Bud grew up in a huge nuclear family. His maternal grandparents reared their children on a farm in Kansas. Grandma Johnson moved into a full household upon her marriage. Grandpa’s second wife, she instantly became the mother of two and four-year-old boys. The icing on the cake was Grandpa Johnson’s mother and her dependent grandchild rounding up the menagerie to sixteen. Naturally, the babies started arriving regularly, till they finished off with twelve.
Apparently, Great Grandma Johnson, her mother-in-law wasn’t cut from the same cloth. All the family had their own tale of misery she’d dealt them. At some point she had a stroke and was initially paralyzed. Grandpa and Grandma left her care to whichever of the bevy of unfortunate young adults and teenagers within the range of her demands. Her constant complaints and criticism failed to endear her to any of them. They all swore she could get around when she chose, as evidenced by missing food and her meddling in their business.
Bud’s grandma was a delight. I never heard her complain. The only thing I ever heard her say that could be construed as a criticism was, “as soon as Tom (her husband) died I got down his first wife’s dishes and started using them.”
Time dragged on. Periodically, one of the boys took his turn shuffling in the house. Hat in hand,
Eventually, time took it’s toll on Granny’s health. Granny never had been sweet, so by he time she had another stroke, the kids were thoroughly sick of her. Despite this, they conformed to the social norms, laying low as extended family and friends gathered tor the death watch. The nine boys gathered in the barn, while the girls cooked, served food, and attended guests in the home. No farm work was done that day out of respect for Granny.
Time dragged on. Periodically, one of the boys tiptoed into the house, hat in hand, for news of Granny. It was getting late. Time to start evening chore. At last, the youngest of the brood was coerced into taking his turn to check the situation out. He was gone, and gone, and gone. The boys in the barn grew irritated, thinking perhaps they’d misread the situation. Maybe he’d gone in just in time to get to eat! They were all starving!
Finally, Bob rejoined them. They all clustered around him , demanding news. “What happened? Why were you so long?”
He regarded them all somberly. “Well, Old Granny Bitch is dead.”
I guess he’d never heard. “Don’t speak I’ll of the dead.”