Generation Lost

On a trip to Barnes & Noble this evening I purchased Frances Hodgson Burnett's "The Secret Garden." (As a side note, I hate the different rules for underlining/quotationing/highlighting/bolding different titles based on whether a piece of literature is classified as book/novel/bible/magazine/toilet paper.) Back to The Secret Garden and the reason behind the purchase (beside its classification as a classic and costing a minuscule $5.95). As my Grandma Strah's favorite book, it exists as a link to generation's past. I'll read every word with thoughts of my recently passed grandmother and find her and discover each ounce of her that remains. This grasping comes with the feeling of near-regret for missed opportunities and time misspent. The impact deepens with the realization that a complete generation of my direct family no longer shares this life.

My Grandma Strah loved sewing, frogs, “Boots,” Bud Light, thimbles, and most of all family. Her maternal powers and ever-giving heart melded four generations. She lived through The Great Depression, World War II, and countless other Worldly tragedies. Most impressively, she cared for her husband for thirteen years after his stroke before his death. While the hospital retained her handicapped husband she walked to visit him nightly, until they allowed him respite at home. In fact, she attained a driver’s license in her mid-forties, years after Boots’ (my grandpa) stroke. No person entering her home didn't immediately become family and you left knowing that you had joined. This 4th of July, for the first time in my life, (26 years) I found the front door locked when I went to use the bathroom. I'd begun to suspect the lock missing on that particular door.  Sadly, I've discovered, it functions.