He loved her and understood her and He had forgiven her all of her impulsiveness. She said she was afraid nonetheless. I was holding her hand and telling her that I was afraid for her as well. She turned her head for a moment to gain her composure and, in a split second, came back around and with a spark in her big cat eyes, told me the dirtiest joke I think I've ever heard! Unfortunately, it is too off-color to be told here but I assure you it was quite shocking. She just couldn't help herself! Bonnie was light, she was fascinating to watch. She was bold and fierce and protective. She was funny and loved to be the center of attention. She was tenacious, she was spirited. She was kind and she was demanding. She could be obstinate and obnoxious but she was forgiving and soft inside. She was a character. She was our character. Bonnie Mahaffey is survived by her sister, Mary Frances, and brother, James, Jr. Two children: Diana and Ginger. Three grandchildren: myself, Johnny, and Kaitlyn. And six great-grandchildren: Jacob, Jesse, Samantha, Caleb, Macy, and Haileigh. We loved her.

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