I know I felt as President Kennedy's mother did when she said, " This is not natural. Children should bury their parents, not the other way around." But she also said, " I will not let this thing lick me.”  And she hasn't, and neither will I.

We received many comforting messages of sympathy and our son-in-law received equally as many, but the one I treasure the most is the little note we received from this son-in law of ours, who is the father of these six motherless grandchildren and now he must carryon alone.

Dear Mom and Dad Our loss is too great for words.
Thank you for giving her to me for as long as God willed.
I loved her very much, and always will.
Thank You Fran

There were mornings that Fran and I sat with a pot of coffee, either in his kitchen or mine, and talked for hours.

Our hurt was the same, and we had much in common, so these long conversations seemed to make the hurt a little less. Fran was beginning to sort out home movies that they had started in the early years of their marriage, and make just one single run of his wife starting when their oldest son was just a little fellow and on up through the little birthday parties, Christenings, First Holy Communions and Confirmations.

May I add that these are a delight to watch. They are not only very good but he needed something to do other than his work and this was something he wanted to do for her. T hat is why I am writing this book. Everyone needs something to help them over this first hard year.

About a month after the funeral, when I felt that I had myself really composed, I phoned the lady who was in Rose's room 365 (not the first lady I referred to in a previous chapter). She lived in Cleveland, and I was sure that by this time she would be released from the hospital. So I explained to her who I was and that I would like to know what went on in that hospital room after we left on Sunday evening, up until the time my daughter passed away. She was kind and explained things as best she could, which relieved my mind greatly, and after receiving the report from the post mortem, I was glad that their efforts to revive Rose after her breathing had stopped were in vain.

It was Fran' s wish that her sisters have her clothes, because he felt that is the way Rose would have wanted it. He needed to get these reminders out of the house and his sisters packed them up and saw they got to the new owners. The jewelry he kept for his daughters, and because it is good jewelry it is to be handed down for generations.

As I look back now, I believe more and more in the philosophy that, " It is not how long you live, but how well." If I wouldn't have had my husband I cannot imagine how I would have ever made it. Also the children who still lived at home: Betty, Ben, Vicki and Chris. While they were carrying their own load of grief, they made it their business to carry on and help their middle-aged parents as much as they could.
When the going gets rough my husband folds me into his arms like a wounded little kitten and makes everything seem all right again.

When Fran and the children moved from the house on Summit Street, I went down to say good-bye to this house where they had lived so many happy years together, this lovely home that was so full of Rose and her ideas. I could almost feel her presence in that empty house, mostly the bedroom which she completely redecorated that last year in 1969 while the cancer was slowly sapping her strength and stealing her life.

(End of Chapter 8)