The rest of the story

In the telling of her own story  my mother always emphasizes that as a child she was happy; life as she knew it was good, though from a young age she had to do housework and care for her younger siblings while her mother worked, as well as help her mother with the laundry she'd bring home at night.  My mother, always happy-go-lucky herself even now at 93 years old, describes her mother, despite her hard life and many sorrows, as both gentle and strong and, despite her hard life and many sorrows, resilient and fun-loving at heart, whatever meager fun there was  to  be found.
    From what little money my grandmother brought in each week she always saved a small amount.  This was to provide for future tuition for secretarial school for my mother.  My grandmother had decided that her son Gene would be on his own and her other daughter Mary would always need someone to take care of her;  but for my mother she had a plan: that my mother would be a working woman who would have a good job that would enable her to take care of herself. 
    Year after year, however great the family's need, my grandmother Florence's savings for her daughter were never touched. 
    But when my mother graduated from high school and the time had come for her to apply to secretarial school she refused;  she had decided that she wanted to become a nurse.

My favorite photo of my beautiful mother, Romaine, 23 years old, taken around Christmas of 1943 at Fort Belvoir, Virginia, where she served as an Army nurse during World War II

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My second favorite photo of my mother, taken three years ago when she was 90 years old.

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I could continue the telling of my grandmother Florence Lubignac Fey's story as it unrolled through the lives of her children, and continues to unroll through the lives of her grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great grandchildren;  but in truth those are other people's stories.
    But my grandmother Florence Fey  lived  see her two able children prosper and her disabled child well-provided for.  She saw her grandchildren born into freedom from want, into lives blossoming with opportunity.
    I'll end by saying that growing up I never got to know my  grandmother Florence well, my grandfather Nick even less, though they lived in Scranton and we lived 125 miles away in Philadelphia.  Extended families sometimes have their own politics and social orders.
    But through my mother I know something of their story.
    Tomorrow's post will be a short story I wrote about 20 years ago based on a chapter in my grandmother's life.