My uncle will be laid to rest at Camp Butler National Cemetery, on Saturday.
My grandmother was in her 40's when he was born. It was a home birth, and Uncle Basil was around 6 weeks premature, weighing less than 5 lbs. The doctor told my grandfather to call a priest, because he was not likely to survive. Grandpa didn’t agree. He put together a home-made incubator using some sort of crate, lined it with cotton, and put it up in the kitchen, next to the stove. He used an eye dropper to feed him breast milk. Family lore said he also put a drop of whisky in the milk, but, well, I just don’t know.
What ever fatherly magic he used, my uncle thrived. He was in the army (he was set for deployment to Korea but suffered a burst appendix, so he spent his enlistment in Germany), went to college, and eventually retired from the Post Office. He married and had 4 children. The last time I saw him was at my aunt's memorial service, 4 years ago, this September. Not long after, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. He lived to be 87, so all in all, my grandfather made the right decision to rely on his own ingenuity, rather than on his priest.
He was the last of my grandparent's 8 children to be born, and the last to die.
My brother and I leave for Springfield, tomorrow, so we can be there to say goodbye.
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