Linda A. Lilly

Linda Ann Lilly, was born on January 10, 1947, in Morgantown, West Virginia. My parents were middle-aged professionals with spotless moral character and very good intentions. They had no other children, nor did they have close friends by the time I was born. Since there were no other children to care for them in their old age, they arranged my life so that I would always be available to be a caregiver when needed.

In early childhood I was told that I would go to college and get a master's degree so that I could work at West Virginia University, where my father was a faculty member and both my parents had been students. I obeyed my parents' every directive—partly because I wanted to do the right thing, and partly because I was very fearful of their sudden spells of violence, seemingly without any logical reason.

I graduated from West Virginia University as a Phi Beta Kappa scholar, and I then obtained a Master of Arts degree. Subsequently, my mother decreed that I would pursue doctoral study and would also study abroad. As I knew that disagreeing with my mother would lead to violence and to banishment from the roof over my head, I complied with her edicts by pursuing doctoral study at Duke University and two study trips to Europe.

I wanted to stay at Duke and obtain a doctorate. However, I encountered a very unbalanced classmate (he had attempted suicide as an undergraduate) who decreed that I should marry him because I was the only female he could find who was pure. He began to stalk me, and I became very frightened. I had never dated this man, and I couldn't believe he wanted to marry me without really getting to know me.

I don't know how he sensed that I was a virgin at age 23 (still am!), but somehow he sensed that I would be an appropriate mate for a devout Christian man. I believe in biblical morality, and I do not believe in sex without marriage.

When I told my parents about my situation, they were both very worried. They said to come home after the term was over, and forget about a doctorate—better to be a live M.A. than a dead PhD.

During college and until I started working full-time, I served as the cook and housekeeper for my parents. My mother began to fear that I would be unable to get a job, so she sent me to the local career college to learn typing and shorthand. She was very embarrassed that I would have to work as a secretary, since people of our family background (upper middle class) did not perform low-level office work, but she knew I needed to get into the social security system in case I lived to retirement age.

I had a very difficult time learning to type due to problems with fine-motor coordination. But, after I had kept practicing for a couple of years at home, I finally learned to type well enough to get an office job at the university. I worked at West Virginia University for 40 years, until I was forced to retire due to my autism, lack of social skills, and severe anxiety. After retirement, I began volunteering at Suncrest United Methodist Church.

I have always described myself as a scholar, a singer, and a survivor. As a young child, I read books instead of playing with toys. I loved to read the dictionary, my parents' grammar books, and the King James Bible. I recall my mother telling me that I knew my alphabet at age 2. When she asked me how I had learned my letters, my reply was "From the phone book! Where else?"

At about age 4, I began climbing onto the windowsill so that I could look at the heavens while singing classical hymns to God. My mother, who was a devout Christian believer, taught me about God and Jesus at a very early age. I was fascinated by a Being who could create thunderstorms and other spectacular natural events, and I wanted to talk to Him "eyeball to eyeball."

I have always loved to create descants for majestic hymns. Even though I never learned to play an instrument (10 left thumbs ...), I have practiced high notes and vocal exercises to enhance vocal resonance since my youth. At the time of this writing, I am 75 years of age and can still sing a high C, D, or even E ....without anyone in the congregation calling Animal Control to ".....get that old yowling cat out of here." (I do hope that none of my fellow congregants get any ideas 0 0 0 O.)

In my youth, I wanted to become an opera singer so that I could "amount to something" and perhaps earn the respect of my mother. Opera was not in the cards for me....but singing glorious hymns using harmonies that I create ad lib was indeed in my future. I would rather sing to God than try to please some snooty music critic. God loves me, He made me a coloratura mezzo-soprano, and He loves my joyful notes - even when acid reflux makes me sound more like a frog than a feline.

For most of my life, my experiences with other humans did not go very well. I was not allowed to socialize with other children, nor was I allowed to visit neighbors. My parents, who were brilliant but emotionally troubled, did not want me to be "contaminated" with the influences of the modern world. They feared that I might commit a sin that would disgrace them, or that I would move away as an adult, leaving them without a caregiver in old age.

I experienced a great deal of hostility in school, in college, and even in study abroad. My autism, which manifested itself in the inability to read "unwritten" social cues, made me seem very odd. In addition, my mother's requirement that I be garbed and coiffed in "antique" clothing and a hairstyle that was appropriate for the 19th century but not for modern times, made me a target for violence by my peers. One peer was so enraged by my appearance and persona that he announced his intention to kill me. He then proceeded to slam my body down on the pavement as hard as he could, head first. I believe I sustained a concussion, as my swollen head hurt for days, and I felt quite ill.

I was never allowed to have a date, go to a prom, socialize with groups of peers, or similar things that most young people do. My challenges in trying to act normal were twofold: my parents would not permit social contact, and my peers wanted nothing to do with me—unless they needed help with their studies. I recall vividly that during high school I had to take a long route home because I dared not walk on the street where the school buses picked up students - I encountered jeering, bottle-throwing crowds expressing their derision toward the "freak."

Similar things happened in college. I dared not walk by the front of certain university buildings or I would encounter groups of hissing and booing students who seemed to really enjoy being mean to the "weirdo who doesn't belong on planet Earth."

Some people were cordial to me in the workplace, while others were discourteous or downright threatening. I was often threatened with job termination because I was a "head case" or a "fruit loop." I sometimes asked for guidance as to how I should change my behavior in order to be less offensive, but I never got an answer beyond "you're just weird" or "I can't put my finger on it." I was paid as a low-level secretary, but I functioned as a scholar—an editorial assistant for peer-reviewed manuscripts. Even though I was ashamed of my status as a "weirdo" and a pariah, I was and still am proud of the manuscripts that I nursed along the path to publication.

I have battled severe depression, anxiety, and fear of humans since approximately the age of four. My parents did not allow me to cry, complain, or question any of their edicts. They were very burdened by their own problems; they consequently found a child—even an obedient child who never had tantrums—to be more of a burden than they could handle. They were embarrassed by my clumsiness regarding motor skills, and my mother was grieved that I did not have the necessary physical traits and talents to be a perfect artist's model.

The worst thing that happened to me was being told that nobody would ever like me, that there was no such thing as a friend, that God would not help me because I did not want to suffer for the sake of suffering, and that I was not a good person because I wanted to live a normal life span after my mother's death.

At age 20, I wanted to end my life because it was totally bereft of friendship, affection, respect, and the other emotional comforts that all humans need. But, I feared that God might send me to Hell, and I didn't want to repeat my earthly life in eternity. That meant I had to keep on enduring an earthly experience that I would not have wished on Satan himself. So, I kept putting one foot in front of the other and acting obedient and cordial. That was the only way I knew to avoid scorn and violence.

In retirement (age 69), I began volunteering at the church, and those folks were nice to me. I think this positive change in others' attitudes toward me came about because I was no longer a paid employee. I was working for free, and church folks were glad to get my help. None of my supervisors were worried that my autism-generated "social stupidity" would make them look bad, and possibly lose their jobs.

I have had four bouts with cancer (counting the current argument with a nasty lymph node). When I had my third bout with cancer, in 2021, I assumed that I would probably die alone at home from starvation—I never dreamed that anybody would visit my house to check on me. But, to my amazement, church people did what I had been told people would never do for me—they brought me liquid food so that I could get nourishment (tongue surgery sucks!!), and they did many other things to ensure my survival. They also sent me zillions of lovely get-well cards, and I am keeping every one of them.

As of this writing, I have miraculously come to believe that people in the congregation actually do like me, that God has indeed forgiven my sins, that I am headed to Heaven, and that I do deserve a Christian funeral. Thanks to my church family, I am beginning to feel peace with God, for the first time in my life. My mind is no longer fixated on the rejection of peers and parents. I plan to take the radiation treatment that is recommended for neck cancer, and I will rely on God to help me survive and continue doing his work until He is ready for me in Eternity.

I am taking a humorous approach to this disease. In much the same way that I joke about being the "Ornery Old Cat" in order to cover up social unease, I have named my neck tumor "Putin." I can't think of a person more worthy of "downstairs in the coal mine."

I will stay on this planet as long as God permits, and then I will see various church family and Polecats and Poodles Up Yonder with God.

A gathering of friends will be Thursday, April10. 2025 from 5:30 p.m. until the 6:30 p.m. funeral service at Suncrest United Methodist Church, Morgantown, WV with Pastor Larry Buckland officiating.

Private burial will be in Sunset Memorial Gardens, Beckley, WV.

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