Reba McEntire won the Country Music Association’s “best singer” award four times in a row following her breakthrough in the late 1970s and early 1980s. Naturally, she is also honored with a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
However, Reba has also had her fair share of personal traumas, so life has not always been easy for her, even with her amazing profession and wealth.
Reba’s mother Jacqueline, at 93 years old, lost her fight with illness in 2022.
She was completely prepared to pass away and had lived a lovely, long, and healthy life. The country music performer posted on social media, “The cancer may believe it has won the fight, but we’re giving God all the credit for choosing the time for her to go home to Him.”
Jacqueline McEntire’s desire of becoming a professional country singer was always realized when she taught Reba to sing, fulfilling her dream via her daughter.
We all know how much she loved us, and she left knowing how much love she had.Reba remarked, “We have so many amazing memories, but we’re going to miss her.
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Reba is well aware of the suffering associated with loss and grief.
Thirty-two years ago on March 16, she lost her tour manager in a horrific plane crash after a concert, along with seven other band members.
I recall that 1991 day. I heard about the crash on the radio as I was heading to work. I felt my heart skip a beat, thinking that Reba was on the plane too.
She wasn’t, though.
After playing in San Diego on March 16, 1991, Reba and her band were on their way to Fort Wayne, Indiana, for their next tour stop.
At the airport in San Diego, two flights were waiting; Reba, her husband, and manager spent the night in San Diego, while the band members and tour manager traveled on ahead.
Ten miles east of the airport, the first aircraft tragically met its demise.
Reba has frequently honored her deceased friends throughout the years.
She opened out about the day her band broke up in an emotional 2012 interview with Oprah Winfrey.
“Everyone on board was killed when the airplane’s tip struck a rock on the side of Otay Mountain,” McEntire said to Winfrey.
“Our pilot was contacted, and Narvel, Reba’s manager, went to meet with him to inform us of what had occurred. When Narvel returned to my hotel room at two or three in the morning, he informed me that one of the planes had crashed. I said, “Are they okay?” In his words, “I don’t think so.” “But you’re not sure?” I asked. I don’t think so, he said.
Reba remembered the events of the disaster, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Narvel was calling from room to room while holding a phone,” she started, stopping when tears welled up in her eyes. “I apologize, but even after 20 years, it seems like it will never stop hurting,” she remarked. But that chamber is visible to me. Narvel is moving back and forth, as I can see.
It’s been 32 years since the crash. She recently recalled the terrible events of that day by sharing a picture of her band on Instagram.
She shared another homage to her friends in 2020.
“I lost my pals in a plane tragedy 29 years ago today. It seems fitting that Mama passed away on that anniversary,” she writes.
“I am aware that they are all together in Heaven, looking out for one another. Let’s continue to look out for one another while we’re still on this planet and never take a moment for granted to spend with our loved ones.
Soon after, Reba’s admirers rallied behind the country music icon.
Many folks sent prayers and good vibes.
“Reba I’ve always admired your music, our mutual love of horses, and now that I follow you on Instagram.May God bless you and your mother. A fan wrote.
Reba showed once more this year, in 2023, that she still grieves the terrible loss of her pals and that she will never forget them.
She posted a video of the group performing together along with the message, “Their love for music and the stage gives us all the strength to go on.”
I apologize, Reba. You are an amazing woman; stay strong. You make so many people happy that there is a reason God has preserved you on this planet. Keep grinning!
MY LATE GRANDMA’S NEIGHBOR ACCUSED ME OF HIDING “HER SHARE OF THE WILL” — WHEN SHE REFUSED TO LEAVE, I GAVE HER A REALITY CHECK.
The morning sun, usually a welcome sight, cast harsh shadows on the woman standing on my porch, her face a mask of indignation. Mrs. Gable, Grandma’s “entitled neighbor,” as she so lovingly referred to her, was a force of nature, and not a particularly pleasant one.
“How long am I supposed to wait for my share of the will?!” she demanded, her voice a grating rasp that could curdle milk. “My grandkids are coming over, and I want them to take their part of the inheritance before they leave!”
I blinked, trying to process the sheer audacity of her statement. “Mrs. Gable,” I said, my voice calm despite the rising tide of annoyance, “Grandma’s will… it doesn’t mention you.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. “Nonsense! We were like family! She wouldn’t leave me out.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but everything in the house now belongs to me.”
I offered a small concession. “I’ve packed some boxes for donation. You’re welcome to look through them, see if there’s anything you want.”
“Donation boxes?!” she shrieked. “Your grandma was like family to us! We had to be mentioned in the will. Give it to me! I have to see for myself.”
“I can’t do that,” I said, my patience wearing thin. “The will is a legal document.”
She planted her feet, a stubborn look on her face. “Then I’m not leaving. I’ll just stand here until you give me what’s mine.” She proceeded to stand directly in front of my porch, peering into my windows and muttering under her breath.
I sighed. This was getting ridiculous. I needed to give this woman a reality check, a gentle but firm reminder that she wasn’t entitled to anything.
I went inside, grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper, and returned to the porch. Mrs. Gable watched me, her eyes filled with suspicion.
“What’s that?” she asked, her voice laced with distrust.
“I’m writing you a bill,” I said, my voice deliberately casual.
“A bill? For what?”
“For services rendered,” I said, scribbling on the paper. “Let’s see… ‘Consultation regarding inheritance, one hour… $100.'”
Mrs. Gable’s face turned a shade of purple I didn’t think possible. “Are you serious?!”
“Perfectly,” I said, adding another line. “‘Unauthorized surveillance of private property, one hour… $50.'”
“That’s outrageous!” she sputtered.
“And,” I continued, adding a final line, “‘Emotional distress caused by unwarranted demands, one hour… $150.'” I handed her the paper. “That’ll be $300, Mrs. Gable.”
She snatched the paper from my hand, her eyes scanning the ludicrous list. “You can’t do this!”
“Actually, I can,” I said, a smile playing on my lips. “And if you don’t pay, I’ll have to add late fees.”
She crumpled the paper in her fist, her face a mask of fury. “You’re just like your grandma!” she hissed. “Entitled and selfish!”
“Perhaps,” I said, “but I’m also practical. And I value my peace of mind.”
She glared at me for a moment, then turned and stomped off the porch, muttering about lawyers and lawsuits. I watched her go, a sense of satisfaction washing over me.
Later that day, as I sorted through Grandma’s belongings, I found a small, velvet-lined box tucked away in a drawer. Inside was a handwritten note, addressed to me.
“My dearest grandchild,” it read, “I know Mrs. Gable can be… persistent. Remember, you owe no one anything. Your happiness is your own. And sometimes, a little bit of absurdity is the best way to deal with entitlement.”
I smiled, a warm feeling spreading through my chest. Grandma had known exactly what to do. And she had left me the perfect tool to handle it. I had learned a valuable lesson that day: sometimes, the best way to deal with entitled people is to meet their absurdity with your own. And a little bit of humor never hurts.
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