NOVEMBER 2 “EVERYONE HAS A STORY”

  There was a street woman that many of you may know, or know of her, she went by the name of Wauneva. She wandered the streets of San Angelo She would often sit on our bench outside the church and wander around in the downtown area. She was found dead this past Friday on the streets. This letter was posted on line about her. Her name was Wauneva Irene Benson, her birth date Oct 24 1944. Mother of 3 sons and a daughter, 8 grandchildren, 2 great grandchildren. Many of you know Wauneva suffered debilitating mental issues. Sometimes even to the point of being agitated. During one of our last visits, almost 20 years ago, she was playing with 4 of her grandchildren and enjoying my family. After returning home, she removed me as her health contact and then she told me that she didn’t’ want to do this to my family. She then vanished from my life. Mental disorders are like that. Similar to a mirror dropping on cement. Shards of glass are what remain. Nothing is ever put right again. It’s like a terminal illness that gets stares and joked about. It’s grieving for a loss knowing the person is still in front of you. Wauneva was locked in a prison that she didn’t choose. Her children could see the bars but were unable to remove them from her mind. I have beautiful memories of Wauneva. To me she’s mom. She loved being a stay at home mom. She played catch with my brothers, rooted the loudest at their ballgames to my embarrassment, made the best homemade chocolate cake that never needed frosting, picked apricots from our backyard trees and made amazing turnovers. She dressed Barbie’s or dolls with me and could play every round of jacks from normal pick up to round the worlds to pigs in the blanket and on she loved yard work and could help make a school assignment practically from nothing. I never really heard her ask for anything. She was content with what she had. The older car, the older furniture, etc…she was not materialistic. It was her belief in god that paved my way to a relationship with god and then my husband’s. Through her mental ups and downs, I never saw her question her faith in Christ. That was the one stable thing in her life. It is with a humble spirit that I say thank you for giving her water to drink as she walked along. Thank you for showing her patience and compassion when she was in a bad condition. Thank you for giving her conversation and remembering she was god’s daughter. Thank you for being a friend when others avoided her. I do wish I would’ve been able to say one more time, “I love you and have always loved you. Thank you for teaching me what you did and I don’t hold it against you for being troubled in your mind. We all have a cross to bear. Yours was heavy and hard to carry.” However, I am comforted knowing that last Friday, she was made whole. Her mind no longer holds her in prison. She was set free to the joys of heaven.

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