Pieces Of You

Both of my grandfathers passed away when my parents were children. My father’s dad, Omer, died when he was ten years old. My mother’s dad, Jessie, died when she was just eight years old. I know very little about these two men as a result. I have a few pictures, a couple of artifacts and a handful of stories.

Omer was enlisted in the Army when he was twenty two and he was honorably discharged in February in 1919. I have his discharge papers and a ‘War Ration Book Two’ of stamps. To my knowledge this is all, besides a few photographs, that remains of his possessions.

Grandpa Omer was much older than my grandmother. I know he was a farmer but I do not know if he owned his land. The story I was told is that Grandma Maggie’s dad ran off with another woman; leaving her mother to support their children on her own.

As a result they were very poor. When Omer offered to marry my grandmother when she was fifteen, my great grandmother let him. It was one less child for her to take care of and she was sure he would provide Maggie with a home, cloths and the food she needed. My grandmother was not happy about the arrangement and did not wish to marry a man in his thirties but she did as she was told to do.

When my grandma turned eighteen she wanted a divorce. Omer insisted on keeping my father and he gained custody of dad in court. So I know he loved my father and must have liked being a dad. My grandmother was permitted visitation but she moved away so she didn’t get to see dad often.

My father was left alone during the day when Omer worked the fields. Grandpa Omer did not come home for three days. A neighbor finally came by to check, found dad home alone and Omer dead in the field. It was determined that he died of a heart attack in the summer heat. My father was then sent to live with my grandmother.

I know even less about Grandpa Jessie. Mom did give me his middle name, Lee. Other than a few photographs my uncle was kind enough to let me scan, it is all that I have of his. But it is enough. I am proud to carry his middle name.

Jessie and my Grandma Dora fell in love when they were teenagers. They were allowed to marry and they immediately started a family. Grandma was newly pregnant with their seventh child when Jessie died.

The surroundings of his death are suspicious. No one knows if it was murder or suicide. He was found in a car, inside of a garage, along with two of his cousins. One of them was holding a gun. The car had been left running and they died of carbon monoxide poisoning.

My mother told me that Jessie visited at least three of his children that night in dreams to tell them good-bye. She was one of the three who had the dream. I’ve always chose to believe that he did come to say good-bye to them. I wish I knew more about Jessie but that is all that I have.

I never met these men, I know very little about them. However, I know that if it were not for them I would not exist.

Pieces of them flow through me and were passed to my children as well. Somewhere within my personality are sparks of my grandfathers. I wish I knew what sparks belonged to them.