Nobody ever touched
our bottles--probably didn't care for our cheap wine.
One day in 1938 when we came home from work we found my mother
standing on the back porch with her head jerking and she was unable to
talk. We called the doctor and he said she was having a stroke. We had
no idea how long she had been like this, unable to call for help. She
was paralyzed in the right arm completely and partially in the right
leg. Her speech was affected a little. In those days there was no kind
of rehabilitation so she was unable to do any work. My father had to
continue working so we hired a housekeeper to come in days to do the
cooking and housekeeping. I can imagine what this did to my mother,
having a stranger doing all the things she had done for so many years.
I am not sure as to how many months she lived before she had the
second stroke, which was fatal. She never did go to the hospital
because doctors made house calls in those days. We had a Dr. Stetson
and he would walk right in the house without knocking and sit down at
the dining room table and visit with everyone before he would see the
one who was sick. I suppose with a family of nine children he made
enough visits to feel like one of the family.
After having the stroke, my mother slept in a downstairs bedroom and
my father would sit by the bed in a rocking chair and hold my mother's
hand. He slept in the chair and still worked every day. In my memory
this will always be the perfect definition of love.
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