Seems as if I don’t write about happy things anymore. It has been trying times for our family for a couple of months.
On Saturday, Dec. 15, we lost our beloved son, Steven. On Jan. 6, we lost a brother-in-law, Van Blair, whom I had known since the ‘50s.
He was married to my wife’s sister, Jane, at the time of his death. He had been in bad health for quite some time.
On Jan. 24, I lost another brother-in-law, my wife’s oldest brother, Harold Caudill. He was on oxygen and caught the flu. He didn’t have a chance of survival.
I am allergic to the vaccine and can’t take the shot, so I just trust in God and do the best I can. The flu epidemic of 1918-1919 took the life of my Grandfather Hampton in March, 1919. My father was only two months old at the time Grandpa died.
Needless to say, Grandma had a hard life with five children at the time.
Our son left an 18-yearold son and a four-year-old daughter who was on his heels about everywhere he went.
How do you explain to a little angel like her why her daddy can’t be there to give her a hug every time she feels in need of one, which is quite often?
Our son was refused medial treatment because money was more important than human life. A doctor is supposed to preserve lives, but can’t do that if patients can’t get to them.
I am beginning to understand why some people refer to our medical facilities as ‘Band-Aid stations.’
What if we make it to the gates of heaven and the Lord asks us how we planned to pay?
Until next time from the funny farm.