Grandpa Flint died...


This picture is of my big brother Bobby, my grandpa Flint and myself. I was less than a year old-I was still wearing a diaper So this was probably taken sometime in late 1954-maybe early 1955.

It was near Thanksgiving when mom got the telegram telling her that grandpa had died. I'm not sure who was hurt by it the most-she or me. He was her dad. He saved her life when she was 7 and laying in the hospital dieing of double pneumonia and empyema. This was pre-antibiotics and pre-IV to replenish body fluids. He spent the night spooning ice water over her cracked and dried lips. Mind you modern medicine at the time dictated they take half a rib out and secure a tube in her chest and let it drain into a glass gallon jug on the floor to get the pus away from her lungs and heart. Well.. back to my story.

I don't recall how old I was when I heard about it and if I weren't so lazy I could look it up-I have his death certificate just two feet away from me in the file cabinet-but those details aren't important to this story.

Turns out someone had broken into grandpas gunsmith shop to rob it. He lived in the shop-a small apartment at the back of the store. He used a pot bellied stove to heat it. He had had a fire in it during the day to take the chill out of the air. I don't know how hot the stove was, what he was burning, or how long since he had either stoked it or stirred it. All I know is they tied him to it-with his back facing it and left him there. He was there long enough that he was burned on his back and I believe mom said that there were third degree burns involved.

He lived long enough to be able to have the nurse write my mom once or twice-of course she wrote back. His death certificate said he died from the burns due to complications from cirrhosis of the liver. He had been an alcoholic-I don't know if he ever got over it. I'm a food-aholic and worse than that a choc-aholic. I'm not over it-although I do better now than I did 20 years ago.

Grandkids have a liberty that most parents can't afford and most grandparents dare not speak of-they can have favorites. Grandpa Flint was my favorite grandparents. This was back in the day when you only had a total of four-so there weren't a lot to pick and choose from. Was he my favorite because he had blue eyes? Because of his curly hair? Because he was tall and handsome? Because he really loved my mommy? Because he brought me cookies? No-not really. It was because he was the first one I felt really loved me. Sorry mom. I'm sure all the pregnancy, birthing, diapering, bathing, feeding, etc. constitute love-love born of service. I felt (that was an 'I feel' statement) that he loved me by choice. So from him, I felt that most precious love of being wanted, accepted, and loved just the way I am-totally unconditionally. I cry as I write this-I do miss my grandpa. I love you grandpa. I really wish you would have lived long enough for my kids to see and know you-here in mortality.

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