Sometime in the mid 1930s a young woman recently widowed by an alcoholic husband was struggling to care for her three children. The youngest daughter was very sick and needed constant attention, so she would send her oldest, a boy, to the store many miles away. Someone, we are not quite sure who, managed to find her bother and mother to let them know she was in such dire straights. Together they made their way to her and upon arriving, found a small, dilapidated shack with no running water, no bathroom, and a single box of rice. They packed her up and brought her to Wyoming, to help her get back on her feet. Sadly, the baby girl didn’t make it.
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In 1949 two young GIs stationed near Cheyenne Wyoming at FT Warren AFB, hit the road to find adventure. They traveled the roads, venturing to the Grand Teton National Park and Jackson Hole. On one such trip they stopped at a hamburger stand on the side of the road. The stand was run by a very traditional German woman and her daughter. The food was good and they began to stop there often in there travels.
One of the men became fond of the daughter and began to find excuses to either leave his friend behind or head out alone. Even though there were a couple of harsh blizzards that first year, he found a way to head out and see her and continued to for two years.
He has said that he really liked her and that "she really liked me too". He proposed and with her two children, became a family. Not long after they had a daughter together.
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On Monday the 6th my Grandmother died. The above story is how she met my Grandfather. I heard it for the first time at her memorial.
A story found.
And now I wonder...
I really wonder...
about the stories lost.
Posted by Jeesh (Member # 9163) on :
Stories are never lost, they live in our hearts forever. And when we die, the stories are passed on to those after us, to lie in their hearts.