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The Passing of A Legend–The Extraordinary Life of Addine Dow

The Passing of A Legend–The Extraordinary Life of Addine Dow

By Dr. Harold Duncan

She was 101.5 years old. Her death last week was not a surprise, of course, but it marked the passing of one of the most remarkable people I have ever had the honor of knowing.

Dr. Harold Duncan celebrates the life of his Aunt Addine Dow who died this past week at 101.5 years of age.

Dr. Harold Duncan celebrates the life of his Aunt Addine Dow who died this past week at 101.5 years of age.

She was my Aunt Addine Dow, and she lived in Cookeville, Tennessee.

Her life was rich and full. In an age when many complain about being bored, there were literally not enough hours in the day for her to do everything she wanted to do.  And she did them with great enthusiasm and gusto. Often, when my wife and I were there for a visit, we worked through her list of “chores,” and we visited all the places she wanted us to take her. At the end of the day, when we were worn out, she would stay awake so that she could record the day’s events in her journal.

Her life was not easy, nor was she a stranger to tragedy and grief. Most notably, she lost her only son to an undersea explosion when he was only 21. She never fully recovered from that loss, but her life went on for many, many years, and she never complained!

She loved to teach. She taught for many years in the public schools and in Sunday school at her church. Her life touched the lives of untold hundreds of people as a result of her teaching.

Her sense of humor was legendary. Everyone who knew her had a funny story to tell about Aunt Addine. What a wonderful legacy!

Then, there was her music. As the old saying goes, “She loved both kinds of music—country and western.” She grew up in a family in which every member played more than one musical instrument.  Music was an integral part of her life—all her life!  When she was in her 80’s, she formed a singing group, and she and “the boys” would regularly go to the local nursing homes where they would sing for the “old people.”

The last conversation I had with her, she sang. It was a telephone conversation, and I asked if she was having a good night. She started singing, “Good Night, Irene.”

She was not a wealthy person, but she left us with so much that could never be bought—lessons that will last an eternity. I can only thank God that my life was entwined with hers for so many years.

Thank you, Aunt Addine.

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