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Connections
By coolgranny in The Paradox of Long Lives
October 27, 2009

Humans, I think, are greatly in need of connections throughout their lives. Just yesterday, I witnessed tears of joy brought about by a symbol from the past. The symbol was a book honoring the soldiers who had passed away during or after World War II. I've had the annual for years. When I was in my late twenties and with my mom's permission, I took all pictures from childhoods for all five kids. I also took pictures and mementos that, frankly, I just wanted. I thought that I would be the one to really take care of them. They wouldn't end up in a box or an attic to be discovered only after wills were read for my generation.

I wasn't selfish about any of it. I carefully divided the pictures and made albums for each sibling. Only three of the albums still exist today. One sister says she cries each time she looks at the pictures because she still can't believe that my father treated us so badly. The irony is that I feel the opposite when I look at pictures of the five cotton topped children. The pictures are proof to me that there were happy times. I remember exactly how old I was when my father lost his ability to connect with us. It had its ups and downs, but my mom encouraged him to work out of town a lot. When he would reappear, we received him as all kids, who have missed a parent, do. The short lived reunions were just a way of life for us.

I have moved this album for decades. I just assumed that the album was WWII pictures of soldiers that served with my dad. I never really looked at it. My hub was the one who was curious enough to look through it. When he told me my dad wasn't in it and that it was a memorial to soldiers who had passed away, I took a closer look. The album was filled with heroes from my uncle's home town. I realized then that my long lost cousin needed this album.

We went shopping yesterday while her car was being serviced, and we took a break with Earl Grey and gingersnaps from World Market. While I prepared the tea, she noticed the album. I remember strategically placing it on top of one of our grandfather's cigar boxes on the bookshelf in the living room. I did this so I might remember to take it to her one day. When I came back from the kitchen, she asked if she could copy some of the pages. I told her that the book was hers, and I was so glad that she noticed it. Her eyes welled up and streams of tears went down her face.

Her dad died when she was 18 months old. He was a police officer in a small town after the service. He was shot down right in front of his house. She had been trying to find a way to get his military history, and any tangible proof of his life on this earth, and there it was. Right in the album, each soldier's dates of service, their deployments, and service awards were listed. I realized that this connection to her real father was the bonding that had been missing from her life. She now had a new direction for her father's memories. When my dad died, his military service displayed his medals and awards. It was a special moment to honor a soldier who had fought for his country. Now, my cousin will be able to track down her father's commendations, and treasure these mementos. Her need to witness her father's life has come full circle. She couldn't thank me enough for giving her the whole album, and then I understood why I had always kept the thing on display and never in a box. One day my cousin would see it and connect.