I really enjoy Ced's articles, his On Second Thought Podcast with Bohls and his questions at UT pressers. He lost his mom recently and pays tribute to her in a wonderful article this morning, I read it with tears in my eyes, as losing a parent is something we never get over, rather just get better at managing that loss. ❤️
Jean Golden wasn’t just a mom, but a true Sports Mom
Cedric Golden
Columnist Austin American-Statesman USA TODAY NETWORK
You’re never prepared to lose your mother, even one who has been in failing health for nearly a decade.
When Jean Golden transitioned three weeks ago, the world lost one of the best people ever created.
I lost not only a mom, but a great Sports Mom.
Some may confuse the term with a mother who is consumed by sports and spends her days as a hover parent who blows up the head coach’s phone with demands to play her kid more. To the contrary, a true Sports Mom quietly plays her position because she understands the blessing of athletics is about her children having fun.
It took 25 years for Mom to tell me she was a star high school basketball player back in the 1950s, in the Redland community of rural East Texas before women were even allowed to play full-court.
I never bothered to ask growing up because at that age, I was all about being an athlete myself. Mom settled into the role of whisking me to practice, making sure my football, basketball and baseball uniforms were clean and pristinely ironed, all the while maintaining a household of four.
Dad worked for the Cotton Belt Railroad, so there were many game days when he would be manning the caboose in some other Southwest town, but my sister Renee and I didn’t have to worry because she had the Sports Mom playbook down pat.
On game days, the trunk in the 1977 Oldsmobile Regency 98 was always filled with a cooler of iced-down Cokes and Sprites — bottled water had not yet become a thing in the 1970s — with enough snacks to keep us well fed on days when we were playing multiple games.
When my Bishop Gorman high school basketball team played for a state
championship in San Antonio back in 1984, Mom was there for both games, cheering on her son at the HemisFair Arena while bonding with the other parents over margaritas at the team hotel.
When I started this career 30 years ago, she was my biggest supporter. Once I started covering Texas football in 2002, she became an instant Longhorns fan: “Who are ya’ll playing this weekend?” she would ask.
“Mom, I don’t play for the Longhorns. I just cover them.”
“I know, but I pull for them because you’re there.”
In addition to making the best turkey and dressing in our New Jerusalem Baptist Church family — members famously paid her good money each Thanksgiving and Christmas for one of her signature dishes — she sang in the choir, served on numerous committees — the food bank ministry was one of her passions — and lived the Christian life we studied in the Bible.
Mom’s health began a steady decline around the same time my father died of a heart attack in 2016.
The years of smoking had rendered her lungs useless. Her 77-year-old body was the occupant of a laundry list of ailments that conspired against her in what was supposed to be her golden years: congestive heart failure, COPD, sarcoidosis as well as a bout with colon cancer.
There were so many of them. She took some comic license in telling everyone I still believed in Santa Claus at age 15. That one ranks just ahead of the time she didn’t spoil the rod one summer night in 1978 after some neighborhood friends and I sneaked out of our homes after 10 p.m. to see the local football hero by the name of Earl Campbell getting a haircut down the street at Miss Hattie’s Beauty Nook.
Mom was admitted to the hospital for the third time in a month on July 11, the same day Big 12 media days commenced in Arlington. She insisted that I not skip out on the two-day event because she understood the importance of me chronicling the unofficial start of the college football season.
“I’m fine, son,” she said. “I’ll see you on the weekend.”
I went through with Texas interviews on Wednesday as planned, but a text message changed everything. My niece Kiki reached out while I was at dinner with some Austin media colleagues that Wednesday.
“Granny has asked three times if you’re coming tonight,” it read.
Mom needed me. I had to go. She was asleep when I entered her Tyler hospital room at 1 in the morning, but when I placed my hand on hers and whispered “Mom,” her grey eyes opened and a wide smile spread across her face.
“Hey, son. I knew you’d come.” I met with her doctor the next day. He didn’t mince words.
“She’s very sick,” he said. “We’re talking about a matter of weeks, not months.”
Mom had already told me she didn’t want to die in a hospital, so home hospice was an easy decision for me and Renee. She slept most of Thursday — with me in a recliner next to her bed — but Friday brought an unexpected ray of sunshine.
Kiki, her wife Mimi and my nephew L.D. were in the room and Mom was up, alert and holding court. She had that old familiar spark in her eyes and for 30 minutes, it felt like one of the many holiday afternoons we’d spent swapping old stories. The room was full of laughs with a couple of nurses popping in to take in some delicious light moments in a place where laughter is usually in short supply.
Good news came at 4:30 p.m. when we were informed she was being released to home hospice.
The ambulance transport was behind schedule, so at 6 p.m., Ryan, a cool
CEDRIC GOLDEN/AUSTIN AMERICAN-STATESMAN
nurse, suggested I order Mom a nice dinner while we waited. She feasted on chicken, grilled vegetables, iced tea and a brownie then launched into a nice nap. The visit had worn her out, I deduced.
We arrived at my childhood home in North Tyler around 10. My wife Beverley, my aunt Alice and nephew Quinn were already there, getting the game plan from the hospice nurses from how to administer pain medication to how often a home health professional would be visiting in the next couple of weeks.
Mom never woke up. She left us the morning of July 16, gone at 84. Our hearts are broken, but our souls will eventually dance knowing that she’s no longer suffering. We said goodbye on July 22 with friends, family and the church membership sharing their best memories amid Zion songs from the choir stand in which she stood for more than five decades.
Mom was all about family. My cousin Rev. Gary Choice gave a wonderful tribute to her and had us alternating between laughs and tears.
Yours truly was operating at about 10% that day. I had spent the previous two nights in the hospital with severe dehydration and a bacterial infection and was released 90 minutes before the funeral. Bev propped me up, ran me through a shower, put a suit on me and got me there to say goodbye to the most important woman I’ve ever known.
This past weekend at our annual family reunion, we gave tribute to her and other loved ones with a balloon release. She lived for that event.
As I reflect on her beautiful life, it dawns on me that she was a Sports Mom supporting her kid’s love of competition, which fostered his eventual romance with sports journalism. Bev always tells me that I share many of my Mom’s wonderful traits, and I carry that compliment with great respect.
She was one cool lady and I’ve come to realize that being her son is not only a great honor, but one that comes with great responsibility.
Mom left a tremendous legacy, one that will live in my heart for the rest of my days.
GOLDEN
Jean Golden, right, died on July 16 at the age of 84. 'Our hearts are broken, but our souls will eventually dance knowing that she's no longer suffering,' writes her son, American-Statesman columnist Cedric Golden.
Follow the link below to view the article.
Jean Golden wasn’t just a mom, but a true Sports Mom
Jean Golden wasn’t just a mom, but a true Sports Mom
Cedric Golden
Columnist Austin American-Statesman USA TODAY NETWORK
You’re never prepared to lose your mother, even one who has been in failing health for nearly a decade.
When Jean Golden transitioned three weeks ago, the world lost one of the best people ever created.
I lost not only a mom, but a great Sports Mom.
Some may confuse the term with a mother who is consumed by sports and spends her days as a hover parent who blows up the head coach’s phone with demands to play her kid more. To the contrary, a true Sports Mom quietly plays her position because she understands the blessing of athletics is about her children having fun.
It took 25 years for Mom to tell me she was a star high school basketball player back in the 1950s, in the Redland community of rural East Texas before women were even allowed to play full-court.
I never bothered to ask growing up because at that age, I was all about being an athlete myself. Mom settled into the role of whisking me to practice, making sure my football, basketball and baseball uniforms were clean and pristinely ironed, all the while maintaining a household of four.
Dad worked for the Cotton Belt Railroad, so there were many game days when he would be manning the caboose in some other Southwest town, but my sister Renee and I didn’t have to worry because she had the Sports Mom playbook down pat.
On game days, the trunk in the 1977 Oldsmobile Regency 98 was always filled with a cooler of iced-down Cokes and Sprites — bottled water had not yet become a thing in the 1970s — with enough snacks to keep us well fed on days when we were playing multiple games.
When my Bishop Gorman high school basketball team played for a state
championship in San Antonio back in 1984, Mom was there for both games, cheering on her son at the HemisFair Arena while bonding with the other parents over margaritas at the team hotel.
When I started this career 30 years ago, she was my biggest supporter. Once I started covering Texas football in 2002, she became an instant Longhorns fan: “Who are ya’ll playing this weekend?” she would ask.
“Mom, I don’t play for the Longhorns. I just cover them.”
“I know, but I pull for them because you’re there.”
In addition to making the best turkey and dressing in our New Jerusalem Baptist Church family — members famously paid her good money each Thanksgiving and Christmas for one of her signature dishes — she sang in the choir, served on numerous committees — the food bank ministry was one of her passions — and lived the Christian life we studied in the Bible.
Mom’s health began a steady decline around the same time my father died of a heart attack in 2016.
The years of smoking had rendered her lungs useless. Her 77-year-old body was the occupant of a laundry list of ailments that conspired against her in what was supposed to be her golden years: congestive heart failure, COPD, sarcoidosis as well as a bout with colon cancer.
There were so many of them. She took some comic license in telling everyone I still believed in Santa Claus at age 15. That one ranks just ahead of the time she didn’t spoil the rod one summer night in 1978 after some neighborhood friends and I sneaked out of our homes after 10 p.m. to see the local football hero by the name of Earl Campbell getting a haircut down the street at Miss Hattie’s Beauty Nook.
Mom was admitted to the hospital for the third time in a month on July 11, the same day Big 12 media days commenced in Arlington. She insisted that I not skip out on the two-day event because she understood the importance of me chronicling the unofficial start of the college football season.
“I’m fine, son,” she said. “I’ll see you on the weekend.”
I went through with Texas interviews on Wednesday as planned, but a text message changed everything. My niece Kiki reached out while I was at dinner with some Austin media colleagues that Wednesday.
“Granny has asked three times if you’re coming tonight,” it read.
Mom needed me. I had to go. She was asleep when I entered her Tyler hospital room at 1 in the morning, but when I placed my hand on hers and whispered “Mom,” her grey eyes opened and a wide smile spread across her face.
“Hey, son. I knew you’d come.” I met with her doctor the next day. He didn’t mince words.
“She’s very sick,” he said. “We’re talking about a matter of weeks, not months.”
Mom had already told me she didn’t want to die in a hospital, so home hospice was an easy decision for me and Renee. She slept most of Thursday — with me in a recliner next to her bed — but Friday brought an unexpected ray of sunshine.
Kiki, her wife Mimi and my nephew L.D. were in the room and Mom was up, alert and holding court. She had that old familiar spark in her eyes and for 30 minutes, it felt like one of the many holiday afternoons we’d spent swapping old stories. The room was full of laughs with a couple of nurses popping in to take in some delicious light moments in a place where laughter is usually in short supply.
Good news came at 4:30 p.m. when we were informed she was being released to home hospice.
The ambulance transport was behind schedule, so at 6 p.m., Ryan, a cool
CEDRIC GOLDEN/AUSTIN AMERICAN-STATESMAN
nurse, suggested I order Mom a nice dinner while we waited. She feasted on chicken, grilled vegetables, iced tea and a brownie then launched into a nice nap. The visit had worn her out, I deduced.
We arrived at my childhood home in North Tyler around 10. My wife Beverley, my aunt Alice and nephew Quinn were already there, getting the game plan from the hospice nurses from how to administer pain medication to how often a home health professional would be visiting in the next couple of weeks.
Mom never woke up. She left us the morning of July 16, gone at 84. Our hearts are broken, but our souls will eventually dance knowing that she’s no longer suffering. We said goodbye on July 22 with friends, family and the church membership sharing their best memories amid Zion songs from the choir stand in which she stood for more than five decades.
Mom was all about family. My cousin Rev. Gary Choice gave a wonderful tribute to her and had us alternating between laughs and tears.
Yours truly was operating at about 10% that day. I had spent the previous two nights in the hospital with severe dehydration and a bacterial infection and was released 90 minutes before the funeral. Bev propped me up, ran me through a shower, put a suit on me and got me there to say goodbye to the most important woman I’ve ever known.
This past weekend at our annual family reunion, we gave tribute to her and other loved ones with a balloon release. She lived for that event.
As I reflect on her beautiful life, it dawns on me that she was a Sports Mom supporting her kid’s love of competition, which fostered his eventual romance with sports journalism. Bev always tells me that I share many of my Mom’s wonderful traits, and I carry that compliment with great respect.
She was one cool lady and I’ve come to realize that being her son is not only a great honor, but one that comes with great responsibility.
Mom left a tremendous legacy, one that will live in my heart for the rest of my days.
GOLDEN
Jean Golden, right, died on July 16 at the age of 84. 'Our hearts are broken, but our souls will eventually dance knowing that she's no longer suffering,' writes her son, American-Statesman columnist Cedric Golden.
Follow the link below to view the article.
Jean Golden wasn’t just a mom, but a true Sports Mom
Jean Golden wasn’t just a mom, but a true Sports Mom
Cedric GoldenColumnist Austin American-Statesman USA TODAY NETWORK You
statesman-tx.newsmemory.com
