My Grandmother

Picture from my grandmother's college
freshman yearbook in 1926.

My maternal grandmother had an interesting life. She rebelled against her father who told her education was wasted on women and worked her way through a women's college in the 1920s. She went on to get a master's degree later. She was a farm wife during the Depression and also had a career with the Department of Human Services and Bureau of Indian Affairs, helping native children who'd been abused or neglected. She survived more than her share of tragedy, as my grandfather died at 52 and she buried two of her three daughters. The first child to pass was my Aunt Phyllis, born when my grandma was 40 and my mom was in high school. Phyllis got a form of polio when she was 11 months old and died within 24 hours. My grandma wrote poetry and songs and I recently found some of them. This is one she wrote for my Aunt Phyllis.

Bereavement

Clasping my hands, they murmur
Do not grieve.
She's better off.
The world is so unkind
To little girls.
So little do they know
What's on my mind.
Does God rock her when she falls?
And kiss her bumps?
And hear her when she calls
For "dinke" in the night?
And smile a little when she says,
"Turn on de dite
'Cause I not seepy, pease"?
Does he take her then and rock her
'Til her head begins to nod?
For if he does, I'd give my life
One night to change with God.