I've been tackling Mom & Dad's two four-drawer filing cabinets. I knew there might be surprises (I didn't know that they applied for the position of director of the Museum of Australia!), embarrassments (yes, I found the naked picture of the Governator), curiosities (neatly labeled folders of every place they ever stayed, as well as things Daddy was interested in, like "naked mole rats"). I expected, and got, their finances (at least until 2001 when Daddy died) neatly labeled and organized - tax returns and bank statements.
I had asked a friend to pray protection for me as I went through the files. I knew the lower the file drawers, the more personal the files. Divorce decrees (both mom and dad had been previously married), love letters from my dad to my mom, medical records including psychiatric treatment of family members.
Tonight I found one that made me cry. I found a file folder all about Boyd. Many of you know that Mom had a little boy who drowned when he was a toddler (before I was born). There were a few stories Mom would tell about Boyd, how happy and smart he was, and how much John, our big brother, doted on him. When I became a mom it hit me one day that "oh my gosh, my mother lost a child... how did she survive that?" I know that the way Mom "survived" it was by putting all her grief into getting laws changed; so that fences would be required around all swimming pools. The case went all the way to the Supreme Court.
When Mom stopped drinking in 1990 she started grieving the child she lost 35 years before. She paid for a safety fence for the toddler playground at her church in Morro Bay, and had it dedicated to Boyd Calvin King. Mom wrote Boyd's story a few times while writing her memoirs. Near the end of her life she talked about Boyd more often, and we encouraged her, telling her she would soon be joining her little boy in heaven.
Mom shared her feelings about the loss with Rhiannon. Rhiannon was so affected by her grandma's story that she desperately wanted her kids to learn how to swim. During the summer, she'd sign Nayeli up for swim lessons at park district pools, but as soon as Nayeli started screaming the teenage instructor would give up. Last May we read a blog by a friend (The LangGang Loves) that told how quickly an accident can happen at a pool, even with responsible adults on duty. Together we decided to have the girls take "Baby Seals" classes this summer. The instructor teaches babies and toddlers how to survive in the water - they learn to float on their backs, not to struggle, and to hold their face up so they can breathe. Babies are put in the water with their clothes on (most drownings of infants and toddlers occur when they get into a pool by accident, not when the family is swimming together).
Brielle was a tough one - the instructor said she was the strongest toddler she had taught, and was very stubborn. She knew what to do, but kept kicking her legs, which would pull her face down. The instructor weighted Brielle's legs with two pairs of sweatpants to keep her from kicking. On Wednesday I saw the girls at their last session. I was amazed and delighted to see Brielle, two years old, swim through the water, then flip on her back to breathe air, before flipping back over again to reach her Mama's arms. (Oh, and Nayeli is now a fish in the water).
Back to the file folder I found. I was surprised to find this file folder labeled "Boyd", because I thought Mom had pulled all the material she had about Boyd together when she was writing about him. The folder contains his birth certificate, a passbook for his memorial fund, sympathy cards, and newspaper clippings. There was a story titled "Then there was one," in which Mom told the account first-hand (it was part of the material for the lawsuit). It will be interesting to compare that version with the ones she wrote 50 years later.
There was also a poem. I'm almost certain Mom wrote this poem. Mom wrote a lot of poetry, and the typewritten page looks like other papers she typed. I searched for key phrases, and didn't find this poem anywhere. Whether she wrote it or not, it doesn't matter. This is what made me cry.
MOTHER TO HER DEAD BABY
My little one,
The cool gray mist is bringing in the evening,,
Filling the air with the rhythm of quietness,
Sleep
Gently steals over
The garden,
The small yellow roses
Sway
Beseechingly to the sound of the wind.
Little one, love of my heart.
You sleep early;
Too willingly are you quiet;
Your small murmurings
Sound in my heart like the broken music
Of a small silver brook
In the summer.
Baby, I remember how your small warm hand
Clutched my fingers.
Do you remember the kisses I gave you,
Kisses that were small words in the language of my heart?
Baby, you were warm.
Where are you?
I want to touch you.
How can I live if I cannot touch you?
The darkness is soft, tonight,
Like a blanket.
You had warm blankets, baby;
They are piled in the bedroom,
So neatly folded.
I was always glad when you slept well,
Little one.
Under the soft coverings.
Now you have a covering that is even softer
Than the blanket
That you liked to hold against your cheek,
Now you have rest deeper than any you ever had.
I love you, my baby, I love you . . .
O, I am glad that you sleep well.
