Essay about A Ragged Surrey : Remembering Grandma
“Papa was a good man,” said Grandmother, taking a pinch of snuff and placing it between lip and gum. Her voice was clear and concise, her eyes sad and misty as she talked about him. “No one could ever fill his shoes nor take his place in my heart. They wouldn’t no man fit to wipe his Boots,” she said with a huff.
You set the bar high, Grandmother; so high that you never found true happiness…
Pioneer life was hard, especially caring for younger siblings, trying to replace your mother that died -- you were barely past a child yourself.
At age twenty-two, you settled, not wanting to be an old maid or maybe it was to get out from beneath all the hard work or maybe it was because the brothers and sisters you helped rear were past the age where they needed you.
You married a man you did not love only to find yourself in a difficult situation, raising children of your own, working your fingers to the bone to provide them with a home and the care they needed.
You rose to the position of matriarch of the family, practically the entire community. Everyone respected you. They looked to you for guidance, help, and comfort. You came full circle, to care for the father that raised you as he lay on his deathbed, a broken semblance of the man he once was. Thrown from his horse, his back broken, the fall not only broke his back, it broke his spirit too. He lost the will to live; yet he lingered for several years.
“If only he would have just stayed off…