This is Ed & Vera Weldy, my parents. A beautiful couple wouldn’t you say? He was born in 1921 and she was born in 1923. They both grew up during hard times during the Great Depression and the “Dirty Thirties.” They truly knew what it was like to scrape and scrounge for everything they had. In 1942 my mother was pregnant with their first child, when my Dad was drafted. The U.S. Army sent him to Salt Lake City, Utah for about 3 or 4 days indoctrination, and shipped him straight to North Africa. He endured much while he was there that he refused to talk about–ever. Their first baby was born while he was over seas, and got pneumonia and died at 5 months old. My dad never even got to see him. When I was 38 years old, he showed me the letter my mother had written him when the baby died, and I just welled up with emotion, and couldn’t even begin to understand how he must have felt the first time he read it over in Africa knowing he couldn’t come home. He didn’t speak a word–just handed me the letter–and I didnt speak a word. If I had, I would have fallen apart right there. He died a few years ago at the age of 79 from a heart attack, and I didn’t understand half his pain. His birthday is January 1 and I suppose that’s why I’m thinking about him. We never really had a great relationship. I am truly sorry for that.
Diabetes killed my mother 3 years before he died, and what a trooper she was. This disease had absolutely ravaged her body. I was so mad at her when she died, because I felt like it was her fault. The old classic “Type 2 Diabetics just bring it on themselves” nonsense. Today I would challenge that with “You will be judged, the way you have judged others.” My Mother did the very best she could with what she had to work with. Now the torch has been passed to me for whatever reason, and you know what? I’m not mad at her anymore. It wasn’t her fault, Diabetes just did what it does, and it is no respecter of persons. But she fought for years, and then one night she said enough, and I miss her.
I suppose its the holidays, my Dad’s birthday, Diabetes in general, whatever, I had a lot of mixed emotions about them growing up, and even after I was grown. Today I look at their lives and wonder who I am to complain about anything in my life.
They are both gone, but I just wanted to honor them before all my friends, and anybody on the world wide web that might see this. Kudos to two of the greatest people I ever knew! They were both good soldiers, and an example I will never forget. I miss you Mom and Dad!!
What a beautiful son Bobby you are,we knew you,the kind father,now you honor your parents,relegious,kind,beautiful man you are.Your parents raised a true man.God bless them both,how beautiful they are.
Yes, they were Beautiful People Bobby. And they created a Beautiful, respectful and honourable Son. I’ve heard about the Depression and military Life back then from my Parents. It’s amazing what dire situations such as the Depression and wars, that People can make it through, although somewhat scarred. Kudos to them.
They are so beautiful and full of hope! You are so right – they were from a tough and hardy generation. The economic situation combined with my diabetes dx has me thinking a lot more of my late relatives, and actually doing a lot more of geneology. Dx scared me as I watched so many of my family suffer and die from diabetes. Mom and Dad have it, maternal grandparents, great grandparents, 2 uncles, and yes, 13 great aunts/uncles all had diabetes, some since teen years. Don’t know why I thought I could dodge the bullet, but now so much more grateful at the advances in diagnoses and treatment. Thanks for reminding me to stay focused on the day-to-day, and keep the faith 'cause that is how our forefathers likely did it!
My father was the oldest of 13 kids. His father left them all when my father was just 13 years old, and my father had to sort of take over being the man of the house. I’ve talked to several of my aunts and uncles who told me my father was more of a father to them than a brother. He was tougher than boot leather, had a 3rd grade education and had more common sense than 3 or 4 men. Worked liked a house a fire, and played very little. He whistled a lot, and when he came home from North Africa, my mother said she heard him coming a block away whistling as he walked down the road. He was basically a good man, but he was hard, and not always fair when it came to his kids. But then his role model left when he was just a boy. He taught me an awful lot, and he was sometimes mean and abusive. He was a larger than life action hero, and I had one of those love-hate reltionships with him. I once saw him shoot a big buck deer running full tilt sort of at an angle toward and away from him. He shot him dead center in the chest, and I thought he was god of all deer hunters. He taught me how to shoot a gun from the time I was 3 years old, and when I went into the service I made expert when we qualified at the rifle range, and I knew it was him. It was sort of like my whole being was wrapped up in him. I have spent years trying to figure out our relationship, but today I try to focus on the father I knew who was a good man an is largely responsible for who I am today.
Big hug to you, man! I also miss my dad much. This January it will be four years since he passed away, a victim of liver cancer.