To Howard Chittenden….

My Great-Grandfather died of Lung Cancer very young.
My Mother’s most prominent memories of him is sharing an orange soda with him in the hospital when she was four, and also seeing him sitting in his leather recliner in his living room.
Although I never knew him, my family is always (or almost always) ready for a story, and stories live on forever, even if our loved ones don’t. The best thing you can do for someone, is to remember the good times, and the bad times. Share them with others, so they too, can remember, and share those stories with others.
And someday have stories of their own to leave.
FillyNicole

p=. _*I can only imagine….*_

1 comment / Add your comment below

  1. Of HOWARD CHITTENDEN
    I can write books about my wonderful dad.(as long as my memories hold up)
    One of the very first was when he pulled a tooth with a pair of pliers. He tried and tried with the string thing but to no avail. This was a slippery little toothie we are talking about here.
    At last resort he decided to resort to some needle nose pliers. BOY, did my eyes get BIG! I wasn’t too fond of any sort of pain anyway at the tender age of about 3-4.
    We lived in a little house in Orland CA that had a cement floor.
    I thought I was going to be really brave this time. He pulled it out without any pain what-so-ever. I jumped up from his lap and scooted for the chair,already in place in front of the kitchen sink, to wash out the (I thought)drenching blood from my mouth. I kept saying “That didn’t hurt Daddy, that didn’t hurt.”
    The last thing I remebered was sticking my mouth under the running faucet to rinse my mouth out. Then everything went black.
    Then I woke up to the faucet pouring on my face and then I blacked out once again.
    Then I woke up in bed with a cold wash rag on my forehead.
    It seems that I fainted when I was standing on the chair in front of the sink, and fell backwards into my dad’s lap. It was a good thing he was close or I would’ve bounced my head on the cement floor.
    When I woke up, my dad and mom were looking down at me smiling. My dad was repeating what I had said.
    “That didn’t hurt Daddy, that didn’t hurt”

Leave a Reply to David Chittenden Cancel reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.