I should probably have started with an earlier part of Grandma's life. In reviewing some of what I have typed today, I ran across this story. Since I think all of us are part of the reason why Grandma's life was spared, you might be interested in this story.
"When I was 3 ½ years old we were living on McClelland Street and 13th South. It was next to the Emerson Elementary School. I used to love to watch the children play at the school. On wash day, Mother made us go outside or in another room when she lifted the boiling water off the stove. She always boiled our clothes. This day in October she sent us outside to play, and I wanted a piece of bread. I went back in just as she had lifted the water off. She told me to run outside until she got it emptied and then she would give me one. I turned to go and bumped into the tub with my legs an fell in on my back. Mother grabbed me out and pulled my little dress off and all the skin with it. She put me in a buggy and headed for her sister’s, Aunt Edna. She lived at 1401 South 10th East.
As she passed Mrs. Hutchenson’s home, she came out and asked what was wrong. Mother told her and she had Mother take me into her home where she called a Dr. A. L. Brown. He took care of me and then every day for the next 6 weeks at around 8:55 A.M., Mrs. Hutchenson would arrive at the front door and Mother would head for Aunt Edna’s. Shortly after Dr. Brown would arrive and scrape all the scabs off my back. He always said, “Is she still alive?” when he arrived. At the end of 6 weeks, he said that I must have quite a mission in life. He knew I would make it now."
The New Yorker
1 week ago