2000-10-05 - 21:03 MDT

OCTOBER 5, 2000

Back Then

In a particular part of my life, easily remembered, 1948/49 because we were living there when our middle daughter was born.

My Grandmother was trying to pass what she had on to me, her only grandson. Having her plans thwarted on the first place she got, as her son was living on the upper floor and wouldn't pay rent - and she could not make the payments, so one way or another she got him out and sold her equity in it.

Heather and I had gone to Illinois and when we returned to Denver Grandma bought a house and had us moved in with her and she lived in the front of the house - living room, kitchen and bathroom common ground.

It worked quite well, Grandma at the end had three grandchildren with her in the house. She and Heather got along very well, I was working a job that was with my hands and was interesting, within walking distance from the house. So we bought the groceries, paid the water and gas and lights in the way of paying rent to grandmother. Her needs were small and her appetite was not large. Grocery store nearby as was a drug store across the street on the corner next door a doctor's storefront office and next door to that was a pool hall a well run neighborhood place where no roughstuff was allowed, I spent some time there with a friend. On our side of the street along with the grocery store, two doors from us was a hardware store.

I loved the neighborhood, rough as it was, it had a history. It is near what used to be huge railroad shops, also near a place that made pneumatic drills and mining machinery, which had a drop forge that let everybody know when the factory was running. The houses were old, brick, sturdy dwellings. Built and sold to the people who worked nearby back then and before our time. Simple and elbow to elbow -- very little front yard, just a wee patch between porch and sidewalk. The backyard was very small, however it accomodated the oldest boy as a play spot. It was livable and homey, peace surrounded us even though we lived in a poor part of town. It was the time that just before payday and things were short that a can or two of salmon at ten cents a can fed us well. So, time passed quite well.

I knew Grandmother had gone from doctor to doctor a lot from the time I was little, none of whom seemed to be able to diagnose her problem. When we moved in with her she was taking large amounts of what is now heavily processed and called Metamucil -- then it was the gross psyillium seed that she would soak in water and take and then drink a lot of water. She finally picked a doctor recommended as a doctor who would listen to his patient. Many tests later and a bunch of procedures and x-rays the doctor took Heather and I aside and told us that she had colon cancer -- advanced and after surgery would probably need full time attention from us and prepared us as well as he could information wise of what to expect and how to cope with it.

Grandmother went to the hospital, a couple of days passed and the surgery was performed. I was able to speak to her once after surgery. The time taken up mostly by her telling me what to do when she passed on, what litte time I had with her before the nurse shooed me out, was in trying to tell her that her day was far in the future, and sweetly she said, "Maybe so, I hope so, but now you know what to do when the time comes." She died in the night after I visited her. So passed on my Mother's Mother - in pain no more. Modern medicine and surgery, if it had existed then at the stage it is now her problem would have been taken care of early on. But it wasn't that avanced then.

After the funeral and a few days passed we started sorting through her things, it was almost as traumatic as her passing. Most everything I laid my hands or eyes on had deep rooted memories. She had almost finished a quilt with pieces cut from neckties, many which I recognized as ones my Dad used to have. Every letter and holiday card from Mother were in a fancy box, full to the brim, her worn Bible with her writing in the margins, scrapbooks she had made. An old photograph album of hers, with pictures of devastated Galveston Island after the big flood, many pictures of friends and relatives in their uniforms before the left for World War One. The last pictures were of Heather, the kids and I. Pictures of me from bare butt baby hood, through all stages of growth, some of them Mother was in also - they are treasured in our family album now. I think it was harder to sort, store and dispose of her stuff than it was to bury her, there were so many, many good memories in all of her stuff. Included though were the telegrams informing her of Mother's death -- a copy of the telegram she sent us when my Step-grandfather died, including the obits from the local papers down there. In her papers was the accounting of investments made by my dad for her as well as a few heartbroken letters from my Dad after Mom had gone.

Grandmother had lived a full hard life, faithful to her kids and generous to me, her rebellious grand son.

For awhile we rented out the upstairs to a woman and child whose husband was in the military in Alaska. We all became quite friendly and sociable.

Later on Dad had the house sold and with the proceeds Heather and I with our three kids now, moved to a small house in the suburbs and gradually moved on from "back then."

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