Wednesday, November 17, 2010
There have to be a few zillion fond memories, but this one is an indelible favorite: The year that Uncle Howard died (1971) was also the year that I became single, and Aunt Virginia and I gravitated together, becoming friends as well as aunt-and-niece relatives. Thus, when Granddad’s hip broke in 1972 (age 91) and it was replaced in a St. Louis hospital, we both visited him frequently. On the day he was released, I met Aunt Virginia to check him out and take him home with her until she, Aunt Grace & Uncle Dutch determined he was physically ready to go home to Doniphan. This was a Saturday morning and we got to her house about noon, so Aunt Virginia whipped together a quick and simple meal. A lot of details and uncertainties had been hovering on the horizon, and Granddad worried about what would “be the least burden.” But when we sat down at the kitchen table, worries disappeared and we all three relaxed – for one reason: Aunt Virginia reached for our hands and in her calm, cheerful voice said simply “Thank you, God, for soup and cornbread, and being together.” When I looked up, she and Granddad were smiling at each other, and he said softly “Amen.”
