Barbara D. Morris, at home with family and surrounded by those she loved, was taken into eternity on December 14, 2024. Barbara was born on February 22, 1937, in Eminence, Missouri to Ivan and Flossie (Hall) Phillips. Barbara was raised in Eminence, Missouri, and graduated from Eminence High School in 1956.
Mom, your first job was at your dad’s handle mill. You told the story many times of Junior telling you to spit on your hands and rub it on your face so your dad would think you were working hard, you would remember it by saying, “All it did was make the gnats attack us.” You always gave 110%. No one has ever had a better work ethic than you. You kept our family together through self-sacrifice, and we saw you. You said “I’m going to beat your A** and make a believer out of you,” And you did, and made us better people because of it. You taught us to show up, every time, on time, and get it done.
We remember how you always answered the question “Are you cold?” with a sharp “Well, I ain’t hot.” How you crawled around in your yard all day making sure there was never a weed in a flower bed. How you offered political direction with your t-shirts that said, “Keep Working, Millions on Welfare Depend on you.” How you were always shocked at the meal portion sizes you were offered if they were more than a single morsel, exclaiming “GAH-LEE!” every single time. How, when we were kids, you boldly invited a father and his son to your house to allow there to be a “fair fight” between your son and his, declaring they could fight, but you would only allow it if it were one-on-one. How you loved your basset hounds and spoiled them until they were hopeless. How you loved to lay in the sun and spent years tanning in the yard for two hours every day before you went to work the night shift. How you loved the Mighty Merle and listened to Misery and Gin until your Sweet Face knew it by heart by age 3. How you listened to the Chuck Wagon Gang every night on the radio while you put your rollers in. How you smoked Marlboro red shorts every day and loved cheeseburgers and vanilla milkshakes, but only vanilla. How you could whistle and we would hear you from a block away and know exactly what to do. How you insisted we always straighten the rug and clean up the mess, eat the green peas and liver, and be thankful for what we had. How you crossed your legs and tapped your foot. How you were terrified of storms, just like your dad, would make us scurry to the cellar and perch like little birds on the ledge, while the water was rising, with candles in our hands. How during great personal adversities, you shined the brightest. In 1984, you had breast cancer and had a radical mastectomy, and 36 years later, when you were 83, you were diagnosed with bladder cancer, and simply responded “I have done it before and I can do it again,” In those moments, we saw you, tougher than a two-dollar steak.
You were the rarest of people. You lived a life-giving sage advice to all you knew. You lived a simple life, that was full of life, so full that you were the subject of many speeches made to crowds of young people who were inspired by your resilience and fight. Your family was most important to you. From the time you had a job, you supported your mom, dad, and younger siblings. You honored your father and mother, and your days were long upon the earth, and we saw you. You did without so others could have. You shared the responsibilities of raising kids that weren’t yours when their families needed help. You worked harder than anyone else because you always felt the burden of your responsibilities, and we saw you. You never drove a car and walked where you needed to go, no excuses, you figured it out. Even the hard things, we saw you, and we learned from you. You loved the farm and every animal we ever had. You cooked dinner every night and we all sat together around the table in our assigned seats. You planted a garden, picked blackberries, packed our lunches, kept a spotless house, and ran a tight ship. You loved us in word and deed, and we saw you.
You said strike while the iron is hot, make hay while the sun shines, every ‘ole crow thinks hers is the blackest, don’t count your chickens before they hatch, don’t put all your eggs in one basket, you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.
The ones that left before you were Dad, your husband of 60 years, Donald Gene Morris; your parents, Ivan and Flossie Phillips; and your siblings, Alfred Phillips, Lucielle Sherrill, Janet Ellis, Merle Phillips, Thelma Sherrill, Ivan Phillips Jr., Sharon Kay Phillips, Flossie George, Glen Phillips, Betty Louge, and Alan Vic Phillips.
The ones you left to remember you are your sister, Linda Snearly (Russell), Bentonville, AR; sons, Donald Gene Morris Jr. (Tena), and Gary Scott Morris (Mandi) both of Willow Springs, MO; daughter, Lisa Ann Kanai (TJ), of Bryant, AR; granddaughter Hannah Yuriko Merchant (Eddie) of Bryant, AR; granddaughter, Hailey Sayuri McCormick (Charles) of Willow Springs, MO; granddaughter, Haven Elizabeth Yurie Kanai of Bryant, AR; grandson, Harrison Morris Kubota Hikaru Kanai (Kya) Bryant, AR; great-granddaughter, Adalyn Grace Yumiko; great-granddaughter, Hadley Ann Yuki Merchant of Bryant, AR; and many nieces and nephews, who knew you as Aunt Bobbi.
Mom, you were the real deal. You had the heart of a lion. You didn’t talk about it, you lived it. We saw you and we will never forget to remember.
Graveside services will be held at 1:00 p.m. on Wednesday, December 18, 2024, at Willow Springs City Cemetery, Willow Springs, Missouri, with Harrison Kanai officiating, under the direction of Yarber Mortuary, Willow Springs. Condolences may be expressed at www.yarbermortuary.com.
