February 24, 1911



One hundred years ago today, on a bitter cold day, in Cambridge, MA. My grandmother, Annie Kerrigan Barbier lay dying of tuberculosis in a darkened room at Holy Ghost Hospital, 1575 Cambridge Street. She was just 38 years old.

Annie, mother of five children, had just lost her youngest child, John Francis Barbier, 18 months old, on February 20th, just four days earlier. John Francis had succumbed to tubercular meningitis.

I'm sure as Annie lay there struggling to breathe, her thoughts turned to her four surviving children, Caroline ten years old, Lawrence eight years old, Henry six years old, and my mother Anna, just three years old. She had nothing to leave them but some small possessions.

Who would care for them? John Higgins,her adopted father was much too old. What would happen to her children? Would her step brother Joseph Higgins and his wife Catherine take them in?  They had 4 children of their own. 

Many years later Caroline spoke about the day their mother died. Joseph and Catherine Higgins brought the children to the hospital to say goodbye to their mother.

As Caroline and Lawrence stood next to their mother's bed, they understood that their mother was leaving, just like their baby brother, a few days ago and their father Henry Barbier. Only Henry didn't die, he chose to leave the family (for reasons unknown) and move to California to live with his mother and other siblings.

Golden haired Anna (my mother) stood next to her brother Henry, tightly holding his hand in hers. Henry was her best friend and constant companion. They both stood there silent in the dark cold room, watching the events unfold.

As Anna watched her mother struggle to breathe, her expressive hazel eyes were troubled as her world was becoming one of confusion and loss. First losing her father, then her baby brother and now her mother.

After Annie died, her children were placed in The Home for Destitute Catholic Children at 788 Harrison Street in Boston, MA., by Catherine Higgins. 

Annie Kerrigan Barbier, age 38 and John Francis Barbier, age 18 months, were buried together in a single grave at Mt. Benedict Cemetery in Roxbury, MA.

Me & Mr. Smith

My love of animals started at an early age. My first dog was a mutt named Mr. Smith. Oh how I loved that dog!

I remember mom making me a cheese sandwich for lunch and she would give me a Milk Bone dog biscuit for Mr. Smith. Mom told me later that if she wasn't watching, I would eat the dog biscuit and give Mr. Smith my sandwich.

Mr. Smith loved to chase anything with wheels. Cars, trucks, kids on bicycles, it didn't matter. The bus that would take guests to Skytop Lodge would pass our house. As soon as Mr. Smith saw the bus, off he would go running down the road, chasing the bus.

He was a lovable old mutt who was my constant companion. I don't know what ever became of my beloved Mr. Smith. I'm sure my sister would know, but I prefer not to ask her.

I'd like to think he's still in the mountains, chasing cars, buses, kids on bikes and enjoying his Milk Bone dog biscuits.

Dad's Christmas Lights

 My dad loved Christmas.  I grew up in a small town in Northeastern, Pennsylvania.  It was always very cold in December and we were blessed to have a "white Christmas" almost every year.   Once Thanksgiving was over,  my Dad couldn't wait to put up Christmas lights on all the bushes around the house. I think he would start counting the days during the summer, until he could put up his beloved Christmas lights.  Dad loved Christmas.

Dad would go outside in the freezing cold and put a string of lights on one of the bushes and then come in the house and tell mom and me that we had to come outside to see the beautiful lights. We'd go outside and stand there in the freezing cold and tell dad how great it looked, then mom and I would run back into the house.

Five minutes later dad would have another string of lights up and we would have to go back outside and see those lights. This would continue until dad got all the lights on all the bushes. When he was finally finished and mom and I were inside trying to get warm, dad would shake his head and say "aren't those lights just beautiful? Don't they look great? Let's go back outside and see them again," and outside we all would go, shivering and shaking, the snow would be falling down and we would all marvel at the beautiful Christmas lights that dad was so proud off.

Oh what I would give, to watch my dad put up Christmas lights just one more time.