One of my grandpas died before I was Born, the other when I was two, So I have no recollection of them. But I remember my grandmas, Especially Grandma Kalb. We lived with her in her big Farmhouse. She was a stoic German woman. Did she ever smile? I don't recall. I was only eight when she passed on. But I do know I was afraid of her. She was stern, probably frustrated that She needed to share her home with a Family of eight, five of them being Rowdy boys. Grandma closed off the two front Rooms so we wouldn't mess them up. Her downstairs bedroom and bath Were off limits as well. But when she lay dying, her door was Open. I watched her feet turning blue. I watched her gasping for breath as Aunt Hulda waved a newspaper over Her face trying to give her air, But to no avail. Dr. Barth pronounced her dead. Her body was on display in the Pristine front room that she could No longer keep closed. I wasn't sad, just curious. In my kitchen drawer I have a Potato masher that Grandma Kalb Once used. I feel no resentment toward Grandma when I mash my Potatoes with the trusty tool. In fact, I'm grateful for the Connection to her. Grandma didn't know how to be A loving grandma. I doubt she had good examples. And I accepted her for who she was. |
0 Comments
Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
Leave a Reply. |
Dorothy Kalb Hsu Seitzinger
Writing poetry has helped me process and express my sorrows and joys, my concerns and blessings. "Life is hard, but God is good!" Archives
December 2020
Categories
All
|