19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:
Saturday, May 23, 1914: The little life so soon begun is ended.
Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:
Oh. . . Grandma,
I’m so sorry. What happened? . . . Are you okay? . . . How’s Besse doing?
Grandma’s three-day-old niece died. She was the daughter of Grandma’s older sister Besse and her husband Curt.
I try never to go ahead in the diary—yet somehow it doesn’t feel quite right that I didn’t clue all of you in that it wasn’t going to be a happy ending. I apologize if I should have foreshadowed the pending death.
This has been a hard series of posts to write. It almost feels like all of this is happening in real time—not a hundred years ago—to people I love and care about.