Two weeks ago, my mom sent a large envelope to me. She had been going through the papers of my late cousin, Alice, and made some copies.

A bunch were of geneology stuff, but one was the obit of my paternal grandmother, who had died six years before I was born. I had forgotten that she had died at age 56, two years younger than I am now.

Even better were copies of several photocopies of the column she wrote for the Rockford, IL newspaper in the late 1920's, under the nom de plume of Nellie of the Hills. I'd heard of these columns, but had never seen them before. Now, they were in my hand and I finally had the chance to "hear" her voice in her prime.

In her column of of July 19, 1928 she writes:

"The women whose conversation Nellie of the Hills overheard in a public place recently centered about The Republic [the Rockford paper] and its features. 'And say, what wouldn't I give to know who is that farmer woman, Nellie of the Hills, who writes in Column Left...'"

"At this point in the conversation, Nellie of the Hills who was sitting where she could not help hear every word, began to take keen interest in what was being said."

"'Yes, but say, don't be silly,' spoke the second woman, 'she is just someone right there in The Republic office, pretending to be a farmer woman, and she is told just what to write and when and how...that's why she is not in the paper every day...just for a blind.'"

"'Well, really, you don't suppose...well, of all things...I might have known a farm woman never thinks...'"

I can only imagine the reactions of both those women reading that.

However, the one that really got to me was from about the same time:

"I didn't mean to come againso soon for I am really very busy, but I was packing away my two year-old baby-boy's keepsakes and among them a record of his baby foot-prints taken a short time after his birth..."

"This morning at the sight of this record of birth and identification I was so thrilled that I snatched a lead pencil and scribbled down a few verses to pack away with the record:"

"Whither will they go, dear little feet?"
Creeping, toddling, walking alonglife's way?"

That's when I kind of lost it.

She was talking about my late father, whom I had only known as a big, strong, awesome guy, even in death. Yeah, even he was a some one's darling youngest.

Thanks for that, Grandma, almost eighty years on.

So, I sent the last entry around to friends and family and got back the following from my ex, mother of our children:

Forgive me for "reply to all" but I must add a comment. I distinctly remember spending more than 25 years raising future adults. With many failings, uncountable discouraging moments, nights spent awake in prayer and about a million tears, they are adults. I am so proud of them.

Only God is perfect, our families are not.

Yeah, she's right. Parents spend a lot of sleepless nights and worry. I'd like to think that more often than not, it pays off. It did with us.