Memories… some are fleeting, some persist… some are bittersweet. All of these describe my memories of my second grandchild. Full of life, born two years to the day after her sister, her dark eyes a mixture of innocence and mischief. She once stood smiling so proudly after pulling some loose threads from a throw rug. I often wondered what she would become as she grew into a young woman. I would sometimes babysit with her and we would do ‘pull-up’ exercises to strengthen her right arm which was injured during birth. She would keep going as long as I would.
I last saw Katie alive at a family get-together shortly before her first birthday. She kissed me goodbye on my cheek as my wife and I left a little before the others. A couple of hours later, as my wife was hemming up a new pair of pants for me, we received the dreadful phone call that no one should ever receive. Katie and her family had been involved in an accident. They were at the local hospital. We rushed to the hospital to find our worst fears were real. Our daughter and son-in-law were injured, our first grandchild was miraculously unhurt, but Katie had been killed.
We have pictures of Katie, not many due to the shortness of time we had with her. Some hang in our hallway with others of family members. Our only consolation is knowing where she is and one day we will see her again.
You can never ‘get over’ such a tragedy. You can only hope to get through it. After all these years, the pain resurfaces for you deal with it once again.
