Mattox

I went to visit my grandma and grandpa yesterday in the Thorp, Wa cemetery.

My brother and his family had already been there and left beautiful potted flowers, one for each of them.

Kate and I left lilacs.

While we were there I showed her some of our other family members.

I showed her the headstones for my great grandparents-Neoma and John Morrison and for my grandfather's uncle and my namesake-Linn Morrison.

As we wandered through the cemetery we commented on the sad reality of the small headstones. The little white ones that represented a parents greatest heartache.

Within the area where my family is we found 6 of these white little headstones all in a row.

The first 5 all had the name Mattox on them.

We walked slowly by them all, reading the names and dates of birth and death.

Infant Son-June 15, 1898-Lived one day, gone but not forgotten.

Infant Son-December 25, 1903, gone but not forgotten

Evert Mattox-April 30, 1904-November 22, 1904, gone but not forgotten

Tessie Mattox-November 16, 1908-April 22, 1910, gone but not forgotten

Lois Mattox-April 13, 1911-December 18, 1911, gone but not forgotten

5 children. 5 babies. All lost in infancy.






I tried to envision their mother, my great, great aunt, Daisy Maud Morrison Mattox. I could see her round and lovely with the baby growing inside of her. Anticipating holding the precious, sweet smelling bundle in her arms. And then the ache as that baby would not live long enough for them to give him a name.

Maud had three children after that who lived to adulthood.

But then the next 5 all died before they were grown.

Their last child, Esther, only lived til the age of 16.

She even outlived her son Ferman who died in 1952, by 12 years.

I tried to imagine the heartache that was part of Maud's daily life. The hope that went into each pregnancy, the despair as she was parted from another child.

I'm sure that she was eventually told that she should not get attached to her children since they were mostly likely going to die. That she should not sorrow for the ones she lost because she was blessed to have some that lived. That she should fear loving them too much for the heartache it would cause later when they died. It seems that was common advice back in the days of influenza, no vaccinations and high infant mortality rates.

But I have to think that no matter what face she put on for others, that Maud mourned her babies. That not a day went by where she did not think of them. That as each child breathed their first breath that she tried to love them without fear. That when her own life came to a close she gratefully made her way into the arms of the children she lost.

As we left the cemetery, I thought of my own 6 beautiful children. How fortunate I am, truly.

But I felt connected to my ancestor in a way that I had not experienced before. I saw her as a mother of a large family, but only able to raise a few of them. And my heart swelled with love for her.

And it swells for those I know who have lost a child.

And it swells for all mothers who watch nervously over their children when there is a fever, or a bad cough, or a tumble off their bike.

And it swells with the love for my children that is so strong, at times I think my heart will break from trying to contain it.

The beautiful thing is that I know that Maud is not sad any longer.

Her family is with her.
And I imagine she would tell us to enjoy our children.
To not worry about things that don't matter.
To hug them tight. To kiss them frequently.

And to love them without fear.