She died in the early morning hours of April 2, 1927. Alone in her hospital room while her husband and five children slept in their nearby apartment.
She knew something was wrong the previous afternoon. She sent her 12 year old son for the midwife and then went to the hospital.
“She’ll be fine” is what they told her husband when he left the hospital that evening, only to be alerted by the grocer with the neighborhood telephone.
Her obituary said, “She was very well and favorably known to a large circle of friends among the Polish residents of the town”. Small comfort for her family.
She was buried in St. Thomas Cemetery in Southington on April 4th. Her husband carved a wooden cross for her grave and mourned her death until his in 1935.
Years later, her son, Edward, who, at her request, stayed home from school that day, had a headstone made for his mother.
Her husband was never the same. Two of the younger children went to an uncle in Massachusetts and the youngest, to his godmother in town. When he and his older sons found a permanent place to live in Wallingford, he brought everyone back together. But how many months had gone by suddenly without a mother and then a father?
I try to imagine what their lives, and ours, would have been like if she lived long enough to watch her children grow up and to know her grandchildren. Would we call her Babcia? Would she teach us to speak Polish? Would we tease her about being so short and would my boy cousins rest their arms on the top of her head trying to be funny. Who would be her favorite child? Who would be her favorite grandchild?
We’ll never know.
It's All About Family 