Dorothy Haugen

…for "less people."

…en.

…hty-seven. Judy and I were both there. Judy had the night, and telephoned Walt's a little after four because the breathing had changed, and Walt and I drove over on empty streets before the heater was warm. At half past six he went down the hall for coffee. He was gone ten minutes, and those were the ten minutes. I…

…morning, at Bethel Ridge. She was 87. Judy and I were with her. Funeral Friday the 14th at 11:00, Our Saviour's. Visitation from 9:30. Death certificates: ordered eight. Bethel Ridge wants the room cleared by the 28th.

About 140 people at Our Saviour's, which for a woman of eighty-seven, on a Friday in February, at four below zero, is a compliment she would have noted. What is left of the Ladies Aid sat together in the fourth pew on the left, where they always did. Vi came from Bethel Ridge in the van with two aides. Judy read the…

By cheque, as she asked: no flowers, memorials to the church. · Memorial to Our Saviour's, La Crosse, in Mom's name

…me. I knew she had died. I was the age I am now, but I had my lunch pail, the red one, and my coat on. She said, without turning round, "You'll miss the bus." I said there was no bus, that I drove now. She said, "Then you'll be late on your own account." The peelings were going into the dishpan in one long piece. I…

…at Bethel Ridge, in four hours, without a cross word. To me: - her engagement ring (white gold, the one Dad bought in Viroqua) - her pearls - Grandma Ingeborg's locket, with the curl of Mom's baby hair still in it - Uncle Einar's watercolor of the home farm, which hung in her kitchen for fifty years and in her room…

…rs.

…phoning, and also the one standing in the room listening to it ring. The bed was made. Vi put her head in at the door and said, "She's only gone out to the barn." I said there was no barn there. Vi said, "Well, she took her coat."

…ade the coffee and sat with it and watched the clock go to twenty to seven and past. Judy called at seven. We did not say much. Walt will not call.

…ke an artist's model. It worked well enough. Mom was at the next griddle and looked over and said, "That's the wrong hand," and I said it was the only one they had. The rounds came off the board square.

…fee, the same age as each other, about fifty, talking Norwegian quite fast. I stood in the door and understood every word. It was ordinary talk: somebody's cow, the price of something. Mom looked up and said, in Norwegian, that I should sit down, I made the room untidy standing there. I woke and could not bring back…

…in the room from there, clear to the back wall, even the small print. Every title was written by hand, in blue ink, in Mom's writing, the slanted one from her recipe cards. They were not book titles. They were things like "Tuesday" and "the gray coat" and "when Leonard came home."

…ph, about thirty, with the dishpan of peas in her lap. She was shelling them and dropping the pods on the grass. I asked what she was doing there. She tipped her head at the kitchen door and said, "He's inside. He's fine. He's looking for his glasses." I went in and the kitchen was the farm kitchen.