It was a sizzling July morning when my
father phoned to tell me the most incredible news. My mother had just delivered
a baby girl. I had a sister!
“How can that be?” I said. “If Mother were
pregnant, she would have told me.”
“I’m sorry, honey,” said my dad. “Nobody
knew. With the oversized clothes she wore, she fooled everyone.”
“But why?”
“She wasn’t supposed to have any more
children after you and we knew she most likely wouldn’t carry it to full term.
Didn’t want to get everyone excited until it was a sure thing. Sure enough, the
baby was more than 10 weeks premature.”
Weighing in at a pound and a half, little
Ann Marie lived only nine hours.
When the doctor broke the news to Mother,
she cried pitifully for a long while and then clammed up. She turned her face
to the wall and wouldn’t talk to anyone.
Any responsibility she might have felt for
Ann Marie’s last rites were shifted to Dad as she lay in the hospital trying to appear grief-stricken
for two more days. Dad went to a nearby funeral home and made arrangements. The
infant’s tiny body was placed in the smallest casket I’d ever seen.
Pink.
For a considerable amount of money, the
funeral home provided a car and two men in black suits to accompany Dad and me
and Uncle Ed, Dad’s brother, to the family cemetery, about thirty miles south
of our home.
When we got there, the small grave had
already been dug and the men who had dug it waited in their truck to close it
after we left. It was a short, lackluster service, but I suppose there’s not
much to say about one whose whole life lasted only nine hours.
The two men from the funeral home carried
the small casket from the car to the open grave and placed it over the opening.
We gathered ‘round with bowed heads. Suddenly, the sky opened up and unleashed
a torrential downpour. The men from the funeral home scrambled to hold big
black umbrellas over us in a futile attempt to protect us from the driving
rain. Gray clouds hung low overhead and there was no hint that sunrays might
find their way around or through them any time soon.
Competing with deafening thunder, Dad
raised his voice significantly and said a few words. I’ll never forget them:
“Dear Loving God, giver of all good gifts –
thank you for letting us have this little one for a few hours. Though the time
was short, our hearts swelled with love as we prayed for her survival.
Sometimes we don’t understand why You do things, but we trust You and accept
that You know best for all concerned.
So... for as much as it has pleased our
Almighty God to take out of this world the soul of our beloved child, Ann Marie
Harrison, we therefore commit her body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to
ashes, dust to dust. May she always feel our love and know that we will one day
join her in Heaven.
In Your beloved son’s name...
Amen.”
(This is an excerpt from my next book, All About Jenny.)
www.amazon.com/author/peggytoneyhorton
(This is an excerpt from my next book, All About Jenny.)
www.amazon.com/author/peggytoneyhorton
4 comments:
Peggy, this is a beautifully written piece of prose. I can't wait to read the book!
Lovely descriptive piece! Good work, Peggy.
I cried when I read this. Your writing is so emotional. One would have to be dead not to feel something while reading your words. Wonderful!
Simply beautiful!
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