…and this is what happened –

By Sharon Simpson

As I lie in bed at night, waiting to fall asleep, I think about things. My life, mainly. What I’m proud of, what I wish I’d done differently, and what I hope to accomplish before my life is over (and it’s a long list, folks!) As I write this, I am 67 years old. How much time do I have left? Is there time to accomplish all the things I still want to do and learn? I don’t think so. But one thing that I will do is write about my life.

Now this may not make any sense to some people, but the people who know me and love me know that I love to talk, to reminisce, and to make people laugh. Like my dad. Man, could he tell stories. Most of them were true, but he had a way of telling them that would make you laugh so hard you’d have tears in your eyes! Yes, he was a master story teller and I miss him very much… I will be telling you some of his memorable stories, but let’s begin at the beginning:

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First Memories

My very first memory is of killing my paternal grandfather. Yes, you read that right. I thought for years that I had killed my Grandpa Stordahl. I didn’t talk about it to anyone, and no one brought it up to me as I was growing up. So I believed that everyone in the family just didn’t talk about how he died so that I wouldn’t feel bad.

Finally, I brought up the subject to my mother when I was home from college for a visit.

“Mom,” I said, “Why didn’t anyone ever talk to me about how Grandpa Stordahl died? Was it because it was my fault?”

“What are you talking about? It wasn’t your fault that he died, and it happened when you were a baby!”

“But I remember him lying on the floor lifting me up in the air. I was laughing and he was laughing. Then he brought me down and I hit him in the head with my head. He grabbed his face. Then someone picked me up and the next thing I know… he was gone!”

Mom stood there, staring at me with her mouth open. “Sharon, for Heaven’s sake, you were only 10 months old. That was your dad! He was playing with you the night before he left for the war. You bumped heads and broke his glasses! I had to pick you up so you wouldn’t get cut!”

“Well, I remember it, but I thought it was Grandpa.”

“No, your Grandpa Stordahl walked uptown to buy a paper. He sat down on the bench outside of the pool hall to read the paper and smoke his pipe. That’s when he had his heart attack and died. My goodness, how can you remember something from when you were a baby!” Mom was looking at me as though she hadn’t really ever looked at me before. “Are you sure that’s what you remember?”

“Yes, I even remember the rug on the floor. It was dark red with big flowers on the edges.”

Again, Mom looked astonished. “Hmmm, I didn’t think babies could remember that much.”

“Well, I sure remember that. And I’m glad I didn’t kill my grandpa! I also remember riding in the buggy. You had some kind of a cover you put over the opening. It had a little window in it with a black dot. I remember loving to watch the bare tree branches and the snow falling softly. It was so much fun having that little window to look through as you pushed me along.”

This time, Mom sat down. She shook her head. “Oh my gosh, Sharon. That was your first winter. You were born in September. So you were only a few months old. I would put you in the buggy, put the cover over the opening because it was so cold out. It had one of those Isinglass windows in it so I could check on you. We walked down to your Grandpa and Grandma Fisk’s place every afternoon for coffee.” At that point, Mom decided that she needed some coffee!

What I’m trying to explain here is the fact that I seem to have a good memory! Yes, there are gaps in it sometimes, but I do remember many things that others in the family haven’t thought of in years. I wanted to write down as many as I could. Somehow, sharing the memories helps keep me connected to the loved ones who are gone.