Our Mother
In Memory of Margaret Hunhoff
vBy Brian Hunfoff
Our mother, Margaret Hunhoff, died peacefully one week
shy of her 95th birthday. I took the photo above in front of her
Pearl Street home four years ago, before she became ill and
moved to a nursing home. Life can change fast in your 90s.
Following are a few memories about this strong woman who
endured one tragedy after another, but kept pushing forward.
Mom graduated from Oto High School in Iowa in 1941. She
was an honor student and editor of their school newspaper,
the Oto Optimist. Aspects of her childhood were difficult, but
there were good times as well. A favorite memory was traveling
to Sioux City to perform on the radio with the Oto School
Harmonica Band.
Mom treasured her family, her Catholic faith and the
written word. Those values sustained her through difficult
times, especially after the death of young son Steven in a farm
accident in 1952. When Dad passed away in 1982 at age 65, she
wrote, “Death of a Quiet Man.” One stanza said:
“One day you stood beside a tiny casket The only time that people saw you cry Yet, when it closed and left him in the dark,
You found no words with which to say goodbye.”
Mom worked hard to build a comfortable, independent life
for our developmentally disabled brother Patrick. When he
was five, she wrote a poem about her precious seventh son. It
began:
“Dear little boy who struggles so
To hold the pencil tight
And keep the numbers in the lines
And draw the numbers right.
Of course you’re different in some ways
But still you shall succeed
Along the path that’s meant for you,
And never mind the speed!”
Mom suffered more than her share of grief, including suicide
deaths by several immediate family members in Iowa. Writing
was an escape from heartbreak. She said, “On difficult days, I
sit at the typewriter and try to chase the clouds from my mind.”
In 1995, I asked Mom to write a monthly column for my
Yankton County Observer. She didn’t miss a month for the
next 20 years. “Grandma’s Scrapbook” won three first place
state awards. When she was 90, a contest judge said, “I gave
excellent marks to three entries right down the line, but there
can only be one winner and you, my dear, are it! Wonderful,
wonderful column. I hope your readers appreciate what a gift
they have in you.”
She was a natural writer and talented poet, but Mom’s first
career spanned 30 years as a hospital nurse, nursing home
nurse, and Yankton County Health Nurse. All her life, she
tended to needs of the sick, the poor and anyone who needed a
friend.
As county nurse, she spent many hours with elderly
homebound clients who
lived alone. A supervisor
said her home visits took too
long, but Mom was often
called to put her stethoscope
aside and listen for the
beating of lonely hearts. She
later burned the midnight
oil at the Yankton County
Courthouse to catch up on
reports and paperwork.
(Psalm 68:6 - “God makes a home for the lonely.”)
For decades, Mom assisted a poor, heavyset farm neighbor
who suffered from chronic ingrown toenails. At our farmhouse
or theirs, Mom regularly soaked this lady’s swollen feet in
warm water and neatly trimmed her ailing toes. It evoked
Jesus’ instructions to His disciples in John 13:14-17 - “If I, your
Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet. So you should also
wash one another’s feet.”
For 19 years, Mom prepared food for a homeless and
alcoholic Yankton man who came by each day to eat a meal
in her enclosed porch. For me, it was a daily real-life echo
of Matthew 25:35 - “For I was hungry and you gave me
something to eat. I was thirsty and you gave me something to
drink. I was a stranger and you invited me in.”
J.R. Kirsch, one of Mom’s former neighbors, admired her for
feeding that homeless man. It changed his views about helping
people with addictions. “Because of that, I have been able to
pass those views on to my kiddos,” Kirsch said.
Mom loved her grandkids and the feeling was mutual.
Granddaughter Abbey said, “She had a way of making
someone feel like they were the most important person in the
world.” Grandson Max once sent his Grandma Margaret a
card calling her “the most interesting and wonderful person
on earth.” He added, “I could listen to you talk for hours and
sometimes I do!”
My mother was not perfect. She worried too much. She
could be manipulative (with good intentions). Her driving
suffered as she aged. Mom started buying stamps and mailing
letters at my brother’s South Dakota Magazine office near her
home. Bernie didn’t mind, but asked why she quit going to the
post office? “Well,” she said. “They get so touchy when you just
nick a car there.”
She was strong-willed. Her kind physician, Dr. Daniel
Megard, was accustomed to hearing self-diagnosis of Mom’s
various ailments. “She had her own ideas, but I was allowed to
have an opinion,” he smiled.
I know no one who is perfect, but I had a mother who was
special in many ways. Her loss leaves an emptiness that has not
completely settled in. I still find myself thinking I need to get
up to the nursing home and see Mom, then remember she isn’t
there anymore. I miss her now and forever. Amen.