“Grandma, is that a picture of my mother?” I said, pointing to an old photo on her dresser.
“That’s not your mother, Jerry. That’s my mother!” Grandma explained.
“Wow, they look just like each other!”
“Yes, they do, let’s see if we can find some more pictures, and I will tell you all about my mother. She is your Great-Grandmother.”
Grandma gathered her album of old photos, yellowed newspaper clippings, and faded letters “Let’s go see what we can find,” she said.
“I never knew my mother,” Grandma said, as she carefully opened her treasured album. “She died when I was a baby. Her name was Nina, the same as mine. She grew up in Colorado and her parents died young." Grandma used a few pictures to help tell the story.
“This is my mother, Nina, as a girl," she said. "She is holding her little brother Arthur, who is fast asleep."
“We were sublimely happy and ambitious. On March 26, 1910, you were born, about 7 o’clock in the morning, the day before Easter, at Denning, Franklin County, Arkansas; the first and only child. We were filled with joy, of course; though cautiously anxious about your little mother, but confident. Then, eight days later, complications appeared. My mother and sister, and your uncle Julian, came to my side. My mother took you away through part of the following weeks, where you could be under the best of care, returning with you in a thriving condition in hopes that the sight of you might encourage your mother. She made a courageous and valiant fight to live. The attending physician, Dr Post, fresh out of Johns-, and special nurses from Fr. Smith together with several consultation visits by a leading physician from there could not stem the tide. April 28th in the early afternoon she was taken from me.”
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| Back: Julian Bernheim, Grant Stearns-Smith, front: two nurses and Nina in black, Grandma is the baby being held. Denning, Arkansas, 1910. |
"This is the only picture we have of me and my mother," she said, pointing out her father, her mother, and Uncle Julian.
I remember leaving that conversation with a feeling of sadness and a sense of gratitude. Grateful that I still had my parents. Grateful for having my sister and brothers to grow up with. Grateful that childhood disease and childbirth were not as deadly as they were in Grandma’s time.
Sixty years later, I remain fascinated with the Bernheim family of Ft Collins. I will share more stories about them in the future and about how her death shaped my grandmother’s childhood.





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