My mother walked into my room one day while I was
sitting at my desk, and handed me a picture of
herself.

"I want you to use this for my obituary," she said.

My mother was physically healthy and seemed to have
the nine lives of a cat, so I didn't understand why
she was talking about her death. I had been to all of
her doctors' appointments (and even a few hair
appointments) and knew that she wasn't hiding anything
from me.

"Mom, what are you talking about?" I asked. "Is
everything okay?"

"Oh God, yes," she said. "You complain until you look
around."

I looked down at the round ceramic-framed photo of
her, which was taken when she was still teaching
school.

"Why this one?" I asked. "You look like you're almost
sixty. Don't you want to use a younger one?"

"No," my mother said as she walked towards the door.
"I was very happy and peaceful then. It's the year
the last of my eight children graduated from high
school and moved out of my house."

She closed the door and I realized that I was the last
of her eight children. I stood from my chair to
follow her and rebuttal, but then felt a sense of
panic about what had just happened. My mother was
thinking about her death, and it caused me to do the
same.

I wondered if she expected me to write her obituary,
and what I would say. Most of the ones I'd seen in
the paper only spoke about who the person was married
to, and how many children they had. There was so much
more I wanted to say about my mother. I wanted to not
only say that I loved her, but also express the reason
why. But more importantly, I wanted her to know this
before it was too late. So I wrote it out for her to see it.

Julia Esther Apple was born in Vermilion Parish
sometime in the 20th Century. Her children aren't
sure of her age, because she never had a birthday
after her 39th. She only revealed her true age to
doctors, and when she thought there might be a senior
citizen discount at movie theatres and the grocery
store.

She began teaching at nine years old, when she and her
father sat on their front porch, and she taught him
how to read and write so he could get a job at the
locks in Intra-coastal City. Years later, she went to
college and became a teacher in the classroom.

Julia met her husband, Andrew, at a Forked Island
honky tonk called the Rock-A-Bye. Shortly after, he
asked her to marry him in a love letter he'd written
to her from Alaska, where he was stationed with the
service. She had only let him hold her hand up until
that point, but knew he was a good man and wrote back,
"Yes." On their honeymoon he tried to touch her knee,
and Julia slapped him. Although we're not certain, we
think she eventually let him touch her knee, because
the two of them had eight children together.

Julia Apple Couvillon retired from teaching school
after thirty-six years to take care of her husband,
who passed away shortly after. Every day, she missed
him more and more, but found the strength to live
until she could see him again.

Julia's favorite things to do were read the Abbeville
Meridinal and then drive around Vermilion Parish with
her youngest son to see the places written about in
the articles. She didn't like it when her son wrote
about her in the newspaper because she was afraid
people would think she was weird. But he did it
anyway, because he didn't want to make the same
mistake with his mother that he'd made with his
father. The son had told his father he loved him, but
never told him why.

So Julia's son continued to write about her so she
knew "why." He wanted her to know that she inspired
him, and he hoped that she wouldn't stop cooking his
meals or washing his clothes, and would continue to
teach him to look around and recognize all that life
has brought to us.