More on my Mom

In 1963 my father got a job managing a country club in a nearby town.  They bought a three bedroom brick rancher on a large lot in a new subdivision for $15,000.  Hard to believe huh?

My Mom was soooo happy to move back into her "own" home.  Living with my grandparents had been a trial for her, but she never complained.  We moved, I changed schools (again) and our lives seemed to go great.  In 1966 I graduated from high school, and my mother's father, Papaw, died in his sleep, died of heart failure after having been stung over 200 times by yellow jackets the previous day.

The family gathered together.  My uncle was the first to arrive at the farm and the little black book that my grandfather had written in telling his children who got what when he and my grandmother died - disappeared.....hmmmm.  Now that my grandfather was gone, the questions arose - what do we do with Granny?  She was adament that she wanted to remain in her own home.  No one wanted to come live with her.

I went off to college, ETSU, and life continued.  Then, in early 1967, my father once again "fell", losing his job, and thus our home.  Now it seemed fate had ordered us to return to Townsend - back to the farm - back to living with my grandmother.  I know that it nearly killed my mother to have to give up her home and move back in with her own mother.  She never complained.  It was hard on her - stuck back up in the mountains  - she didn't drive and was dependent on my father or me and sometimes her sister to take her to the store, to church, or shopping.  She never asked for much.  I could have done so much more for her as I look back now.  I wish I had.  She knew I loved her, but I could have done so much more to make her life a little more comfortable.  I wish I had ...I really wish I had. 

 I don't know where we would have moved to had we not returned to the farm.  Perhaps it was fate - it opened up a whole new world for me - for at last, the answer to a dream I had carried in my heart ever since I could remember came true.....I got a horse!  A beautiful 3 year old Anglo Arabian mare - Roc-a-neuf...."Roc" for short.  But that is another story and another person that made an influence on my life.

After my father's death in 1976, my mother and I continued to live on the farm with my grandmother.  My mother's health had been steadily declining for the past 7 years.  Her doctor told her she needed additional heart surgery, but was unwilling to do the surgery himself - too risky - she was a bad surgical risk.

Then, in 1980, the decision was made - surgery or certain death.  Her doctor suggested we go to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota.  There she stood the best chance of survival.  Plans were made, money was borrowed, and we prepared for the trip.....my mother, me.....and Skipper, our black toy poodle.  It was decided that he would accompany us so that I would not be totally alone at night, in a strange city, a strange hotel, during a difficult time. 

Next entry:  The Mayo Clinic