"The Incident which Showed Me…” Incident. A small word which holds in it’s meaning a large part of my childhood. Fond memories and experiences, I carry very close to my heart. Occasions, fondly remembered as the years continue forward. Numerous events so meaningful they remain secured in my mind to drift out periodically and remembered fondly whenever I feel the need. My Grandpa George, when I was younger, I called by “Deorge” considering I could not pronounce the soft “G” sound, left a permanent mark not only in my life but, the lives of the many people he came in contact with. Life lessons and wisdom were dispensed while I just quietly observed and now they cannot be eliminated. Through his actions and words he demonstrated what love looks like and how a person should give more than they receive.
…show more content…
Some of them very funny, some with lessons to learn attached to them and one very extraordinary and remarkable moment I will remember for a lifetime. The incident took place approximately four years ago now, while I watched my Grandpa George, who was becoming aged himself, take on the responsibility of caring for his wife, my Grandmother. My sisters and I, as well as many other family members knew her as “Memere”. To her sisters and friends she was “Mel” even though her name was actually Imelda Katherine Annette Marie Lemieux-Dorsey as she proudly would convey to anyone who would listen. It did not matter to her who she informed, heads of state in Massachusetts, the Mayor of her city or even the newspaper delivery person. My Memere was a strong-willed, hard working, petite woman of French ancestry. Along with her towering husband, she loved nothing better than to entertain. Beyond all of this, to my Grandpa George, she was “Mel” the love of his
Some of them very funny, some with lessons to learn attached to them and one very extraordinary and remarkable moment I will remember for a lifetime. The incident took place approximately four years ago now, while I watched my Grandpa George, who was becoming aged himself, take on the responsibility of caring for his wife, my Grandmother. My sisters and I, as well as many other family members knew her as “Memere”. To her sisters and friends she was “Mel” even though her name was actually Imelda Katherine Annette Marie Lemieux-Dorsey as she proudly would convey to anyone who would listen. It did not matter to her who she informed, heads of state in Massachusetts, the Mayor of her city or even the newspaper delivery person. My Memere was a strong-willed, hard working, petite woman of French ancestry. Along with her towering husband, she loved nothing better than to entertain. Beyond all of this, to my Grandpa George, she was “Mel” the love of his