Today, I opened a package with a gift from my mother. It included a book; volume 2 of,
The Transfer; In the Performance of Duty
The Transfer; In the Performance of Duty
The Legacy Continues
Compiled & Edited by Susan E. Woods. Published 2010.
This book contains the stories of 64 missionaries of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, who died while serving a mission.
On page 94, is the story of Elder Jesse Nephi DuRette, my older brother.
It's been 32 years, and reviewing the details of his life and the circumstances of his death, still bring tender emotion to my eyes & heart.
His missionary name tag from the Florida, Tallahassee Mission is displayed next to mine from Lima, Peru. They are both in the corner of a Nativity Display that I keep up year round. The Nativity brings it all into focus.
Before he left on his mission, he gave things to family members to keep while he was gone. The gift he gave to me was an old wooden mantle clock. It needed a key to wind it up, but I didn't have one until my sweetheart, Tom took it down to a clock shop, had it cleaned and acquired a key. Now the old clock runs. :) I treasure this personal gift from him.
While he was on his mission, Jesse sent me a copy of his language training manual, a little booklet entitled "How to Speak Southern". Many years later, when I married Tom, my children had a hard time understanding some of the family lingo from the Hachtel side. The format of this booklet inspired our own personal language training manual, or phrase dictionary, called " Hachtelisms", which later grew to include Roberson/DuRette family phrases as well.
On my mother's birthday, Oct 7th,1978, Jesse was riding a bike and was hit by a car running a stop light. He never regained consciousness. I was attending BYU at the time, and flew down to join my mother and brother Jeff at the hospital, in Mobile, Alabama. Before I left Provo, a very well meaning individual promised me that the Lord wouldn't allow my brother to die because he was a missionary. The spirit told me that his words weren't true. At that time, I knew that my brother would die.
I remember walking into the room where he lay connected to life support, and approaching the bed. I didn't feel his spirit there, he had already gone.
After a few days, his beard stopped growing, evidence that his body had already given up the ghost, and that his heart was still pumping only due to the marvels of modern medicine. His official death date is October 12th, 1978.
Jesse is buried in an old pioneer cemetery surrounded by family members. Among them are my two younger sisters, Tina & Joyce, a great niece Lillian, and my father David W. Sr. DuRette
I love to visit that place. There is very peaceful spirit there. The veil is thin.
During the time that Jesse lay in the hospital bed, my sister's one-year old son suffered an accident that left him severely burned. For some time, we didn't know if he would live or die either. It was a very difficult time for our family. My nephew did survive, but is permanently disabled because of his burns.
While in Mobile, we attended the baptism of a woman Jesse had been teaching.
We later learned that when the impaired driver of the car that hit him, realized what he had done, he killed himself. Since Jesse was never released from his mission, I have always wondered if Jesse was assigned to teach this man when he arrived on the other side.
I miss my brother. Many family members have loved and cared for me, and I for them. But Jesse understood me as well. This added a welcome dimension to our relationship. I really miss him and our conversations.
Remembering those who have died can bring tears to my eyes. The older I get, the more I look forward to the reunion that will allow all of us to enjoy each other's company once again. But, not too soon, there's still so much that needs to be done here.
