Aaron Fulton Dickens, son of Dr. Jesse and Nancy Dickens, was born August 29, 1866, and died February 26, 1914, aged 47 years, 5 months and 28 days.
He married Miss Liewzetta Goad, to which union were born three sons and five daughters. Two sons and one daughter preceded him to the grave leaving one son, four daughters and a loving companion to grieve after him, but he is now free from all sorrows.
He often said, while sick, “I know I must die soon, but that is not what bothers me so much; for I don’t know where I will have to go after death.” But the good Lord was merciful to give him a firm hope to die upon. As his wife entered his room one night he said to her, “What did you bring in?” She said, “Nothing – Why?” He said. “I thought, perhaps, you brought that light in, the brightest light I ever saw.” Then he began to praise the Lord, and would say, “What a great one he is.” Later he said he wished Mary his daughter would come. When they asked why, he said he wanted to tell her how he had seen her in a rainbow of golden flowers; and the Lord had came and told him to be ready to go on Wednesday or Thursday. I often heard him singing to himself, “Yes, I’ll be ready.” On Monday morning before he died, he said to momma, “Isaac Webb and I are poor just alike.” She asked him how he knew and when he had seen him. He said, “ A while ago I saw him with the Lord over me and we were just alike.” He said a great many other things which gave us joy and makes us know that our dear father is in heaven.
On Tuesday morning before his death, I went to his bed and asked him how he felt. He said, “I feel bad;” and then he added; “Ellen, Ellen, I don’t know why I have to stay here and suffer; I don’t know why the good Lord does not take me away.”
On Wednesday morning he told momma that he wanted Brother Price Vass to come by and sing and pray for him. He was called and came and sang and prayed by his bedside, which papa seemed to enjoy; and when Brother Vass said “Amen.” He said “Amen” I believe he had prayed earnestly.
When his sister was there to see him, he told her that he looked to the Lord for everything; that he depended on the Lord alone. He looked to the one who took his soul to rest, into that home where no sorrow ever comes.
Written by his daughter,
M. E. Bowman