They say there is a time for everything under the sun...
The year was 1920 , in the month of January. A tiny little boy was born in the mountains of Virginia. As his mother held him close to her breast, he suckled contentedly. She looked down at her little man and smiled, imagining what life had in store for him. He slept peacefully in his mother's arms .
The boy grew and became strong and soon he was exploring the woods and fields and streams near his mountain home. Days were spent fishing and swimming in the streams, running freely through the woods with his friends. Imagination took them on many adventures. Life was good for this little boy even though they were poor, he was loved and happy, and alive ! He vaguely remembers his parents whispering at night, something about a crash of some sort. He didn't really understand what they were talking about until much later. He was a little boy and these things did not concern him. It was only much later in life that he learned the hardships his parents faced during what came to be known as the Great Depression.
The boy graduated from high school and went on to college for a couple of years. By then the world was plunged into WWII and like so many young men in those days, he went off to serve his country. He never imagined the horrors of war until he found himself caught up in the blood and carnage. Years later, he would tell the stories of the people he met while stationed overseas . Everyday people just like you and I who touched his life with the kindness they bestowed on the American soldiers. But there were horror stories too, stories he told but wished sometimes to forget. One in particular stayed with him all his life. The night he and three other soldiers took cover in an abandoned house and he watched as two of his best friends were blown to pieces. He could never tell this story without choking up, yet he would tell it, so that others would understand that war is hell and nothing to be glorified. The young man was later shot himself and was awarded the purple heart.
He was sent home after that and served the rest of his tour stateside, helping to arrange entertainment for the troops overseas, a little bit of sunshine to help them through those dark days.
The young man eventually moved to South Carolina where he took a job and met and married his wife. They bought a nice little house and raised three boys . He became quite active in his community, helping to make it a better place to raise a family.
Later when he retired, he started a charity organization which helped the less fortunate members of the community with food, clothing, utilities and rent. He always felt called to be of service to others and he spent his life actively helping others until the age of 92 when he was forced to give his work up after suffering a minor stroke.
He lived a long and productive life and saw many changes take place in the world during this time.
I was able to visit with him shortly before he passed away. He graced me with one of his beautiful smiles and I kissed him goodbye . He told me he was ready , at peace.
Mr. Roy died peacefully at the age of 93. (January 20,1920 -May 11, 2013)
The following November, a baby boy was born, the great grandson of Mr. Roy, my grandson. His mother held his tiny little body close to her and cried as she watched him gasp for breath. Born way too early to survive, the doctors did not even try to help him. They just wrapped him in a blanket and told his Mama and Daddy to hold him and say their goodbyes. Little Jonathan Thomas lived for twenty minutes. He never opened his eyes, never saw the world, never suckled at his Mama's breast, never cried, never smiled, never got to meet his big sister or the rest of the family who already loved him.
I arrived too late and only got to hold his lifeless little body in my arms. I looked down at him and saw a perfectly formed, tiny little baby. And he was beautiful. I wanted to somehow breathe life back into him. I thought "if only we could take him home, he would be ok" . Of course this was quite irrational, but somehow I wished for a miracle. He never got to grow up and experience a full life like his great grandfather before him.
Little Jonathan Thomas died struggling for breath. (November 5, 2013-November 5,2013)
There is a time to be born, and a time to die.
Somehow, it does not seem fair.....
The year was 1920 , in the month of January. A tiny little boy was born in the mountains of Virginia. As his mother held him close to her breast, he suckled contentedly. She looked down at her little man and smiled, imagining what life had in store for him. He slept peacefully in his mother's arms .
The boy grew and became strong and soon he was exploring the woods and fields and streams near his mountain home. Days were spent fishing and swimming in the streams, running freely through the woods with his friends. Imagination took them on many adventures. Life was good for this little boy even though they were poor, he was loved and happy, and alive ! He vaguely remembers his parents whispering at night, something about a crash of some sort. He didn't really understand what they were talking about until much later. He was a little boy and these things did not concern him. It was only much later in life that he learned the hardships his parents faced during what came to be known as the Great Depression.
The boy graduated from high school and went on to college for a couple of years. By then the world was plunged into WWII and like so many young men in those days, he went off to serve his country. He never imagined the horrors of war until he found himself caught up in the blood and carnage. Years later, he would tell the stories of the people he met while stationed overseas . Everyday people just like you and I who touched his life with the kindness they bestowed on the American soldiers. But there were horror stories too, stories he told but wished sometimes to forget. One in particular stayed with him all his life. The night he and three other soldiers took cover in an abandoned house and he watched as two of his best friends were blown to pieces. He could never tell this story without choking up, yet he would tell it, so that others would understand that war is hell and nothing to be glorified. The young man was later shot himself and was awarded the purple heart.
He was sent home after that and served the rest of his tour stateside, helping to arrange entertainment for the troops overseas, a little bit of sunshine to help them through those dark days.
The young man eventually moved to South Carolina where he took a job and met and married his wife. They bought a nice little house and raised three boys . He became quite active in his community, helping to make it a better place to raise a family.
Later when he retired, he started a charity organization which helped the less fortunate members of the community with food, clothing, utilities and rent. He always felt called to be of service to others and he spent his life actively helping others until the age of 92 when he was forced to give his work up after suffering a minor stroke.
He lived a long and productive life and saw many changes take place in the world during this time.
I was able to visit with him shortly before he passed away. He graced me with one of his beautiful smiles and I kissed him goodbye . He told me he was ready , at peace.
Mr. Roy died peacefully at the age of 93. (January 20,1920 -May 11, 2013)
The following November, a baby boy was born, the great grandson of Mr. Roy, my grandson. His mother held his tiny little body close to her and cried as she watched him gasp for breath. Born way too early to survive, the doctors did not even try to help him. They just wrapped him in a blanket and told his Mama and Daddy to hold him and say their goodbyes. Little Jonathan Thomas lived for twenty minutes. He never opened his eyes, never saw the world, never suckled at his Mama's breast, never cried, never smiled, never got to meet his big sister or the rest of the family who already loved him.
I arrived too late and only got to hold his lifeless little body in my arms. I looked down at him and saw a perfectly formed, tiny little baby. And he was beautiful. I wanted to somehow breathe life back into him. I thought "if only we could take him home, he would be ok" . Of course this was quite irrational, but somehow I wished for a miracle. He never got to grow up and experience a full life like his great grandfather before him.
Little Jonathan Thomas died struggling for breath. (November 5, 2013-November 5,2013)
There is a time to be born, and a time to die.
Somehow, it does not seem fair.....
That is very sad.
ReplyDeleteYes, thanks Jeremy. It was a difficult thing to go through, but I wanted to honor both lives, even though one was so short, it still had meaning for those of us who loved him.
DeleteAt this moment I sit here at loss for words, but I shall return and read until the right ones come . . .
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading my dear friend. Sometimes words just aren't there, believe me. Have a wonderful weekend . Hugss
DeleteI have read this several times, I cried. The accomplishments of one man amazes me so, because that generation is gone and what they brought with them is gone.
ReplyDeleteJonathan Thomas sadly never had the opportunity, yet that tiny soul was loved as much as A 93 year old!
I personally think this was an amazing story filled with behind the words everlasting stories. Gave me goose bumps as well as tears because of what has happened in my life. THE POWER I FELT, MAKES THIS, YOUR FINEST EVER!!!!your finest ever!!!!!
You always seem to understand and feel the things I write. I was hoping that I did their stories justice. There was so much more I could have added, but it would have been such a long post and most people don't read if they get too long. Thank you for your words , you always encourage me and that keeps me wanting to write.
Delete