A Story of Two Deaths
In the past month, we have had two deaths in the family.
First was Josiah, the seven-year-old son of my cousin.
He died in Indiana and I cried for days after his untimely death.
Today Grandma Cleo died in Oregon.
I don't know what she died of but her death wasn't unexpected because she was ninety-three years old.
She wasn't my real Grandma if you measure real by being in the same bloodline.
In some ways, though, she was more my Grandma than my real Grandma was.
I remember when Grandma Yeager died.
I got the call in the evening.
Then the next day I went to work.
I must have looked terrible because my boss sent me home.
I don't know how I look right now because I'm home alone.
Perhaps I have better coping skills now than I did all those years ago when my real Grandma died.
I haven't felt the first tear since Carrie called this morning.
Maybe all the crying I've been doing has depleted my ability to react.
I know I feel a loss, a certain sadness, but no urge to cry.
Grandma Cleo loved God and growing things.
We had these things in common.
Sometimes people would think I was her granddaughter and that Keith had married into the family because I would plant a garden and have dozens of hanging baskets of flowers around our deck and yard.
Grandma Cleo made quilts out of old clothes and collected dolls and dressed them up in all sorts of homemade costumes.
But it was nothing like Josiah.
Perhaps the feelings are different because Grandma Cleo lived a long life, wow, ninety three years is a really long time to live especially for someone who had tuberculosis, lost a child to diphtheria, and whose life resembled a remake of Grapes of Wrath.
During the depression her family migrated to California from Oklahoma and at times slept in tents for want of a better home.
Do I cry for Josiah because he's my blood kin, and not for Grandma Cleo because she's not?
Is the sadness over Josiah greater than the sadness over Grandma Cleo because he was seven and she was ninety-three?
He didn't get to live a long life.
He didn't even get to live a short life.
I have to agree with the person that said, "There's nothing worse than the loss of a child."
July 7, 2001
