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!
New 1484
My Husband Didn’t Save Me Any Food for Dinner While I Was Feeding Our Newborn Son
Five weeks ago, my world changed in the most beautiful and challenging ways when I became a mother. My son, with his tiny fingers and soft sighs, became the center of my universe. Yet, amid this new and overwhelming love, a shadow loomed over our little family’s happiness — my mother-in-law.
From the moment we brought our son home, she stationed herself in our living room, transforming it into her base camp. Her intentions might have been good, at least that’s what my husband believed, asserting she was here to help us navigate through these early days of parenthood. However, her presence quickly became another source of stress. She filled our home with visitors, contributing to the chaos rather than alleviating it. Despite this, I bit my tongue, choosing silence over confrontation, all for the sake of peace.
A mam and her baby | Source: Pexels
Amidst the endless cycle of feeding, changing diapers, and soothing my son to sleep, I found little time for myself, often going hours without food. My mother-in-law, claiming that she was there to cook, didn’t extend her support to actually helping with the baby. Eventually, I was exhausted and hungry, clinging to the hope that at least I wouldn’t have to worry about meals.
A woman cooking | Source: Pexels
Last night shattered that last vestige of appreciation I had for her so-called help. After a long evening spent breastfeeding, I emerged from the nursery, expecting to find a plate saved for me, only to be met with indifference from my husband and outright disregard from his mother.
The coldness in her voice as she informed me there was no food left because she assumed I wasn’t hungry cut deeper than any physical hunger I felt. In that moment, my frustration boiled over. The argument that ensued was heated and bitter, revealing the deep fissures in our family dynamics.
An empty plate | Source: Pexels
My husband’s defense of his mother, coupled with his outrage at my reaction, made it painfully clear that I was alone in this struggle. On top of it all, he even expected me to wash the dishes as well. Feeling utterly unsupported and unseen, I made the decision to leave, seeking refuge in my mother’s home. The calm and care I found there stood in stark contrast to the turmoil I left behind.
An upset woman | Source: Pexels
Yet, even here, where I thought I would be safe, the conflict followed. My husband’s relentless calls and messages, each more accusatory than the last, painted me as the villain in this scenario. His inability to understand my perspective, to see the toll his mother’s presence and his lack of support took on me, was disheartening. The narrative he spun to his family, that I was keeping our son from him over a trivial matter like food, only added to my sense of isolation.
An angry guy | Source: Pexels
As I tried to navigate through these swirling emotions, the bond with my son remained my anchor. His innocent dependence on me, his warmth, and his trust, fortified my resolve to seek a better environment for us both, even if it meant standing against the expectations and demands of my husband and his family.
A woman and her baby | Source: Pexels
In the quiet of my mother’s house, with my son cradled close, I pondered our future. The path forward seemed daunting, fraught with difficult conversations and decisions. Yet, in the face of this adversity, I knew I had to advocate for myself and my son, to strive for a life filled with the love, respect, and support we deserved.
A woman enjoying a cup of coffee | Source: Pexels
In a moment of sheer desperation, I reached out to the one person I hadn’t considered before — my father-in-law. Through tear-blurred eyes and with a trembling voice, I poured out my heart, detailing every strain and stress that had pushed me to my limit. To my surprise, he didn’t just offer words of comfort; he took immediate action.
A man on a phone call | Source: Pexels
Within the hour, we were standing together at my house’s doorstep, his usually gentle demeanor replaced with a stern resolve that I had rarely seen. He didn’t spare a moment for pleasantries, bypassing me to confront the heart of the turmoil — his son and wife, seated obliviously in front of the TV. The air grew heavy with anticipation as he declared, “This ends now,” a simple yet powerful decree that commanded attention.
An older man | Source: Pexels
He turned to my husband first, his voice a mix of disappointment and authority, “You will wash the dishes every night from now on. Your wife needs your support, not your neglect.” The shock on my husband’s face was palpable, a visible sign that the weight of his father’s words had struck a chord.
Then, without missing a beat, he addressed his wife, my mother-in-law, with a clarity and firmness that left no room for negotiation. “And you, it’s time to go home. Your ‘help’ here is doing more harm than good.” The impact of his words on her was immediate; the usually unflappable woman was reduced to a silent, stunned figure, her protests dying before they could even begin.
An upset older woman | Source: Pexels
With the air still echoing his pronouncements, my father-in-law turned to me, a softness returning to his gaze, “Now, let’s go get you a proper meal.” That dinner was a welcome pause in the storm where understanding and compassion filled the gaps worn by weeks of tension. It was a balm to my frayed nerves, a gesture of solidarity that I had sorely missed.
Woman enjoying a meal | Source: Pexels
Back home, the reality of my father-in-law’s intervention began to take root. My husband, confronted with the undeniable truth of his neglect, took to the dishes — a symbolic act of taking responsibility not just for the cleanliness of our home, but for the well-being of our family. It was a turning point, one that reshaped the dynamics of our household.
A happy woman | Source: Pexels
The changes were gradual but undeniable. My husband emerged as a more present and supportive partner, actively participating in the care of our son and the myriad tasks that keep a home running smoothly. My mother-in-law’s presence in our home, once a source of constant stress, became a rare and much more welcome occurrence. Her visits, now infrequent, were no longer invasions but genuine attempts to connect and contribute positively to our family life.
A happy family | Source: Pexels
This transformation, sparked by the bold yet necessary intervention of my father-in-law, brought about a sense of peace and respect that had been missing. The support I had longed for was finally manifesting, not just in the physical help around the house but in the emotional solidarity that now characterized our family. It was a stark reminder of the power of understanding and the profound impact of taking a stand for what’s right.
A man washing dishes | Source: Pexels
In the end, the turmoil that had once seemed insurmountable became the catalyst for a deeper connection and appreciation among us all. My husband’s efforts to amend his ways and my mother-in-law’s adjusted approach to her visits painted a hopeful picture of our future — a future where support, respect, and love were no longer scarce commodities but the foundation of our home.
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