|
Edited on Thu Apr-23-09 05:38 PM by Skidmore
My cousin called me to let me know that her father, the last member of my mother's family from that generation, will not make it until the weekend. He's in his 90s and has suffered with cancer over the past several years. A gentle soul, he could always be counted on to soothe a hurt, tell a story, find a quarter in thin air, or time to sit by a small girl surviving a difficult childhood on a river bank and watch the bob on the fishing line drift on the river--brief interludes of respite like balms to the spirit. My uncle served in WWII as a chauffeur to a general. He was caught behind enemy lines for nearly a month and worked his way back. He was on Normandy Beach. I never ever heard him raise his voice to a child and I loved him as a daughter as he took the place of my own abusive father. His passing will end his suffering at the same time we learn that his g-granddaughter is pregnant. A new life will come to us, a child whose advent means that his mother, a soldier, will not have to go to Iraq. We welcome an end to the suffering of a much loved man and the anticipation of a new little person fill the empty spot in the family. And, we are thankful than my little cousin no longer needs to go to war.
|