A different Christmas story: Carleta Underwood, a life lived so well

I know this is a website dedicated to Florida Gators sports, but I hope you will indulge me for going off topic. This, you see, is my first Christmas in 74 years without the presence of my mother, Carleta Van Sickle Underwood. She passed away 17 days ago after a rather productive run in this thing we call life. She made it 97 years and 11 days before she drew her last breath at 4:02 p.m. on December 8. My sister Donna, my brother Gregory and I were at her bedside when her soul entered the gates of heaven leaving a shell of a body behind.

Our loss, heaven’s gain. I’ve heard that at least 500 times in the last 17 days. No matter how I know that’s the truth, it doesn’t change the fact that there is a void. I don’t know how long it will be before it’s not there. For all I know, it may never depart.

I know that where she is now there is no more of the pain she endured the last 30 years of her life. Her tolerance for pain was almost legendary. Just ask the nurses that forgot to numb her back before plunging in biopsy needles in 1998. They were in tears when they realized they had forgotten yet at the same time astonished that she didn’t even flinch. A day later the tumors that showed up on an MRI 48 hours prior weren’t there. The doctors were amazed. My mom said, “See, I told you I didn’t have cancer.” They asked how she knew, she replied, “Because my family, friends and prayer group were on it.”

She was like that, a woman of immense faith that never wavered. The more difficult the circumstance, the stronger her faith grew. Adversity was almost like some high powered growth hormone for her faith.

Now, she was emotional when adversity struck. I was convinced from the time I was four or five years old that she could shed tears on demand. For years I also thought she was a sucker for every sad story on the planet, but as I matured I learned that if you were breathing then you were worth a healthy dose of her compassion, care and teardrops. One of her “children by choice” – a student from Honduras named Juan Carlos – said there was healing in her tears. The two of them cried through some very difficult times. When Juan Carlos passed away in Honduras in the aftermath of a hurricane that caused massive flooding when it made landfall, my mom’s heart was broken. The mere mention of Juan Carlos brought tears, a trickle at first, an overflowing river to follow. If she loved you, she never stopped loving you.

She loved Juan Carlos, Jose, Rafael, Hector, Koktow, Virginia, Soo Young and all those kids and young people who she mothered and mentored for the years she and my stepfather, the late Dom Underwood, ran a ministry for international students and immigrants. For nearly 25 years at First Baptist Church in Gainesville and then at Westside Baptist Church they did their best to personify Matthew 25:35 that reads “… I was a stranger and you took me in.” In their presence no one was a stranger and no one was without the need of a hug and some love.

In 1986 when I was teaching at Han Nam University in Taejon, Korea, I came across a young man who got so excited when he found out I was from Gainesville. “I’m going to school there,” he told me. I congratulated him on making such a good decision to do grad school at the University of Florida. He told me about some of the other schools where he had applied and been accepted, so I asked what was the deciding factor that led him to choose Florida.

“There is this lady there in Gainesville,” he told me. “She helps you learn all about Gainesville, takes you to get a driver’s license and invites you into her home to eat and speak English conversations. She is famous! Do you know her?”

I grinned and told her that’s my mom, her name is Carleta.

“Yes! Carleta! That’s her!” he replied. “All the Koreans in Gainesville know her and love her.” Yes, Koreans and those from about 50 other countries who came to know her.

When my mom was growing up at 313 NW 11^th Street, just three blocks from the University of Florida campus, her dream was to become a foreign missionary but the combination of World War II, marriage to my dad Francis Beard, two kids and a very successful career as an insurance agent for Independent Life, Mutual and United of Omaha, and Jefferson Standard caused her to detour. Then came the invitation from Jerry Hayner for her and Dom to begin an international ministry at First Baptist Church.

She did her Moses impersonation. “I can’t speak Spanish! I don’t have the background! I don’t have the right education!” And on and on. Jerry listened and said, “Yep, and that’s why you’ll be perfect for the job.” He knew how Carleta attacked a new task. He knew that she would rely on her faith and let God take care of the minor little details.

Minor little details. Five back surgeries. A knee replacement and another knee that needed replacing but doctors refused to due to her age and other health complications. A double mastectomy. A spiral fracture in her leg that required serious surgery and rehab. They sent her home two weeks ahead of schedule at rehab because she had surpassed the goals and expectations.

She was legally blind due to glaucoma and macular degeneration in both eyes, but even when she couldn’t see, she saw more than most. She could read a heart and that was all the sight she needed.

In her life it was God first, family second and that included all the family she adopted through the years, and the Florida Gators a very strong third place. She loved the Florida Gators. Her favorite Gators were in this order: Steve Spurrier, Danny Wuerffel, Tim Tebow, Billy Donovan, Urban Meyer and Todd Golden.

She was in the hospital at ORMC in Orlando in November of 2005. During surgery her spinal cord was nicked. For three weeks she hovered near death. A couple of days before Thanksgiving, Urban Meyer whacked me on the butt with his Gatorade bottle as was his habit after practice or press conferences. He asked about my mom and then asked if there is anything he could do. I told him how much she adored him and then asked a monumental favor.

“I know you’re busy with the Florida State game, but would you call her and wish her to get well?” I asked. “Her birthday is Sunday (November 27).”

“Consider it done,” Urban replied. “Thanksgiving morning okay?”

Absolutely. Thanksgiving morning Urban and Shelley Meyer called. They talked for 20 minutes. At the conclusion of the conversation, Urban said, “I hear you have a birthday coming up on Sunday. What would you like for a birthday present?”

My mom replied, “Well, you could beat the Seminoles.”

Saturday evening at the conclusion of the post game press conference after the Gators had whomped FSU, 34-7, Urban walked by, whacked me on the butt with his Gatorade bottle and grinned, “You think she liked that?”

She loved it and loved the 2006 and 2008 national championships in football, the back-to-back basketball championships, the softball, gymnastics, baseball, golf and track and field championships. When the Gators lost, she was disappointed for maybe a few hours, then the perpetual, undying optimism kicked in. Carleta was one Gator who never lost the faith.

In the last few years of her life when she could no longer see the Florida games on the television, I was her eyes. When I got home from games at The Swamp or the O-Dome, she expected me to give her the lowdown. She was like the Wide World of Sports signature line, “The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat.” A Gator win was a thrill. Defeat was agony, a total heartbreak.

I think most UF fans were convinced they might never see another NCAA basketball championship, but when I got home after the Gators poleaxed then No. 1 Tennessee, 73-43, she was wide awake and waiting. She had listened to the entire game with my sister filling in details.

“I love Todd Golden,” she told me as I gave her my version of the game. “I think this team is going to win the national championship.”

She was prophetic. January became February and then came March. The Gator Boyz got hot. Very hot. As I traveled to each venue of the NCAA Tournament, I called after every game to give her the personal report she expected. After the UConn, Texas Tech, Auburn and Houston come from behind wins, she told me she knew the Gators would find a way to win.

“That Todd Golden knows how to coach,” she declared more than one time. “He’s another Dean Smith. I never doubted the Gators would win those games.”

After the NCAA championship, I set out on writing my book, “The Golden Season.” I did it with constant encouragement from my mother. When we got the first copies from the publisher, she held the book to her cheek and then kissed it. She was proud of me. She was proud of Todd. She was proud of her Gators.

A month later and she was gone.

On the Saturday morning (December 6) before she passed away, I was up at 6 a.m. and by her bedside. She wanted to sit on the sofa, but that was impossible, so I volunteered to sit on the bed and lean over so she could hug me. For the next 30 minutes we talked as she hugged me tighter than ever before. It was our last lucid conversation during which we talked about the Duke game again. She was convinced the zebras stole that one from the Gators. She wanted to know what I thought about Jon Sumrall. She made me promise I would go to New York for the UConn game on Tuesday.

We talked about family and faith matters until she got tired and started to fade. She hugged me and kissed my cheek.

“You’re going to be all right,” she said and told me one more time how much she loved me. This was our last conversation. Later in the day she slipped into semi-consciousness and by Sunday she only occasionally opened her eyes.

On Monday morning, just hours before she passed, one of her favorite hymns was playing. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t sing and wasn’t conscious but her lips mouthed the words to “It Is Well With My Soul.”

At 4:02 p.m. a very well soul passed from this life on earth to a heaven where she knew she was going long before she took her last breath.

So, here it is at 1:19 on Christmas morning. It is so quiet in this Lake County condo that I call home, the place she spent the last 11-plus months of her life. For the past couple of weeks I have been waking up at 6 a.m., staggering out of bed and walking over to where her bed was only to realize that she’s not here anymore. Not here physically, at least. In my heart and the hearts of all those who knew her, she’s still very much a strong presence and will always be.

I look back on that last conversation I had with my mother and it compels me to ask a favor of those of you who read this. Take the time to tell the people you care about that you love them. If forgiveness is needed, then be bold enough to make the first step. I could not live with myself if my mother had gone to her grave with unreconciled differences with me.

If at all possible, do it today. Life is short and we never know when our time is up. Don’t go another day if you can help it without the effort to bridge old problems and give a relationship a fresh start.

Merry Christmas,

Franz