Remembering Mims: From: Pam Anderson Crosby

Holly Rudd Anderson 01-27-52 ~ 02-17-04

Dear family and friends,

It has been six years--coming up to the day that my brothers, sister and I lost our mom. We have been strong. We accept that she has moved on to more important things and are happy for her. At times we miss her of course and prefer not to dwell on things of the past but find it healthy to take a moment every now and again to reflect on the happy memories we have been afforded. This leads me to the point for which I am writing you this note. Because life is moving forward and memories begin to distance themselves, it becomes hard to remember the unique attributes and characteristics that makes someone so special. Of the few times over the past six years that I have been able to spend with grandpa and grandma, my favorite question has been to ask, “Can you please tell me a story about my mom?” I loved to see their faces light up and an ensuing funny, exciting, mischievous story that so described my mom. For a moment I feel like I remember something that I had forgotten. When tragedy happens, to move on you try to forget the hopelessly despairing recollections and with that seems to drift some of the priceless memories that allow someone to live on.
More for my siblings but also for myself, I wanted to ask you to take a moment of your time and write down a memory about my mom. I know people ask this and sometimes you might say to yourself, “Give it a rest” or “that’s so cliche’” to be doing this but it would mean so much to me and I know my siblings that I couldn’t help but ask.
Aunt, sister, cousin, friend, whatever she was to you connects you with us. And with the way our lives continue to forge their way into the future, leaving behind the past, I am afraid that now is no better time to ask this favor of you. On February 17, 2010 I am going to have put together a blogspot with entries from family and friends with pictures, music--including songs that Kevan, Kris, and I have written, poems, etc. as a place where my siblings and I can go when those moments come where we feel like we want to be closer. She left a little early. I have a lot of moments where I want her to be there to congratulate me for achievements I have made or something to laugh at that I know she would understand. She was one of the closest people I have had in my life and one that I wouldn’t have to say anything and she’d understand. A mom is an important person you’d hope would never leave and would be there forever. And she is. I am happy she is where she is.
So, if you would please do me a favor and write just something--it can be anything, you would help me to give something irreplaceable to my family and I know they would appreciate it more than you would know. If you have any pictures that you could download, we always love to see those.
We (the Anderson’s) have been blessed with so many good family members and have more than we could possibly have asked for. I would like to thank you beforehand for your time. I really hope that you and your family are doing well. I am proud to be a Rudd--we are blessed to have had Sam and Marge in our lives and such a great link to keep us together. I’ll miss our reunions but remember the good times.

May this site be dedicated to the memory of a loved one who brought happiness into the lives of those around her. Holly Rudd Anderson came into this world January 27, 1952 to Sam and Marge Rudd. The sister of four, mother of six, aunt, and friend to many more, Holly became known a breath of fresh air. One who understood the needs of others and was always willing to be a listening ear. She always loved a good mischievous endeavor--anything to get a rise out of someone. She loved cars, clothes and loved being the center of attention. Her relationship with her sisters was inspiring and an example to anyone who observed. Many trips, lunches, and days out strengthened their bond and is something that will be missed by all. For the visitors of this site: if you have anything that you would like to express--memories, pictures, thoughts to the children, sisters, or those who loved Holly, or anything else--please send them to tanderson@hspest.com.

I met Holly in 1970 while she was in high school, just after she had started dating my older brother, Rick. My first impression was that she was the epitome of classic female beauty: crystalline aquamarine eyes, lush sweeping lashes, porcelain skin, and luxuriously thick, black hair. At age 11, I was surprised and flattered by her kind attention and sisterly affection toward me, especially since Rick's previous girlfriends had rarely even acknowledged me before. She had a genuinely blithe disposition, a frequent, contagious laugh, and a courageous androgyny that fascinated me. As feminine as a delicate flower, she was the first "frilly-girl" I ever knew who truly enjoyed the unsettling adrenaline rush of driving fast cars, and could ram a stick-shift into overdrive at break-neck speeds as well as any guy. I was amazed and impressed. I encouraged my brother to marry her.

And when they did get married the following year, Holly graciously invited me to be among her bridesmaids; an extremely exciting event for a 12-year old, and my first experience as part of a wedding line. She knew that I would be thrilled to get to wear regal, deep-purple velvet, three-inch heels, and to have my hair ratted up into a formal, high-bouffant style. For two full weeks prior to the wedding, I enthusiastically stumbled over my own feet for hours at a time, until I was finally able to execute "the processional walk" flawlessly in real high heels--a glorious right-of-passage for which I give profuse thanks to my generous sister-to-be. And when the day arrived, and I watched Holly emerge from the bride's dressing room in her luminous organza gown and veil, I was mesmerized by her effervescent presence: Holly was not just visually beautiful, Holly embodied and animated beauty--giving it an innocent and joyful radiance that charged the room with energy--and captured my adoration forever after.

We became fast friends. I spent much of my spare time in their painted-cinder-block U of U student housing apartment when Rick was in school. We'd picnic on the lawn, watch home movies (8 mm reel-to-reel projected movies back then), discuss schoolwork, decorate for Halloween, wrap Christmas presents, tell jokes, drag State Street, flirt & flee, and laugh until our cheeks and bellies ached. Due to her inherent propensity to embrace life with optimism, exhilaration and laughter, Holly was delightfully fun, and I could not help but continually gravitate toward her engaging presence.

Throughout my young-adulthood, Holly was my mentor; an admirable one whom I continue to emulate as well as I can. She taught me how to cook, to fold laundry, to make a bed properly, and to become a wife and mother. She allowed me to rock her babies to sleep and taught me how to care for their needs. When she lost her first-born, she poignantly illustrated for me the intimate meaning of grief, as well as an extraordinary resilience beyond it, in spite of its crushing pain. She taught me how to act professionally, how to run a business, and how to balance a career and a family with aplomb. Her gifts to me have been numerous and fundamental to my development as a genuine human being. More than anything else, Holly was completely authentic; vibrantly alive and optimistically open to the challenges that life placed before her. She was both vulnerable simultaneously stalwart in the face of adversity, unconditionally nurturing and embracing, uniquely witty and amusing, and dependably exuberant. While without her, the world has lost one of its most dazzling sunbeams, we are blessed to have had the fortune to witness such radiance, and to discover how its life-affirming power has cultivated her finest qualities within ourselves.

With inexpressible gratitude,

Pam Anderson Crosby