Inside a Girl

There's a little boy whose innocence and personality touches me so much it almost moves me to tears. Other times, I find myself cackling, bent over, holding my sides cackling. There's a little mischievous, funny look in his eyes & I recognize it so completely.

Last week, while feeding Cody, I thought about perfection. How so many people have these standards that are just impossible to live up to. What it must be like to feel that you have to meet that every day. To always be on guard. I watched Cody as he ate his eggs & ham & cheese & ketchup, forgoing his spoon, using his tiny fingers instead. I thought, 'This is perfection.' Being allowed to watch this child grow & learn. Being witness to the new words he picks up, new little dances he learns. Just being able to watch him eat his eggs & ham & cheese & ketchup. Seeing him so absorbed & so satisfied & so happy with something as simple as ketchup. It's overwhelming sometimes to really watch someone who is delighted with the moment. I love those times that I'm allowed to witness it.

Tonight me & Lisa baked a Strawberry Shortcake birthday cake. Tomorrow is Alana's birthday party. She'll be six. Her parents are going through a divorce. Almost everything in her tiny little world is turned upside down. And you can see it. In her face. Her eyes. The way she stands. Tonight, she was just looked so broken when her mom dropped her off. Her daddy asked her what was wrong. That frail little voice said, "I miss my Mommy." Alan hugged her, kissed her on the forehead. To see that was heartbreaking. Her pain was just so visible. But on top of that was this little attempt to cover it up. To hold it in. Heartbreaking.

Monday, our Uncle Roscoe died. He's my great-uncle. Papaw's brother. But he's always been called Uncle Roscoe & his great-nieces & nephews picked that up. His life & death is such a moving story.

A week or a few days before he died he told his wife, Joan, that her face was the last thing he wanted to see before he went. Moments before he died, he looked up at her & smiled. Roscoe was such a neat little man. Always groomed & presentable. Before Joan let the paramedics take him from the house, she bathed him, shaved him, cut a white t-shirt down the back & dressed him. He would have wanted that.

That is just such a testament to their love. All week I've tried to imagine the amount of strength that took, how hard it would be to choke back your own sadness & tend to the body of the person you love, only minutes after they've gone.

At the beginning of the funeral on Thursday, veterans from Beattyville stood by Roscoe's casket & saluted him one by one. Roscoe had served & was injured during World War II. Last year he received a Purple Heart. During the funeral a friend of his from Ohio spoke. He told the story of Roscoe's injury during the war as Roscoe had told him.

I didn't retain all the story, as much as I wanted to. Partially because, I had never heard it before & a large part of me was thinking 'I can't believe I didn't know this.' Roscoe had just crossed a creek. Behind him were German soldiers making their way across. Roscoe fought them off but was hit. He lost so much blood & his injuries were so severe that he passed out. When he came to, a German soldier was standing above him. Roscoe reached for his rifle. The German said, "Take him to the Americans. Take him to get treatment." After the transfer, Roscoe was in a Jeep. The driver was a young soldier from Beattyville, Kentucky, Roscoe's hometown. He said, "You're gonna be alright, Roscoe. I'll see you back in Beattyville."

Last year, at the celebration, when Roscoe received his Purple Heart, he did see that fellow. He had not seen him during all those years.

I hope that I have that story right. If I don't, or if there's more to add that I've left out & you know the story, please comment on here & re-tell it. It's just unbelievable to me that I'd never heard this. That such a story existed in our family & I never knew it.

Thursday, I looked four rows in front of me & saw mamaw & four of her daughters. Behind them, a fifth daughter & a son. Behind that row, another son, two granddaughters & a great-grandson. There are moments when you're overcome with pride. When you look at the people you've come from, the people who've had a part of your becoming, who've given little bits of themself freely to you. You look at them & feel so proud & thankful to have come from & been part of such a family. Not that we're perfect. But beautifully flawed. And able to admit that. And able to really love & accept each other, flaws included, flaws welcomed. That type of love has been handed down, generation to generation, taught by example. And it's still being handed down.

Sitting in the midst of that crowd, I thought about funerals, how there's always this sense of dread, how the general notion is that you're going their to say goodbye to pay respect. But it's so much more than that. It's not just about saying goodbye, being there because you have to be.
It's about celebrating a life. Celebrating everything that you shared with that person or knew about that person. Celebrating & being thankful to have been witness to such a life. For just being able to learn from or watch that person, even if the education came second-hand, through stories, through other people's observations.

I think about my family, my dad, all of mamaw's children, mamaw, my cousins. Your lives are not going unwitnessed. We recognize you, your love, your past, where you came from, where you went, where you're heading. We see it. You have made us & continue to make us better people, just by being able to witness your lives. Just being connected to this family, being able to say I'm Junior's daughter or Kathleen's grandaughter or Marcie's, Joan's, Marilyn's, Liz's, Rene's, Walter's, Logan's niece, makes me such a proud & thankful girl. I want you all to know that, to really know that.

I wish everyone could be lucky enough to have this type of family.