Myra C Riley in wheelchair and Polly Mazariegos standing behind her.
Myra Riley’s Last Mothers Day
by Polly Mazariegos
I was trying to think of a favorite Mother’s Day memory, and all the memories I had with my mother, Myra C. Riley, were favorites.
I remember when I was working in DC and could not come up to Gettysburg, PA to see her, I would always sent her flowers. Mom loved flowers.
Mary Catherine Treacy Fak about a year before she died.
By Mike Fak
You know the call is going to come. You put it out of your mind as many times as it pops into your head but you always know it will happen one day. Always when the thought crops into your head you ask God, not today. Not next week. Not next year. The call is as inexorable as life itself. It comes in its own time, not ours.
Flavia Robertson
My Mother Rose of Sharon
By Fern Albin Ubelhor
Tell City, Indiana
Today, I was at my mothers house to cut her grass. This was such a bad summer. The heat was terrible and the rains were few, but as I mowed the grass, I noticed on her Rose-of-Sharon bush, one purple flower. It was so perfect, I had to just stop and study it.
by Lynn Ruth Miller
When 72 year old Clay Thompson was fourteen years old, his family migrated to California. Dad worked in the oil fields in Oklahoma and jobs were so spotty, he decided he had to do something about it, Thompson recalls. He hauled hay down south in the Imperial Valley at first and then, when I was a sophomore in high school, we moved to Pacifica and rented a house in Sharp Park right near the golf course.
Henry Gilman in 1975.
My Uncle Henry
A Deaf Immigrant From Russia
By Dale Brown
When I was young, I was afraid of my deaf great-uncle. He grunted strangely and gestured wildly. Once he bared his teeth and motioned across them with his finger. I knew he was telling me to brush my teeth, but he reminded me of an animal growling. My fear lingered for weeks. I saw Uncle Henry only at infrequent family gatherings.
by Jeannette Scott
After raising two sons, running their farm in West Marlborough Township, Pennsylvania, and expanding the family mushroom business, Robert and Donna Sharpless approached the next stage in their lives anticipating a little more freedom, a little less worry.
By Eva Marie Johnson
Recorded and written by
Dale Castle
Kansas City, Mo
The photo is of one of Alice's childhood homes with brother Curtis standing at the left corner. The old building is being restored by Danny Copelan.
Submitted by: Kathryn Seiley for Miss Lucille Branham
The First Memory, Civil War Slave, was put on this website on 11/17/21.
CHAPTER 2
by Ursula Furi-Perry
The letter came as a surprise. It originated in Hungary, and that could only mean Mama sent it. Yet the loopy letters on the outer envelope looked nothing like her handwriting. Perplexed, I opened it---only to be confronted by a gray and grim death certificate.
She had been sick, my step-grandfather wrote. She died in her sleep, peacefully and most likely quickly. She didn't suffer any more than the usual nausea and aches that came with her kidney failure.