A framed needlepoint piece of artwork hangs in 94-year-old Manda Martin’s kitchen as her wood-burning stove heats the house and she enjoys dinner with two of her eight children.
It reads:
Families are like quilts
lives pieced together
stitched with smiles and tears
colored with memories and bound by love
Two rooms over is where Manda keeps many of her own quilts and memories in the form of photographs and furnishings. This room was once Manda and her husband Ray’s. However, since he passed away in 1993 the room has not been lived in and remains mostly unchanged.
“He had open heart surgery and he got to feelin’ bad. He just couldn’t take it,” Manda says. “It was hard on all of us.”
Following Ray’s death, Manda moved herself into another bedroom down the hall by the kitchen, right next to her son Bruce’s room. Bruce, now 56, has always lived at home with his mother. He was just 18 years old when a motorcycle crash left him with severe brain damage and unable to live on his own. For more than 25 years, it has just been the two of them in this little white house Ray built for the family around 1950 near Calk Lake in Jeffersonville.
They are never alone for long. One of Martin’s eight children, 15 grandchildren or 23 great grandchildren is nearly always visiting and helping Manda and Bruce. Many days, one of the children will bring precooked food so that meals are easier for them.
However, it is hard for Manda to remain idle as others help out. While growing up in Montgomery County she always worked hard and helped with the family jobs. At 15, she even began working at a factory after dropping out of school and continued working until her youngest child was in grade school.
“She thinks she can still do everything now that she could do then, and she wants everything to be the same way it was,” says Loretta McIntosh, 70, Manda’s second child.
Hard work and family are two of the most important things to Manda. On the hill across from her home is the Martin and Willoughby cemetery where Ray is buried along with his parents and other family members. Manda’s name and birthday is etched in the headstone next to Ray’s so that she can be buried by him when she passes.
“You can see it from here,” Manda said while pointing out the front door and across the street. Even in death, the family will remain close.
“Seems like it’s all you got is your family.”
