My Uncle Don and Aunt Norma Stanford have been a strength to me throughout my life.
A
treasured memory from my teen years is our early morning seminary car
pool. For Latter-day Saint youth, school mornings began with an early
morning scripture study class. My then adopted father, would drive a
large station wagon filled with Coutts ninth-twelfth grade students to
join with the Milk River youth for our class twelve miles north. He
would then wait for the ninth graders to take them back to Coutts for
Junior High while the rest of us would make our way to the High School
in Milk River to continue our school day.
One cold morning, my
cousin Jessie was running late. Her mother had fixed her an amazing
piece of toast with her homemade apple butter slathered generously over
it and handed it to her as she ran out the door. She piled in with the
rest of us for our early morning drive. The fragrance filled the car and
called out to me. You have to have tasted my Aunt Norma's apple butter
to have any concept of how truly wonderful it was. I pleaded with Jessie
to ask Aunt Norma for a piece for me the next morning. You can imagine
my delight when early the next day I had my own delicious bit of love
disguised as toast and apple butter. This worked out well until everyone
wanted some. I don't think even Aunt Norma could have made enough to
feed the world and so it all came to an end. What a dear memory for me.
Some seven to eight years earlier,
Sunday
September 20, 1959 dawned and progressed as usual for a Sabbath. It was
the beginning of my last month as a six-year old and the day was
beautiful. A sweater was all that was needed for comfort. As was our
way, my grandmother took me to
Sunday
School where I was blessed to sing songs of Jesus and learn of his love
for me. In those days, Priesthood meeting was early in the morning
followed by
Sunday School. We would go home after
Sunday School for dinner and a quiet afternoon with family. Sacrament meeting began at
6:00 p.m. and went until
7:30 p.m. (Primary, youth activity nights and Relief Society Meetings were held on weekdays.)
After
Sunday
School that clear and crisp autumn day, I was given permission to go
with my cousin Jessie to spend the afternoon. We happily skipped across
the street to the Stanford home in anticipation of time together. After a
lunch, my Uncle Don and Aunt Norma settled in for a bit of a nap while
Jessie and I played. I really can't remember what we were doing, but our
play was interrupted by a phone call. We could hear Uncle Don in the
bedroom answer the phone and exclaim, "Oh dear God." There was quick
quiet talk between him and Aunt Norma, before they called to tell me I
needed to go home right away.
Jessie and I pleaded to have more
time but Uncle Don was adamant. We begged him to let her to walk me the
two and a half blocks home. "Not today," was his firm reply. We
persisted in our efforts and Jessie was allowed to walk to
Stutsman's corner with me on the promise that she would turn around and
come immediately back home before we made it all the way to the corner.
The Stutsman family lived on a corner a half block east and one block
south of Stanfords and one block west, one block north of my home. Still unaware of the impending doom, we began our walk. Just before the corner, Jessie turned
and headed back home while I continued forward alone.
There was a
lot of commotion outside of my house. Sister Englehart's large car was
there. As I approached, I saw my brothers with blankets thrown over
their heads being carried out of the house. When I was spotted, I was
quickly put into the car along with David, Dennis and Dean. What was
happening? I don't remember who was there besides Sister Englehart but I
do remember the heavy sense of sadness and nervous energy that seemed
to engulf everyone. Where were my mom and dad? Why were we being taken
away?
Sister Englehart lived with her teenage son in a house on
the far west end of town. After arriving there, we spent a strange
afternoon - one of confusion for me. Care had to be taken so that my
baby brother Dean would not be burned on the hot floor heating grate. He
was too little to understand the danger and so we were told to watch
him closely as things were put around the grate to block it off. In my
mind I seem to remember he did burn his hand before we were aware of the
need to protect him from it but that is so vague to my thinking that I
am not sure.
The RCMP were
respected as officers of the law. Why did they keep coming to talk to my
brother Dennis? That evening they came one too many times, and I
remember Sister Englehart telling them in no uncertain terms that they
had all they needed from "that child" and she would not let them talk to
him again.
At some point later in the afternoon or evening I was
told that my mom and dad were in heaven. I really couldn't comprehend
the finality of it all. Sister Englehart helped us say our prayers and
tucked us in bed. I remember the tears in her eyes as she sat there with
us. What was happening? That confusing
Sunday came to a sad end as I dropped into an exhausted sleep.
WHAT HAD HAPPENED: My life changed forever when my father took the life of my mother
as she lay on her bed and then turned the gun on himself. My brothers
had been put to bed for naps. Four-year old David and one-year old Dean
were asleep through it all. Three-year old Dennis witnessed the great
tragedy from his bedroom door which was across from my parents bedroom. I
did not know what had happened until some time later as I recorded
December 27, 2009 in Blog Post
"Why Now?"
