Loretta Lynn_ Coal Miner's Daughter - Loretta Lynn [61]
That just about broke me up, to think that someone as good as that was gone. And I guess I was selfish enough to mourn almost as much for myself as for her. I was upset because who would I turn to? Patsy was like a mother and a sister to me. When she died, I just about gave up. I thought this was the end for me, too.
They brought four maroon hearses to carry the caskets; then the caskets were put in a large room. Each of the caskets had a picture of the artist on it. Just two days later, Jack Anglin was killed going to a memorial service for Patsy. Me and Doo also just missed being killed by a train at a crossing. We wondered what in the world was going on, it was such a sad, scary time.
The thing that kept me going was remembering how Patsy had told me she was gonna stick with me no matter what. I’ve always felt that Patsy was helping me with my career, even from beyond. I know that she tries to guide me. I feel she’s here. You have to have ESP to feel it, but I know she’s here. It wasn’t but another year before I was named “Top Female Singer,” just like Patsy predicted.
I still think about Patsy a lot. I won’t go anywhere near the place where the plane crashed. I named one of my twins after her. I’ve often thought about doing an album of her songs, but I never have because I know I’d start to cry. I’ve got all her albums and tapes. I think about the way she would hold out one arm, real ladylike, but I can’t be like that. I’ll imitate other singers sometimes. I started by imitating Kitty Wells, a real serious Christian lady who won’t hardly joke around on stage. But there’s something about Patsy I can’t imitate, and I won’t try. To me, Patsy was my best friend and I couldn’t imitate her. It would hurt too much.
18
My Kids
Little handprints on the wall,
Little footsteps in the hall,
Little arms that reach out for me in the night.…
—“One Little Reason,” by Loretta Lynn
Things got better for me after meeting Patsy. But I don’t know if things got better for my kids. They were used to me being around to guide ’em, and now when they were growing up, I wasn’t there.
Even today, with my four kids in their twenties, I see signs that it wasn’t good for me to leave ’em alone so much. They all live right close to our ranch, and I’m always getting involved in their troubles. Half the time I worry that I didn’t know ’em well enough when they were young. The other half I worry that I’m too involved now. It’s a pretty emotional subject with me—how I wasn’t around when my kids needed me.
Sometimes when I get all worked up over their problems, Doo says we should just let the kids work it out for themselves. But when I’m home, I’m tempted to be an old mother hen. It’s a funny deal. In country music, we’re always singing about home and family. But because I was in country music, I had to neglect my home and family.
I look at Betty and Jack and Ernest and Cissy today, and I think of how I went out on the road. We had this dream about me making it in show business—and it’s paid off, in money and other things. But in certain ways, I don’t know.
At first, Doolittle stayed with the kids a lot. While we were still living in Washington, he’d cook their dinners and take ’em places like the drive-in movies. He’s always been a good father with his kids. He taught ’em to survive and be independent. But when he joined me on the road, we left the kids, first with my brother, then with our mothers in Indiana.
When the kids came to Nashville, we left ’em with baby-sitters. Now baby-sitters are all right, if you keep the same ones. But we didn’t. We’d hire one baby-sitter for a month, then she’d quit or we’d fire her or something. It was hard on the kids and hard on me. I’d be in some motel room not knowing if the babies was eating right or going to school regular.
Betty Sue, the oldest—I think it bothered her the most. Me and her are real