Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1918-06-25

A R1mletnnce Ind q Rel6e6nbfnnee.
(By Eugene Il. Judkins. L. L. b.. n: p.
s:s:. s1as ssssss d s s. &
BARI
Editor Democrat:
In RENTING to you the amount to
pay up and continue to the end Of her
present years subscription to your
valued paper, / am reminded OF my
mothers pleasure In perusing ito columns
q life long hsbit practically, for she had
been . reader of the Democrat from tho
time of land perhaps prior to) her first
marriage in her seventeenth year to my
father, Edwin e. Judkins, Q period Of
now 68 years. That ID . long time to
take one paper continuously; and she
had It sent wherever she located.
While living with her second husband,
the late @. @. Dearborn, near Norway on
tho road to South Paris, she had II there
In her home, where the writer saw 1t
whom there; she also had IL sent to
Bethel while she was caring for her
brother, the late Horace @. Andrews,
and later also sent to her there during
the time she looked after bis widow,
Mrs. Addie Andrews in her last illness.
After the death OF this good lady,
mother returned again to Rumford,
where she had the Democrat sent while
she made her homo with her daughter,
Mrs. Cora A. Brown.
Finally, In arranging to accompany
the writer, her son, to his homo IN
Massachusetts. she had directed It
forwarding there, and said she must pay
for the year, which am now enclosing.
She said the Democrat seemed, to her,
like letter from home. The writer re-
calls going into an apartment house In
the Back Bay section Of Boston and see.
Ing the Democrat protruding from one
Of the letter boxes, and ct another time
in Everett, Mass, seeing 1t In the post
office there, and was reminded on each
occasion of the old days, when, often he
wrote articles, items and reports for Its
columns.
My mother came to Lewiston, on that
fatal Tuesday, 2sth Of May, ultimo; and
on all sides she was said to be the young
est looking lady, OF her age, ever on the
streets Of that town. With my old
gray mustache my friends felt We could
not be mother and son. Asked her
secret, she said 'hard Worthwhile /
said 1t was DR.. Dio Lewis maxim
"Bedibus-nine-o 'clockibus, only she made
it an hour better and went to bed at
eight O'Clock; whereat she gently hit me
my habit is more to burn the mid
night oil-hence my old looks. She had
q physicians certificate Of the day before
as being well woman for 40 years.
Then came that terrible tragedy, the
slight shock, the, now admittedly,
wrong diagnosis of appendicitis. Most
hospitals have q craze for operations.
The operating rooms are business places
In this case $3.50 for its use, and the
cooperation itch" becomes endemic. On
Memorial Day, from 8 A. NJ. to after
midnight q steady stream of operations
came to the hospital from all over this
section. The operating surgeon told me
he had no dinner until 4 P. NJ. and 1t
was apparent, usually no time to even
shave, only chance, now and then, be-
tween the acts, to chew tobacco.
Mother s'passed out" from the shock
of nature and the added one of meddle-
some, unnecessary surgery she never
rallied.
Ny first, last, best friend has stepped
over the threshold of the better land,
where still living, loving, she is one
more waiting to welcome me when
too shall pass from this dear world l
love to one that is fairer than day. My
father said, inscribed on his gravestone,
1--WE are gathering one by one"; and
the dearest who cared for me In child
hood and youth, and comforted me in
ripper years, and should, but for the fatal
stay in Lewiston, have been q counsel
and guide even in failing age. My only
hope has gone.
As looked for the last time on her
still white, sweet face, and saw 1t 30
young and fair, even in her burial casket,
knew she was not there, only the old
tenement, the earthly house that she
had occupied, now vacated and no longer
needed. Our loved ones are not really
buried In the ground, only the old body,
for time. Death and life are one to
God; for he goes on In His work &C.
cording to Bis ways.
Prentiss Milford writes that "Grave-
yards are full of lies; they tell rs our
dear ones are buried in the. ground.
Keep away from graveyards." The
present writer would not do this II be
could! Some say they would not 60
there to weep and carry flowers; but
that seems beautiful thing to do. One
comes away refreshed and comforted.
Though there IL but the old body In the
ground, returned to dust, yet as Bryant
said in the love of nature we there "hOld
communion with her visible FORMS" and
also the invisible may be very near.
The stones, the flowers and cared for
lot all "steal into our darker musings
and take away their sharpness ere We
are aware"
My poor precious young.old mother
FAREWELL Fare-thee-well, thus disunit'
ed, torn from every nearer tie. Worn In
heart and hope, sick and blighted; more
than this, scared and weak, daily die,
Enshrined In my heart forever Is my
mothers love.
A mothers love-how sweet the namel
What is q mothers love?
A tender. pure and kindly fame
Enkindled from above
To warm these hearts of baser mould
The only heart that ne'er can grow cold
Unless chilled by "surgeon's" cruel
cut and the cold hand OF death!
E. 81. JUDKINs.