Ada “Bunn” Harp: Funeral Card Friday

I spent every Summer at my grandmother’s home in South Central Los Angeles, CA. This period of my life of every year, I called it “My Freedom Time.”  I was free to have fun and could stay outside until the street lights came on.

Up the street was a convalescent home where my grandmother’s forever foster daughter, Diane Dudley used to spend her time volunteering.  I started visiting the  convalescent home when I was 7 years old as I had a relative that was a resident in the home.  Her name was Ada Harp, and everyone called her “Aunt Ada”  I am unsure even to this point what our actual relationship is on the family tree.  This is a question I will be answering within a few days.  What I do know is that she is related to my Grandmother Helen Bunn, my father’s mother.

When I visited Aunt Ada, there was a male resident that was smitten to my Aunt.  I believe his name was Joe.  I would push him or push my Aunt Ada around in their wheel chairs, and just spend time talking to them.  Aunt Ada lived to be 94 years old (so I was 9 when she died).  I remember her as always being so positive and upbeat, and she was always happy to see me.

Joe, Aunt Ada, (Me), and nurse
Visiting the Convalescent Home
Aunt Ada, (male cousins in front-Unidentified) Me,
Brother Marshall, Betty Porter, Walter Porter & Unidentified relative

Comments

Ada “Bunn” Harp: Funeral Card Friday — 2 Comments

  1. It's really cool how you were able to appreciate elderly people with disabilities when you were so young. (And Aunt Ada sounds like a really special person.) So many children find it difficult to relate to elderly relatives.

  2. Thank you Sheryl. That is interesting that you said that, because I remember my mother sharing with me that she and my father went to visit a friends mother, who was deathly ill. They were concerned that I would be scared if they took me into the hospital room, but they took me in and sat me in a chair. My mother said, I got up, walked over to the lady, who was very pale and who's arms were black and blue from all the poking of needles. She said I stroked her arm and told her she was going to be ok. I must have been about three or four, and frankly, I do not remember this. Maybe I should have went to school for geriatrics care.

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