Adeline Carpenter Salmon
February 9, 2008
Yesterday morning my sister Anne called, something she never does. Mother had died during the night. She had lived in a nursing home for two years, crippled by a broken hip and arthritic joints, unable to get about except by wheelchair and specially-equipped vans.
But she had been travelling for some weeks, visiting friends and family, far away in place and time. She received a visit from her parents. Her imagination had slipped its bonds and made its way where she wanted to go. Towards the end it had been less important to get up in the morning.
Or at least these are the things that I imagine from the things that I have been told. From my perspective here on the rocky coast of New England this seems to have been a peaceful leave-taking. But I was not there, and only Anne can really say.
This photo carries the comment, “for Uncle Marion.” A search for him turns up a Marion S. Bonneville who enlisted in the Marines on May 28, 1917. Of the many muster rolls that mention him, the one below reflects his promotion to Corporal during April of 1919. So this must have been mom at a homecoming celebration (it can’t be the Fourth of July because of the heavy clothing she’s wearing).
