We all have to say good-bye to someone or something all through our lives. For myself, it was a very hard thing to say. In our little family, we said so long.

Ma, Daddy and I had gone on a weekend stay in the Catskills with my aunt and cousins. We packed up sandwiches, fruit, cookies and coffee, and we always stopped to fish in Prattsville at Schoharie Creek. I petted my dog Corky and my cat Patrical as Ma called me to come on, let’s go! I knew my pets would be okay because our neighbors, whom I called Aunt and Uncle, would watch over them. The trip was great. I remember catching a nice bass that Daddy helped me bring in. It was a sunshiny, happy day.

Arriving back home on Sunday afternoon, I was content to see home. That hour and a half drive seemed so long! I helped bring in our things from the trip, excited to see that my bass was still alive in the pail. I let it go in the bathtub. Then, outside, I ran to find my Corky and Patrical. Corky practically jumped into my arms, wagging her tail and speaking to me the way she always did. But no Patrical in sight. I looked anxiously for three days, and no Patrical. Uncle Merrill came down to speak to Ma and Daddy the third evening. I overheard him telling them that he had found Patrical. We all went up the hill to a tool shed. There he lay, an awful sight. Maggots were all over him. He was dead. I will never forget the sad ending. We carefully brought him home and buried him in Ma’s rock garden. I said a prayer and said a loving, hard good-bye.

My Daddy was a hard-working, handsome man whose hands were twice the size of mine. I never heard a harsh word come from his mouth. His pet name for me was his little Chicken. I went everywhere with my Daddy. When he played cards at Albright’s garage, I sat up on the Coca Cola cooler with a bottle of chocolate soda. Then, under the car in the grease pit, I went to watch. I knew I would get it good from my Ma, but it was worth it to be with my Daddy. I even got to go on Saturdays to the brick yard where Daddy worked and sat on his broad shoulders to reach up and blow the 7 a.m. whistle. While riding home with my Ma, I would see her with a slight smile on her face. She knew how I loved my Daddy and how proud I was.

The only time I saw my Daddy drink was when he finished mowing our acre of ground. He would come in and sit at the table with a bottle of Utica Club beer. He never complained of any sickness or pain that I knew of. Then one day, he went to the doctor. He was hurting. It was cancer, and three months later he was gone. The very night before, I stood by his bedside at Catskill Memorial.

After a hopeful hug, his words said he hurt to the bone. He said with a tear in his eye, “Good-bye Chicken. Watch over and be good for your mother.” I held his hand tight and didn’t want to let go. Through the long night, I prayed to God that Daddy didn’t have to suffer anymore. The next morning. the phone rang at five; he was gone. He lay in the front of our little Dutch Reformed Church in New Baltimore. He was loved by all, and the church was full. The Masons and the Firemen were there and carried him out the door. I sat in silence, not even a tear. Then, before they took him away, I said my good-bye to my Daddy. My heart hurt so bad.

Months passed by so slowly for Ma and me. We went through the motions of being alive. Not many words were said by either of us. Corky and I spent many hours alone together. She was getting old now; we were both 13 that year of 1960.

I walked up a steep hill to catch the school bus. Now I was going to the new high school. Unless I had some thinking to do, I took the bus. Anxious to get back home and leave the place that I really disliked, I boarded the bus for the ride to the steep hill. I couldn’t walk that half mile fast enough. I had to get home.

Ma and her friend Ken were sitting at the table, with the rifle standing close by. Corky was gone; Ken had shot her. They had buried Corky in the flower bed before I even got home that day. I went to the place where she lay and said “Good-bye, my girl, my forever friend. I love you.” Then I ran away to a friend’s house and refused to come home for two weeks. I was beyond anger and hurt bad inside. When I returned Ma and I had harsh words and she slapped me hard in the face. I finally let loose, tears coming now. I cried. I felt so alone.

Many times through the years I have said good-bye to my Grandma and Grandpa, my first loves, then many friends and veteran comrades. I hate the word “good-bye.” When I hear or say that word, I know it’s forever.