Pickled Okra?

I keep getting asked why my mom would make pickled okra for Jason's first meal in heaven.
My mom died in July 1996. Since that time Jason has been trying pickled okra to find some as good as Granny's. He kept telling me I needed to find her recipe and learn to pickle okra. What he didn't know was that my mother went to the garden each morning and cut the okra that was the perfect size. She might only make two or three jars at a time depending on how much she cut. I admire her for that, but that is not me. It may be someday, but not now. When I was helping my dad with his garden, I realized that he worked momma to death. She wouldn't let anything go to waste, and he expected me to do the same. We had some "discussions" about this to try to get Daddy to downsize his truckpatch. Unfortunately his health caused him to have to downsize. I hated that, but I was really tired of making jelly and freezing vegetables.
Now for Phyllis's fried chicken. Jason was sometimes brutally honest. My sister Phyllis could fry the best chicken of anyone in our family. Anytime I would fry chicken both before and after Phyllis's death, Jason would say, "It's good, not as good as Phyllis's, but good." What a sweet memory.