Silent Pain

9/6/11   2:13PM

 I have the gift of a great memory. I was almost three years old when my Grandmother passed away.  She died due to a massive heart attack. She & my Grandpa lived just down the road from us, so my Mama and I walked to their house often.  My Mama never worked outside of the home.  She had a tenth grade education.  I can remember several things about my Grandma.  One thing imparticular was us walking down that country road, picking wildflowers.  We then would come back to her house and press the flowers in a large book.  I don't recall if it was a dictionary or a large Bible. I don't know who got it whenever she passed away. They always grew a vegeatable garden, and the one thing they planted every year, without fail, was cherry tomatoes. I remember tromping through that garden every spring and summer, picking those tomatoes and eating them right off the vine. I would love to be able to go back pick and eat just one more of Grandma's and Grandpa's cherry tomatoes!

Grandpa had a recliner that was placed right where he could see outside their old screen door.  He dipped snuff, and had a spittoon on the floor right next to his recliner. He had been a farmer and cattleman all of his adult life.

I recall the day Grandma died. I remember two of my aunts sitting on the couch, one on each side of my Mama.  My Mama was crying, and they were consoling her.  I remember many people coming to our home, just to bring food. At the time, I didn't understand why people were bring us all of this food.

A few days later, I realized what really had happened, and that my Grandma had gone to be with Jesus.  I cried and sobbed at the thought of never seeing her again.  Our family seemed to never be the same.  My Grandpa remarried six months later...to my Grandma's Sunday School Teacher and good friend. He inherited a whole new family, when he remarried, and he seemed he had forgotten about all of his other grandchildren.  My Mama use to say, "If he met Kathy on the sidewalk, he wouldn't recognize her!". I felt as though I had not only lost my Grandma, but now my Grandpa as well. I felt hurt and abandoned, and I was only four years old by then.

Moving on to another terribly upsetting incident in my young life.  I was five years old.  My middle brother kept coon dogs in a pen.  He never let them out except to take them hunting.  One day I got off of the school bus, walked the dirt road to my home, and walked to the back yard, where I kept my pet white cottontail rabbit in a cage. All I saw was white fur scattered all over the yard and the cage tipped over. I knew my brother's dogs had got out and killed my rabbit. Their door to their pen was open.  I cried for days.  To this day, I don't like dogs, any dogs.  I love cats. In my oppion there is no such thing as a ugly cat or a mean cat. Any cat is better than a stupid dog.