"She had brown eyes and brown braids, just like you," he said, smiling as he remembered. "She loved school and loved books. She was always reading. You are so much like her."
We were sitting on the couch in the den, with the Hamm's beer sign glowing on the wall and Hee Haw on the television. He had his beer, I had my Cheetos, and we were nestled down companionably in the tiny room.
He took a swig of beer and a deep breath. I could see his eyes were shining. "Grandpa, how old were you when she died?" I asked. "Well, punk, she was a few days shy of 10, so I was 16." His eyes were wet now, a man in his 50s missing the little sister he'd lost so many years before.
I don't know if I asked how she died. I knew she had become ill suddenly, that she was gone in a very short time, but I guess I never asked for specifics.
Years later, after my grandpa was gone and his mother had buried a daughter, a son, and a husband in addition to countless friends and other family members, I asked her what happened. She was almost 100, and she cried as she recounted the story. "She had a sore throat, but she wouldn't miss school. She insisted on going. When she came home that night I could see she was much worse. I put her to bed and called the doctor. When he got there he said there was nothing he could do and we just had to wait it out to see if she'd make it through the night."
It was 1942. She had strep.
Later today I will dose my son with the last of his antibiotics for the strep he had recently. I took an antibiotic pill for my bronchitis, which is measurably improved since Friday. And I will think of Marlys, as I always do when one of us gets sick. How grateful I am for the advances in medicine that give us this class of drugs. Certainly there have been negative consequences as a result, too, but right now I only see the good they have done in the world.
And just now? When I looked up Marlys in my genealogy software to confirm the year she died, I saw that it was March 1. And I wonder, just a little, if she had anything to do with the little soul who entered my life on a March 1 several years ago. How funny. He looks like that side of the family, has the quiet, even temperament, the love of music, the fair skin, blue eyes and blond hair. The day he was born I felt my grandpa's presence so strongly. I put it off to hormones, but I remember looking into his eyes and asking him what he knew that I didn't. He was born looking like he had a secret. Maybe now I've figured it out.
Mom, wife, daughter, sister, friend. Scrapbooker, family historian, reader, cook, photographer. Volunteer. Political junkie. Springsteen fan. Loves deeply, strives daily to be a cheerful, kind and generous person. Fails regularly. Snarky, judgy and more than a little blunt. Some people don't appreciate my style. If you're one of them, that's ok. Get your own blog.
What a beautiful, sad-sweet story. My husband's mother lost a sister, as did my husband -- both of them died in childhood. And I know myself that I would have died in my twenties of a strep infection that lodged in a cyst in my throat that would eventually have led to blood poisoning. Except for modern surgery and antibiotics, that is. So, yeah, you can count me in as a fan of modern medicine, too.
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ReplyDeleteMy dd was 18-months old when she got scarlet fever from a strep infection. My grandfather was alarmed but quickly reminded himself that it wasn't like getting scarlet fever when he was a kid. She was so, so sick even with the meds and I felt so deeply for every parent that had sat and watched their child suffer and then either get better or not before antibiotics.
I hope your son feels better soon.
Max was up and down Sunday night with an ear ache. I dozed on the couch with him in my arms and called the doctor first thing Monday morning. I can't bear to see my babies suffering, even the least bit. I feel so fortunate to live when I do.
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