On the Moraine Part XXXII

By Jim Thompson
HCP columnist

Along about February 1965, Mother started getting sick. She wouldn’t tell John and me what was going on, but she called Dad in Troy, and he came home early.  

John and I knew it was very serious. Dad took her to the then almost new Highland District Hospital in Hillsboro. Us boys were left at home with the admonishment to do our chores. Not much comfort.

Dad came home late that evening – alone. That was scary.  

He explained that Mother had had a miscarriage. We were naïve enough that he had to explain what a miscarriage was to us boys. This was very uncomfortable for him, since in our household it was assumed that humans did not have sex, babies or anything else related to reproduction.

The next day was Saturday, and Dad went back to the hospital. It was odd to have a Saturday absent of a flurry of farm activity.

In the afternoon, Dad came home again and announced we would be going to Hillsboro for dinner, and then we would sort of get to see Mother. Children, even teenagers like me, were not allowed as visitors in the hospital in those days.  

So, after dinner, we went to the hospital and parked on the front side, facing the building. You could do that in those days. Dad went in and left us in the car.

Dad came out a little later and told us to look at a certain window on the second floor. Up came an arm, waving at us. He said that was Mother. That was the sum total of our visit to the hospital to see Mother.

Mother came home on Monday and recovered fairly quickly. John and I were very happy and relieved.

In the early fall before this, we had lost our old dog, Buttons. It had become a habit on Friday evenings for John and me to walk down the lane and meet Dad at the road as he came home from work. Of course, Buttons and Pete came with us.  

Buttons was getting old and hard of hearing. He was on the side of the road opposite the lane and started back across. A dump truck, headed toward Marshall, hit him as he crossed the road, and he was instantly killed.

On Saturday morning, I dug a hole alongside the lane, not too far from the barnyard and buried him, tears streaming down my face. For a long time, Pete would go to that spot occasionally and sit for a while, just like humans going to the graveyard to visit.

Jim Thompson, formerly of Marshall, is a graduate of Hillsboro High School and the University of Cincinnati. He resides in Duluth, Ga. and is a columnist for The Highland County Press.