A Widow's Story of Losing Her 'Two-Legged Buck'

Copyright © 2008 National Public Radio®. For personal, noncommercial use only. See Terms of Use. For other uses, prior permission required.

MELISSA BLOCK, host:

This is ALL THINGS CONSIDERED from NPR News. I'm Melissa Block.

David Greenberger travels around the country talking with older people, listening to their stories. Then, he retells them to us. Today, a story David Greenberger heard from Helen Carver as she remembered her husband.

(Soundbite of music)

Mr. DAVID GREENBERGER (Commentator): I was just married once to my two-legged buck. We lived 48 years in Gallup, New Mexico. My husband worked 35 years for the fire department. I didn't work, I was just a squaw. Then we moved to Thoreau, that's near continental divide. Then we moved to Blue Mountain Lake, that's miles south of Thoreau. Then we had his heart attack, we moved to Grants, new Mexico. And then, we came to Pennsylvania, me and my husband.

After his heart operation, the doctors in Albuquerque couldn't do no more, so my daughter and my son-in-law transferred us both here. They thought the hospital here would take better care of him.

(Soundbite of music)

Mr. GREENBERGER: Four years ago, I lost my two-legged buck. I lost him at St. Vincent's Hospital. We were married 48 years. He had a big heart operation and they said it might go to his head, and it did. They had him in an ice box, and I had to look at him. And they said, don't touch him or kiss him, because he's cold as a popsicle. That was the end of my two-legged buck. He was cremated and I want to be cremated, too.

He was in the Navy and he said he wanted to be thrown out in the water. I want my ashes scattered out in the mountains, not in the water, because I can't swim. Scatter me in the country, I'm a country girl. Just not in the coal mine even though I'm a coal miner's daughter. It's too dark in there. We had him cremated. I couldn't tell you what day it was because I was too much in stress. Now, I'm coming out of stress and I joined the senior citizens.

On Memorial Day, I got a dozen red roses. He loved them. And I took them down to the dock and threw them in the lake. I said, wherever you're at, honey, they were real fresh roses. And they came back because the wind blew them in.

BLOCK: The words of Helen Carver as retold by our commentator, David Greenberger.

Copyright © 2008 National Public Radio®. All rights reserved. No quotes from the materials contained herein may be used in any media without attribution to National Public Radio. This transcript is provided for personal, noncommercial use only, pursuant to our Terms of Use. Any other use requires NPR's prior permission. Visit our permissions page for further information.

NPR transcripts are created on a rush deadline by a contractor for NPR, and accuracy and availability may vary. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Please be aware that the authoritative record of NPR's programming is the audio.