Farewell to Mother Susan Sherwood Weber by William Philip Weber

The photo above shows the Herman and Susan Sherwood Weber family probably around 1938 or so.  The Sherwood family runs to prematurely gray hair and Susan was no exception.  Susan's first born son was William Philip Weber and he was born on May 31, 1919 while is uncle George Sherwood was on his way home from World War I.  William,  Uncle Bill and I knew him, was a most compassionate and caring son to his mother Susan in her declining years.  These are his thoughts about her last moments in his own words.  

Letter from Grandma and Grandpa

What a treat to find this draft of a letter sent to me so many decades ago. The original seems to be long gone, but my grandmother's rough draft was found among other letters. Grandmother was always a bit eccentric, but I find that as I get older I am getting more that way myself. Can't you just imagine this old man finding clovers in the pasture and telling his wife about them? And then they both wander down to the old pasture and dig it up and discuss where best to plant it. Such insight into the lives of my old people when I was but an infant and they were 71 and 57. They wrote

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"And He took them up in His arms, put His hands upn them and blessed them." Mark 10:16

Dear Precious little Grand-daughter,

Grandfather found this lovely five -leaf clover and two others in the pasture north of the cow barn on the old Wisconsin Farm on your Great Grandfather Sherwood's ninety-third birthday anniversary (Aug 28th) and then we both went down in the pasture and dug up the plant and found that it had another five lobed leaf and four four-lobed leaves. I planned to plant it the next day on your little brother's birthday anniversary (Aug 29th) but was not quite sure just where would be the best place and also did not have time. Thought surely I would get it planted on your birthday anniversary but unexpected things came up to delay even getting this written, though my thoughts and prayers were with you all the day and I kept singing and humming "That Little Girl (Boy) of Mine."

All the dear, cute interesting things which Ronald does make me ache realizing how much we are missing of the dear, cute, interesting things which you are doing at your age, and how much we are missing of you as an individual, our own precious little Grand-daughter.

We so long to see you and hold you in our arms and be with you and have you here on the Old Wisconsin Farm and we hope and pray that it shall be possible next summer for all of you out there to come and see us all here and you and Ronald play together and all of you get acquainted with Ronald's little sister or brother.

And perhaps sometime we can visit you in your own home.

God bless and keep you always.
Lovingly and prayerfully, Special Birthday Hugs and Kisses

Grandpa and Grandma

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Front page) Pink Stationary

Large five-lobed clover fastened with stem through slits

To Our Precious Little Grand-Daughter

On Her First Birthday Anniversary

The Best of Lovingly, Prayerful Wishes

For All the Years To Come

From Her Loving

Grandfather and Grandmother

Happy Birthday Wishes to Sister Susan

In 1919 George Sherwood wrote to his sister Susan Sherwood Weber who was back on the old Wisconsin farm in Kendall. Her birthday was a week away and a week later she would be 25 years old. She would now be 115 years of age were she still alive, but it was just 90 years ago this year that this missive came to her from "Over There" perhaps around this time. The photo I had thought was Grandma Susan around her high school graduation turned out to be Aunt Dora. Hopefully this one is her - as my parents believe :-). I guess I'll find out.

Dearest of Sisters,
I didn’t intend to write you alone, or to exclude the rest of the family when I came over here, but the spirit moves me to rave a little, and the only excuse I can think of is to call it a birthday letter, tho it is now only a week until your birthday. Anyway, you can read the folks as much of this as you want to. Even now I don’t know just what I am going to write, but I know I want to talk to “My dear little Sister” even as we loved to do in bygone days.

And first of all, I have just rediscovered one of the oldest of truths. The World is full of and lives on Love. Not the sudden flare of passion that surges over all red blooded men and women at times and threatens – yes often does sweep them off their feet for a time; but the kind of love that burns on year after year, flaming at times, again smoldering beneath the ashes of burned out passions, hopes and desires, but still glows on deep down in the human heart, warming the soul and keeping alive the conscience of the individual and society. And so smoldering it only awaits the slightest stirring of these ashes to break forth again into purifying flame, lighting the plainest countenance with the most beautiful of glows, reflections from the flames of love. And how did I stumble onto the old, old story. By the simplest of means – observation. Yet I had seen the same picture many times before and it meant little to me.

I did not know what I would write about when I came to the casino, but that same little spark in my own heart bade me write you, so I came in and stood in line with some impatience to get my allowance of paper & envelopes. After receiving a double share from the sweet-faced old lady behind the desk, I began circulating around the room looking for a place to write. And as I went I became still more impatient, for every place seemed full. You see as yet the beauty and significance of the scene had not impressed me. But as I passed on, I began to scrutinize each man more closely, in hope of finding one nearly finished and as I passed man after man, here one writing, there one laboriously doing up or addressing a package, my chaos of thots began to take shape, my impatience left me, and suddenly the beauty of it surged over me as a young fellow at the desk near which I stood, oblivious to his surroundings lovingly, almost reverently folded the little souvenir handkerchief he had been holding, and carefully placed it in the envelope he had just addressed. Then he once more carefully withdrew it and looked at it as tho picturing the joy it would bring those who received it. And with a last caress he returned it again to the envelope gave it a final pat and turned again to his writing, his face illuminated by the fires of love burning in his breast. And as I look about me I see that same reminiscent, loving look in nearly every face, softening and relieving the stern harsh lines the last few months have brought. Those souvenirs are all bought at the sacrifice of some trip or anticipated pleasure of their leave period. And as those letters are written concerts, trips, cafes, etc, are all calling one to forget and enjoy life, as of old, after months of isolation, suffering & death in the lines. Yet all the places are filled, and men who hate writing in the ordinary sense wait patiently for their turn at the desks. Why? Because the fire of love (for sister, brother, mother, father or friend or sweetheart) makes them wish to share the thots, the scenes, the pleasures they are enjoying. And so I have come to feel more strongly than perhaps ever before that love is the strongest, purest truest phase of life or perhaps life and love are inseparable phases of our being. And so perhaps you can get a little of my meaning from the little lace collar I mailed you for your birthday the other night in case my letter isn’t quite clear, for I yet remember the loving little pats I gave it as I addressed it and sent it on its way to the Dearest little Sister a Soldier Boy could Have. Oh, how I hope you get it, for it bears my love direct to you. Write and tell me all about your birthday.

Yesterday we went to the to the top of Mt. Revard on the cogwheel railway, hoping to see Mt. Blanc with the glasses but when we got there we were right on a cloud tho it was clear when we started up. But the scenery was beautiful and the trip of an hour and a half up on the cogwheel well worth while.
Then we borrowed some skis up there (free for soldiers by Y.M.C.A.) and had some fine rides – and tumbles. Got back just in time for dinner, 6:30 P.M. The day before that we took a trip on the boat across and up the lake to the old Abby. It was founded back in the early days of Christianity by St. Bernard, was used as a burial place for the kings and prices of France and Italy for many years, but was nearly destroyed by the French Revolution. Was reclaimed & rebuilt by King Felix of Italy in 1824 and changed hands from Italy and France and back several times until finally it was deeded forever to the King of Italy by France in 1860 because it had been reclaimed by Felix who was buried there with his wife and contained the restored graves of so many of the other Italian Kings and Princes. 15 monks have charge of the Abbey, one of them having been there for 30 years now. The paintings and carvings are mostly modern but they are truly wonderful.

On the same trip we saw the pass thru which Hannibal led his army across this mountain range in his march against the Romans. And after a years army experience one realizes more than ever the magnitude of his task and wonder of its success when they consider that he went thru an even more rugged part of the Alps Mts. than we have here before he was finally able to strike at Rome from the North.

Now I’ve got to close.

Love once more to you all and may many more happy birthdays come to my dear little sister Susan – Her Brother
Corp. Geo. Sherwood, Hdqts Co
108th U. S. Engineers, Amer. Exp. Forces