Sounds of Hope

I’ve sort of gotten side tracked in telling this story. Plus I’ve gotten busy. The idea was I wanted to tell you about the miracle of my youngest son. I’m going to fast forward to that. No one in the family who remembers Hannibal, remembers it fondly. We’d been through some pretty awful stuff. We’d had some funny experiences with the kids – things that are funny now, but weren’t at the time. Like the time my oldest son Nathan and his brother faked illness to stay in the hospital. They had matching coughs and were admitted to share a room in the hospital. Jason knew how much fun this was sitting in bed, watching TV and having nurses call you sweetie while they brought you popsicles and pudding at the ring of a bell. One day the doctor decided to give Nathan his antibiotics by injections in the rump. I was working upstairs in the hospital. I heard it. Paging Dr. Strong – the code for a person who needed to be subdued by all the men available. We used that page a lot on the psych unit. ...

My sons were sick most of that winter. Eventually Jason was put in the hospital. They never could find out what was wrong with him. He had never been a well-child but I suspect now that it was grief. Once in the hospital he liked the attention. He liked having someone bring him popsicles and pudding at will. Lying in bed watching television or playing video games was certainly better than school. Eventually he was pronounced well enough to go home. Then it was my turn. I was pregnant with my fifth child. We didn’t know whether we would have a boy or a girl. My husband desperately wanted a son. We planned to name him Isaac. Perhaps because of stress or grief or both or neither, my blood pressure shot up to dangerous levels. I was still working at the mental health center. I asked one of the nurses to take my blood pressure. In horror, they told me it was 160/110. I called the doctor 100 miles away. He said come tomorrow and if it is still that high I’ll admit you to the hospital. It ...

We moved. I don’t remember why we moved or even what we did with the camper we lived in. We may have planned to make payments on it and didn’t. We may have gotten behind in our lot rent and abandoned it. I really don’t know. I am sure some of you can’t imagine ever doing such a thing. I couldn’t either. I wasn’t in charge. Since then, I have learned that sometimes you just do what you gotta do to survive. Packing our meager belongings into our 1951 Chevy tank, we moved to another trailer. Bigger than the last, but very old. It was in town. Alvin didn’t like living in town. He was a country boy. Before the song: Thank God I’m a country boy , he was true to its meaning. I, born and raised in Brooklyn NY, we couldn’t be more mismatched. I tried to be country. I tried to learn his ways. After all, I chose the wedding song Wither Thou Goest as one of our songs. I meant it. I was determined to be a wonderful wife. Again, no matter what I did, it was never enough. I tried to can vegetable...