My Scotch-Irish mother Patricia Flynn Chance was born and grew up in Edinburgh’s historic Grassmarket, right at the bottom of Edinburgh Castle. She often shared her experiences of growing up there during World War II, hearing the distant bombings when Hitler’s forces bombed Scotland and the city.
My uncle Michael Flynn whom I’m named after recently shared a memory of Facebook.
As a toddler, his first clear recollection was hiding under the kitchen table, yelling in panic, “The Shermans are coming! The Shermans are coming!” (a child’s innocent mix-up for “Germans”) whenever the air raid sirens wailed. The family would hurry to the above-ground concrete shelter at 17 Grassmarket, directly facing the castle’s imposing silhouette. They lost another uncle in WWII, a loss that deepened the family’s understanding of Man’s Inhumanity to Man—a harsh truth that remains as relevant today as it was then.
When my mother died, it was right here at home in hospice care, just a few feet from where I’m sitting and writing this now. I wanted her to pass peacefully at home, surrounded by Felicia and I. In those final moments, her breathing was heavy and labored, with loud moans of discomfort that I could hear all the way upstairs during the night. I decided to play the hymn Amazing Grace—the one I helped get recognized through legislation as one of Tennessee’s official state songs (state hymn) back in 2021. I chose the powerful rendition by The Royal Scots Dragoon Guards, with their haunting bagpipes that carry such a Scottish soul.
I was pleasantly surprised—and deeply moved—when I started the song. Almost immediately, her breathing calmed, the moans subsided, and a gentle peace settled over the room. Music therapy is real; it brought comfort and connection in her last breaths, bridging her Scottish roots and singing that on thousands of occasions with the moment.
Her Scotch-Irish heritage, her resilience through wartime Edinburgh, and her lessons of kindness, humility, faith, and health continue to guide me every day. Sharing her voice and these memories honors the incredible Christian woman who was never afraid to share and speak of her faith. I miss her every single day, but her words and that final moment of grace live on in my heart. Ironically, she would tell me growing up that when her mother died she was deeply depressed. A few months later—I was born and she said it brought her much joy and lead to her overcoming the grief she felt. Strangely enough, three days after my mother passed our first brand-baby was born five weeks premature and my so Preston and his wife Morgan called her Grace. Some would say that was a simple coincidence—I call it a ‘God-Wink’ moment.
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