THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Saturday, May 20, 1995 TAG: 9505190063
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E5 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Betsy Wright
LENGTH: Medium: 86 lines
WHEN I WROTE last week's column about love and family, I knew instinctively that it probably would not elicit a great deal of reader response. It was, admittedly, a sweet column, and sweet columns tend to soothe, not stir, people's thoughts and passions.
My instincts were right. Many cards and calls came in, congratulating me on the birth of my daughter, Jordannah. Two longtime readers sent responses. I've decided to set those aside for now.
You see, I need to write an epilogue. Last week I told you about my wonderful ``other parents,'' Stock and Dawn Wright of Smithfield. They are the parents of my first husband, Elliott, who died in 1986 of Lou Gehrig's Disease. Though I have remarried, they have remained my ``other parents.'' Our bond was even greater cemented two weeks ago with the birth of my daughter. Dawn and Stock joyfully welcomed my and Bernie's daughter as their own grandchild.
On Sunday, Mother's Day, we visited the Wrights in Smithfield. It was their first opportunity to see their new granddaughter.
On Wednesday evening, I got a phone call from Dawn.
``Stock died about 20 minutes ago,'' she said, chocking back tears.
The news did not come as a surprise. What I had not shared with my readers last week was that Stock has been very sick for the past few years. Cancer.
We'd watched him struggle and fight, and he'd won many skirmishes, but on Wednesday night, the disease took the war.
I refuse to say that the disease won. Stock died with dignity, in the home he'd built and loved for 40-plus years. His daughter Ann was at his side and his wife, Dawn, nearby. He died having garnered the respect of great men and women. He died knowing the love of many, many people. He died knowing the grace of God. He died peacefully and without pain.
Last night, after my teenagers and I had shed our tears and made our plans, I lay in the arms of my husband and recalled the miracle of our Sunday afternoon visit.
``He told me on Easter that he was waiting for this baby, and he did,'' I said to Bernie.
``I know, honey,'' said my husband. ``He willed himself to live long enough to see his grandchild.''
``And wasn't she wonderful Sunday? She was so sweet. And Stock, he was so . as soon as we walked in, he was saying, `Where's my baby girl?' Remember?''
``Oh yes,'' Bernie said. ``And she was so bright-eyed. He just jiggled her and she smiled at him. It was like they were really in sync. One life just beginning and another one just ending. I think they really bonded, because he knew she'd just come from a place he was going.''
``Yes! That's it exactly,'' I said.
As I write this epilogue, Bernie's words come back to me: ``He knew she'd just come from a place he was going.''
Now, Stock is there, resting in the bosom of his Heavenly Father. Stock is there with his mother and father, his sisters and brother, and with his only, much beloved son, Elliott. I'd also like to think that somehow his soul will meet that of Bernie's father, James, and that the two will share their joy over the gift of new life that binds them.
``She's a real beauty,'' I imagine Stock will say. ``She has a sweet, gentle soul.''
``I know,'' James will say. ``I saw her off as the angels carried that soul to Earth to her new parents.''
They will smile, maybe share a joke. Then part, new buddies. Proud new granddaddies.
Sentimental hogwash? Maybe.
But it is sentimental hogwash that often gets us through the roughest tragedies of our lives.
I am reminded of Puck's epilogue from Shakespeare's ``A Mid-Summer Night's Dream'':
If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended:
That you have but slumber'd here,
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream.
If I have offended anyone with these personal, sentimental musings, please forgive me as someone under the spell of mixed grief and joy. Within 11 days, I have welcomed one sweet new life and bid farewell to another dear old soul.
Next week, I will return the column back to more passionate Issues of Faith. Until then, I ask for your prayers for me and my family. by CNB